The Mirrored Cat
Il MUSEO 2024 by HARUKO
In the exhibition "The Mirrored Cat," I present a collection of works that explore painting as
a medium and address personal themes from my childhood as well as significant life experiences.
One example is the series "Banshee Culloden," in which I abstractly work with Scottish tartan
patterns. In this work, ghosts populate my solitary journey through the Scottish Highlands in 1987,
where I battle the Scottish weather in soaked Harris Tweed, with Lagavulin on my tongue.
I bivouac in the moors, and strange memories of an old library where I once worked pile up in my
mind. I designed plant patterns in the William Morris workshop. The mosquitoes nearly drive me
insane, but fortunately, a blonde farmer takes me along in her Land Rover to the next town, where I
can buy ointment for the bites. She says she has never picked up a hitchhiker before, but in my case,
it’s different, she recognizes me.
Recognizes me as what?
She tells dirty jokes in Gaelic and laughs loudly, exposing her crooked teeth. Her recommendation
was to visit a specific stone circle, which I then did. In the meantime, the whisky bottle was almost
empty. It was dusk when I arrived at the stone circle; there, many thistles grew among the underbrush,
and the path was poorly marked. I heard voices and approached cautiously. The Scottish dialect was
barely decipherable. They were talking about goblins, and they spoke a kind of spell: “hlam malchm,
chalhm” – somewhat like Arabic. Many Christian Scots were indeed present on the Crusades to
the Holy Land in the 11th century; did they bring these verses back from there? Somehow, it all became
too much for me, and I fell into a deep sleep. The Lagavulin bottle was empty. Only my right hand
continued to draw incessantly in my sketchbook; these were likely the notes of another entity.
Unfortunately, the sketches in this book are currently missing; they were floor plans of various archi-
tectures: cellars, graves, towers, castles, palaces, cathedrals.
I create small, detailed wooden models of castles that serve as references for later paintings and take
on a symbolic role, placeholders for yet unfinished stories.
Other works engage with reflective silverware that distorts the space and reveals figures from
nightmares. These were the phantoms from my childhood in my grandparents' and aunts' farmhouses,
and it was at Lady Dunmore’s, where our godmother Hildegard Stoof worked first at Meggenhorn
Castle, later in the Abbey Saint Nicolas.
The mirror that loses itself in the mirror. A symbol of the infinite loop where reality and representation
merge. "Mise en abyme" is a French term that literally translates to "placing into the abyss." In art
and literature, "mise en abyme" refers to the representation of a work within the same work, creating
a meta level. This results in a kind of frame within a frame, where the main work reflects or refers to
itself. This technique is often used to create an endless loop of meanings and interpretations, prompting
the viewer to contemplate the phenomenon of art, reality, and perception.
My work conceptually aligns with magical realism, with a touch of humor thrown in. By linking various
themes and motifs, I strive to create a unique and multifaceted form of expression.
One year later, I am back in England. I am currently reading about Celtic mythology and want to visit some important sites like Tintagel. Since I had good experiences with hitchhiking and Hitchcock, I decided to take the Greyhound to Salisbury and then continue on foot or by hitchhiking. In the evening, I arrive at Salisbury Cathedral, which features an impressive painting by John Constable. There’s a lot of activity around the cathedral, freaks who are using drugs and dancing are there. So I decide to walk further to Old Sarum. At sunset, I lie down in my sleeping bag.
I hear many animal sounds, and the night is unpleasantly restless. Some creatures crawl through the underbrush. By morning, I can finally sleep, but I am awakened by the slobbering tongue of a giant dog. I get quite startled and have to explain to an amused Englishman that I am on a research trip. He says, “You must be German; only Germans sleep in a sleeping bag outside! English people only sleep in tents!” He points in one direction and says, “If you go straight ahead, you’ll reach Stonehenge!”
After walking for 2.5 hours, I stand in front of Stonehenge, and the sun casts huge shadows on the ground. I am impressed, and I can feel a special wave of energy. Only two or three tourists are visible at this moment. In the gift shop, two Japanese women approach me, asking if I know Woodhenge. I say no, because I am not British, and we start talking. I invite the two for a cup of tea. The conversation becomes more and more interesting: one is studying Sigmund Freud and is about to graduate from Tokyo University; the other is a manga artist who runs her own tattoo shop in Shimokitazawa. Both are totally fascinated by British myths. Since they are traveling in a rental car, they take me to the site “Woodhenge,” and in the late afternoon, they drop me off in the next town. Yua, the younger one, tells me, “Read Murakami; you’ll like him!” We exchange addresses, and then they leave.
Now I stand at the entrance to the highway. As soon as I start trying to hitchhike, a vehicle from the overtaking lane comes to a sudden stop. The car looks dirty, and the driver resembles a reptile: his skin is dark blue, and he has very narrow, yellowish eyes. He asks, “Where do you want to go?” I tell him my destination, and he responds, “No one goes there anymore!” At the same moment, my alarm lights go off. He also offers to let me stay at his place. A movie flashes through my mind! I see myself, bound and poisoned, lying there, and him sealing me in a cellar. I say, “No thanks!” and bolt into the bushes like a bee stung me, running as fast as I can.
After about two hundred meters, I pause, and my heart pounds like a pneumatic hammer. I am in some kind of trance—or is this a panic attack? I don’t know to this day. The situation feels extraterrestrial. Meanwhile, it’s dawn again, and I am at the end of my strength. I lie down under an old bridge and fall asleep immediately. In the morning, I observe birds and ducks, and the world seems to be back to normal.
Next: My time in Japan