KASPER KÖNIG (1943–2024) By Hans Ulrich Obrist

Kasper König, 2020

I can still clearly remember how I first met Kasper König. It was 1990, and he had been invited to act as artistic consultant for a public art project at the Römerbrücke power station in Saarbrücken. Peter Fischli and David Weiss were planning to exhibit Snowman, an actual snowman that was meant to last forever, and the pair had built a model out of foam in preparation for producing the work. I’d enjoyed a lively exchange with both artists, and when they finally finished building the model on Monday evening, which was due for delivery in Saarbrücken the following morning, they called me with an urgent request. They both had family commitments, and neither of them was able to deliver it themselves. I had recently gotten my driving license, and so they asked if I would be able to chauffeur the snowman to Saarbrücken. My parents agreed to lend me their robust but aging Volvo, and so I drove to Zurich, where Fischli and Weiss placed the snowman in the passenger seat beside me. I arrived in Saarbrücken around six in the morning and, a few coffees later, met Kasper König on the bridge by the aforementioned power plant.

In 1993, König asked if I would be interested in curating an exhibition together with him for the Wiener Festwochen; the resulting exhibition, “Der zerbrochene Spiegel” (The broken mirror), focused on painting. I was thrilled at König’s invitation, since I had never curated an exhibition on this scale before. It gave me an opportunity to learn on the job about all the stages that go into producing an exhibition of this caliber – from inviting the artists, to producing the catalogue, to organizing the opening. During the preparatory phase, König and I drew up a list of around 100 painters in Europe whom we wanted to visit. Some we visited together, others we met individually. For me, this was a fantastic way to get to know artists. Inspired by these encounters, we decided to organize a survey exhibition spanning painters from different generations. Walter Nikkels, the designer of the catalogue, presented all the participating artists in chronological order, according to their birth years. Many of the artists involved are no longer with us but were still alive at that time, such as Agnes Martin, Eugène Leroy, and Leon Golub. The Wiener Festwochen used to be held in what is now the MuseumsQuartier, and “Der zerbrochene Spiegel” appeared in separate parts, in the exhibition halls and the Kunsthalle.

For all König taught me about books and creating exhibitions, I learned even more from him about how institutions work and about the importance of interdisciplinarity. Many of my memories of him stem from our time together in Frankfurt, when he was rector of the Städelschule and I practically lived day and night in his office. I was in my mid-20s then, around the same age as the students. My time in Frankfurt showed me how inspiring and productive an art school can be. There would be several lectures each week by the greats of art and architecture, with people like Dan Graham, Dara Birnbaum, Peter Cook, and Cedric Price coming and going. These were usually followed by evening meals in nearby restaurants, where the conversations that started at the school carried on late into the night. König always sought to bring art and architecture together in the curriculum, and to integrate the engagement with computer art and technology happening at Peter Weibel’s institute in the early 1990s into his program. I can well understand how the Städelschule became such an enriching place of learning, and I owe a lot to this time.

König and I ended up driving around together in the same Volvo I had driven to our first meeting, when a snowman was my passenger. König never got a driving license, and I had only recently gotten mine. Most people were reluctant to get in a car with me at the wheel; I never would manage to earn a reputation as a good driver. But König was one of the few people who wasn’t afraid to ride with me, and so one day we found ourselves together in a car on our way to a meeting outside Vienna – running late because of a lecture. We were worried about arriving late and drove fast – too fast. The police caught us speeding, and our joint fee for the lecture was just enough to cover the fine.

Hans Ulrich Obrist is artistic director of Serpentine in London, and senior advisor at LUMA Arles. Prior to this, he was the curator of the Musée d’Art Moderne de la Ville de Paris. Since his first show “World Soup (The Kitchen Show)” in 1991, he has curated more than 350 shows.

This text is based on Hans Ulrich Obrist’s contribution to the book Kasper König A–Z. Eine Lebenscollage (ed. Andreas Prinzing), to be published by Verlag der Buchhandlung Walther und Franz König in 2025.

Translation: Ben Caton

Image credit: Photo Jonathan Schmidt-Ott

Cookies disclaimer