{"id":19818,"title":"Panamarenko - 2014 - Escaping a creepy world of art [EN, essay]","dimensions":"7 p.","date_begin":null,"material":"","art_status_id":13,"legal_status_id":47,"category_id":25,"platform_id":1,"deleted":false,"asset_count":0,"stream_count":0,"collection":"Hans Theys Archive / Archief Hans Theys","cached_tag_list":"essay","publishing_process_id":1,"annotation":"","date_end":null,"reference":"","stream_count_app":9,"permalink":"panamarenko-2014-escaping-a-creepy-world-of-art-en-essay","description_ca":"","short_description_ca":"","description_it":"","short_description_it":"","cached_primary_asset_url":null,"cached_actor_names":"Hans Theys","hide_from_json":true,"prev_platform_id":null,"description_uk":null,"short_description_uk":null,"description_tr":null,"short_description_tr":null,"mhka_works":false,"category":{"en":"Text","nl":"Tekst","fr":"Texte"},"poster_image":null,"poster_credits":null,"translations":[{"locale":"en","short_description":"","description":"\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003e\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n__________\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nHans Theys\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cstrong\u003eEscaping a creepy world of art \u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nOn being with Panamarenko\u003c/strong\u003e\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nIntroduction\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nMy first encounter with Panamarenko was in November 1988. He was 48 years old at the time, I was 25. Now that I am 51, I view that first meeting in a different light. In 1988 it was just twenty years since Joseph Beuys had invited Panamarenko to exhibit \u003cem\u003eDas Flugzeug\u003c/em\u003e (The Aeroplane) \u0026ndash; then regarded as a poetic object \u0026ndash; at D\u0026uuml;sseldorf academy. Three years later, in 1972, Panamarenko showed \u003cem\u003eThe Aeromodeller\u003c/em\u003e at the famous \u0026lsquo;Documenta V\u0026rsquo;. In 1988 those dates seemed to me very distant. Now I understand that twenty years is nothing and that for my generation, for example, it was not without its significance that we had been born just twenty years after the end of the Second World War and that our parents, who were as old as Panamarenko, had grown up during and shortly after those horrors. The timing was not without its significance for two reasons. Firstly, because my parents\u0026rsquo; generation had been marked in some way by the war (the same applied for example to the parents of Luc Tuymans, who was born in 1958) and, secondly, because they were inspired by the new economic, social and cultural possibilities. I believe it is true to say that Panamarenko, whose parents were workers, grew up in an angst-ridden atmosphere of material uncertainty, but also in a world in which the new technological possibilities seemed inexhaustible. The 1980s were very different, when as a young adult I grew up in a world of disillusionment, with limited economic prospects and, apart from in the theatre, little cultural movement. \u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003eBe this as it may, I met Panamarenko in 1988, barely twenty years after the exhibition in D\u0026uuml;sseldorf where he had shown \u003cem\u003eDas\u003c/em\u003e \u003cem\u003eFlugzeug\u003c/em\u003e, which had awoken him to the fact that technical realizations could be deemed to belong to the domain of art. In the meantime, and especially during the first half of the 1970s, he had developed numerous \u0026lsquo;contraptions\u0026rsquo;, most of which had been built, exhibited and sold. I myself had studied Philosophy and Literature and through the theatre world in which I had played a modest role, I had got to know several young painters who asked me if I would write about their work. Because my academic studies seemed to me insufficient qualification for the task, I asked them who they regarded as the most famous artist in Belgium, in the hope of learning more about that artist. Panamarenko\u0026rsquo;s name came up every time. (Luc Tuymans, whose work I had seen at the Thermae Palace in Ostend in 1985, was as yet unknown). At the time, the painter Damien De Lepeleire and I were publishing an art journal which had a circulation of around 100 copies. I decided to interview Panamarenko for the journal and asked the art critic V\u0026eacute;ronique Daneels to introduce me to him. We drove to Antwerp in a modest family car, but in the city centre Daneels lost her way. When we asked a cyclist if he knew where Panamarenko lived, he suggested that he lead the way on his bicycle and that was how I arrived at Panamarenko\u0026rsquo;s house for the first time, trying to keep up with a frantically pedalling and wildly gesticulating cyclist.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003eDuring that first meeting, which lasted many hours, we agreed that I should return in three months for the interview, by which time I would have forgotten everything Panamarenko had told me that day. And that is what happened. The interview appeared as a supplement to the journal on April 4th 1989. It was called \u003cem\u003eKnockando\u003c/em\u003e, after the whisky we had drunk during our first meeting and compared to the contents of a bottle of Glenfiddich which I had taken along. V\u0026eacute;ronique Daneels was sure that Panamarenko drank a lot of whisky, which turned out not to be the case at all. In fact, he drank Coca Cola. He only drank alcohol when he was with other people and feeling disconcerted or bored. Panamarenko was the first person I met who did fascinating things and didn\u0026rsquo;t drink. \u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003eAt the same time, I had something to offer him. He wondered if Wittgenstein, Nietzsche and other philosophers and writers were really as extraordinary as was claimed: \u0026ldquo;I am asking your advice on the subject\u0026rdquo;, he wrote to me. \u0026ldquo;Is there such a thing as literature?\u0026rdquo; I supplied him with books, which he sometimes read in one night, including Nietzsche\u0026rsquo;s\u003cem\u003e Beyond Good and Evil\u003c/em\u003e. He enthusiastically labelled it his favourite book and designed a new cover for it that same night.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003eBetween 1989 and 1998 I worked with Panamarenko on several new sculptures, I helped him build exhibitions and I produced texts, books, photographs and video films about his work. The first time, in June 1989, we set off together to the Furka Pass in Switzerland to try and get a Pastille motor to work. We spent two weeks trying, to no avail. But we certainly gave it our best shot. The partitions were adjusted and oiled, the fuel mixture was adapted, the spark plug was cleaned scores of times, yet nothing helped. This is how I came to realize that Panamarenko was serious about his work and I saw how this kind of experiment inevitably met the same sort of end: it was left in a state of incompletion and sold to a museum in Lyon. The complex apparatus and the various tools we had left behind together with the contrivance attached to a table, were withheld by the miserly dealer, thereby depriving the museum visitor of the adventure. In September of that same year we returned to test a small glacier tank called \u003cem\u003e\u003cem\u003ePrince\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/em\u003e \u003cem\u003e\u003cem\u003eMyshkin\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/em\u003e, which was powered by two electric drills. The main problems were with the gears and the chain. This time, it seemed, Panamarenko had deviated altogether from his oeuvre and was just busying himself with some sort of toy. But this was mere semblance. Panamarenko only ever made toys and he tackled them with the earnestness they deserved. In June 1990 we flew to the Maldives to test the diving equipment \u003cem\u003ePortuguese Man of War\u003c/em\u003e. In September 1990 we worked on the flying car \u003cem\u003eK2\u003c/em\u003e. In 1992 we tested a new \u003cem\u003eBig Elbow\u003c/em\u003e in the sea between Japan and China together with the gallery owner Tokoro. In 1995 I helped Panamarenko build the flying platform \u003cem\u003eBernouilli\u003c/em\u003e and the submarine \u003cem\u003ePanama\u003c/em\u003e and in 1998 the flying boat \u003cem\u003eScotch Gambit\u003c/em\u003e.\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nThe\u003cem\u003e Portuguese Man of War \u003c/em\u003ediving apparatus\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003eMuZee invited me to say something about our maritime adventures, so I will begin with the \u003cem\u003ePortuguese Man of War\u003c/em\u003e, a set of diving equipment named after a jelly-like marine animal. The run-up to the \u003cem\u003ePortuguese Man of War\u003c/em\u003e involved testing a sort of underwater bicycle named \u003cem\u003eElleboog\u003c/em\u003e or \u003cem\u003eBig Elbow\u003c/em\u003e. At first Panamarenko wanted to test \u003cem\u003eElbow\u003c/em\u003e in the West Scheldt because he had heard that a well-known gentleman from the museum world, who also went deep-sea diving, had once caught a one-and-a-half-meter lobster there. Slightly disheartened, we stood on the bank of this large, dark and cold expanse of water and decided to try somewhere else. Week after week we hired a public swimming pool in Montagne de Miel where we could tinker, take photographs and film undisturbed. In that swimming pool I learned to swim with open eyes so as to be able to take photographs under water.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003e\u003cem\u003eElbow\u003c/em\u003e consisted of a staff with a handle on one side and/or a belt to gird the device and, on the other side, a buoy, pedals and a screw propeller. The bulk of the work was designing the handle, the buoy and in particular the screw propeller. I remember four screw propellers which differed in shape and material. They were made of carbon-fibre, wood and one partly of metal. The idea was that they should not be too big or too heavy, but displace a lot of water. To test \u003cem\u003eElbow\u003c/em\u003e Panamarenko had made a special diving mask with a windpipe. He just pulled on the elastic chinstrap above water to allow excess water to escape. This may have been what led to the principle of the \u003cem\u003ePortuguese Man of War\u003c/em\u003e, which consisted of the diver adjusting the pressure in the diver\u0026rsquo;s helmet to the pressure round about by pumping more or less air into the helmet, which was conveyed through a transparent hose attached to an inflated inner tube that bobbed up and down on the surface of the sea. If there was excess pressure in the helmet, the air escaped at the bottom through a movable rubber flap which encircled the neck. If there was too little pressure, then that same flap allowed the water in. So the diver knew when he had to pump harder: when his helmet filled up with water. Two lead blocks were stuck onto the helmet. The helmet was also attached by means of lengths of string to a halter which encircled the diver\u0026rsquo;s body. Both precautions prevented the helmet shooting up when under water because of the air content. The diver also wore a lead belt. One day the apparatus was checked by a diving instructor who felt responsible, but after that he nevertheless supplied us with extra lead.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003eThe deeper the diver walked over the coral reef, the harder he had to pump. Often, however, something would break or the diver was exhausted after just a few minutes by the effort and the barely suppressed fear, so that the helmet filled up with water. Then it was a question of releasing the lead belt (and not the halter, which had the same closure) so as to be able to resurface. Once back up, the helmet didn\u0026rsquo;t empty, however, because the rubber border around your neck had to be above the water surface which was impossible to achieve on your own because the helmet was fixed to the halter. You had to remain calm and find a rock to clamber onto or someone had to raise you up out of the water so that you could let the water escape. And so it was that I almost drowned a couple of times, surrounded by air, with a murky view of a tropical island, until the arm of a giant, who himself was holding onto a rock, raised me above the water in the nick of time. Our experiments lasted two weeks. Every day we tinkered with the diving equipment with the few resources available, including a rubber glove belonging to the cook, a part of which had to prevent water getting into the air supply through the pump shaft. Every day we ate fried chunks of fish, which had probably come from a large deep-freeze. There was also a shack where you could order ice creams, but despite the impressive menu there was only one sort of ice cream available. There was a little shop, but there was nothing to buy, apart from garishly printed towels and useless souvenirs. Our towels and clothes were never dry. There was no air-conditioning. There were lots of midges and ants, which Panamarenko quite took to until they formed a procession over his bed intent on biting him on the way. In short, it was hell on earth. And so one day Xavier, who had accompanied us, left the island in a matter of minutes by jumping onto a departing boat, leaving behind some of his luggage.\u0026nbsp;\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003eUnperturbed we went on diving, tinkering, taking photographs and filming. I wanted a photograph of myself reading on the bottom of the ocean. Panamarenko wanted a film in which you first saw a shark and a school of fish swimming and then me diving. His films were always a dismal failure because I couldn\u0026rsquo;t dive long enough for the slow, fauna-spanning camera movement Panamarenko had in mind. After every dive we hurried to the beach to look at the film, which usually contained nothing worth seeing, apart perhaps from a small colourful fish which Panamarenko had swum after for a minute or two before encountering me with a graceful camera movement walking somewhere on the bottom of the sea, by which time I was usually choking as I trod water while holding my helmet high above the sloshing surface of the sea in an attempt to empty it.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003eAt the end of those two weeks we walked to a skip and Panamarenko smashed both helmets to pieces. Presumably he wanted to prevent a less fortunate someone trying out our equipment. \u0026nbsp;\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nThe submarine \u003cem\u003ePANAMA\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003eIn June 1995 Panamarenko informed me that after long deliberation he had decided on a new enterprise. In a boat shop he had seen an emerald-green, Lister diesel generator, which we went to look at together. It was delivered that same afternoon. Around that generator, he explained, we would build a submarine to look as if it had emerged from the generator. \u0026ldquo;Because that boat is already in that generator.\u0026rdquo; By way of a model he adapted drawings of the poetic object \u003cem\u003eWhale\u003c/em\u003e dating from 1967. We then went to a lift factory to buy 7-mm-thick steel plates and we started folding, cutting and welding. He had had several sheets cut into strips and we used them to make the profiles for the frame of the boat. Sheets were welded around that frame. To enable us to reach every part of it, the submarine, which eventually weighed two tons, was hung from the ceiling and rotated like a spit by means of pulleys and chains. The welding took a long time, because the motto was: \u0026lsquo;triple weld\u0026rsquo;. Not a drop of water should be able to seep in. So I spent three months welding, until I learned that the boat would not be tested, but exhibited in a gallery. I was terribly disappointed. We had found a place at a sailing club where the boat could be placed on the dry bottom of the Scheldt using a crane and where we could wait for the rising tide to see if the boat was watertight. Years later Panamarenko told me that he had not believed it possible. I would like to have tested the boat, if only to see if the triple weld had worked.\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nThe flying boat \u003cem\u003eScotch Gambit\u003c/em\u003e\u0026nbsp;\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003eScotch Gambit, the stilt-walker, is a flying boat on floats, powered by two aeroplane engines. The floats and the stilts support a basic construction which serves as the framework for the bodywork, but of course it also supports the heavy engines. The whole thing consists of three parts screwed and strapped together. We had planned to have the boat float in a dock on the Scheldt along with a landing stage that would rise and fall with the tide, but the City of Antwerp was not interested. The last time I discussed the boat with Panamarenko, a few months ago, he expressed the desire to replace the aeroplane engines with outboard motors on the floats.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003ePanamarenko had told me several times that he had the iron frame of a boat up in the attic. He had begun welding it with his father in the seventies, but work had come to a standstill after a difference of opinion about the permissibility of foul language while working. In 1998 I arrived at Ronny Van de Velde\u0026rsquo;s gallery and I saw a large part of the already rusted structure of the boat-to-be, which would be finished with two-millimetre steel plate. When the aluminium supporting structure and the huge floats also arrived, we started building. Thousands of mini-bolts and after that Parker screws in holes that were slightly too big held the sheets in place, but not too tightly to prevent them creasing. As was the case with the submarine, it was again a question of bending steel plate in two directions, which is impossible to do without making dents. And so it was that I discovered that Panamarenko really wanted to make streamlined bodywork in an impossible way (without rolling). The same applies to all his work: he invariably tried to achieve something in a way that didn\u0026rsquo;t stand an earthly chance of succeeding. Consequently, he learned more about materials and techniques than someone who sets to work in a more customary manner.\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nConclusion\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003eWhen we dived in the Indian Ocean in 1990 Panamarenko was convinced of the unicity of that moment. As a young man I didn\u0026rsquo;t know that such moments are rare. Now that I myself have reached the age he was then, I am glad I had such an intense experience because it became a yardstick for everything that followed. Together on a squalid coral island no larger than six football pitches, we briefly escaped the horrific world of art, not by practising a sport, but by means of a self-built contrivance fighting with water, air and gravity. \u0026ldquo;Looking for novelty and amusement,\u0026rdquo; I wrote at the time, \u0026ldquo;they proved to be man enough to face the darkness.\u0026rdquo; I was a hypochondriac who dreamed of a more light-footed life and in those days read both Conrad\u0026rsquo;s \u003cem\u003eHeart of Darkness\u003c/em\u003e and Plutarch\u0026rsquo;s \u003cem\u003eLife of Greeks\u003c/em\u003e. \u0026ldquo;Rivets!\u0026rdquo; shouted the hero of \u003cem\u003eHeart of Darkness\u003c/em\u003e, \u0026ldquo;we want rivets!\u0026rdquo; The rivet as consolation for despair, the tinkering as a secret remedy for melancholy. Not \u0026lsquo;bricolage\u0026rsquo; in the sense given to the word by Claude L\u0026eacute;vi-Strauss: the preservation of useless objects in the hope of one day being able to put them to good use in an inappropriate way. Because Panamarenko was not a \u0026lsquo;bricoleur\u0026rsquo;, but a tinkering thinker. Take the titles of his works! \u003cem\u003ePolistes\u003c/em\u003e! The dark-green gall wasp with a figure like Ava Gardner. \u003cem\u003eScotch Gambit\u003c/em\u003e! Men in skirts showing off the family jewels, but also a word from the world of chess and a move designed to bewilder the lovers of the Franco-American concept. And together with Panamarenko I invented a character that wanted to become who he was by taking the trials and tribulations of life less seriously and fantasizing about a world in which you could always deal with things as if for the first and also the last time. \u0026nbsp;\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nMontagne de Miel, July 2nd 2014\u003c/p\u003e\r\n"},{"locale":"nl","short_description":"","description":"\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003e\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n__________\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nHans Theys\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cstrong\u003eAan de griezelwereld van de kunst ontsnapt\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nEnkele woorden over mijn samenwerking met Panamarenko\u003c/strong\u003e\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nInleiding\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003eMijn eerste ontmoeting met Panamarenko vond plaats in november 1988. De man was toen 48 jaar oud, ik was vijfentwintig. Vandaag ben ik eenenvijftig en heb ik een andere kijk op onze ontmoeting. In 1988 was het amper twintig jaar geleden dat Panamarenko op uitnodiging van Joseph Beuys zijn nog als een po\u0026euml;tisch object gedachte sculptuur \u003cem\u003eDas Flugzeug\u003c/em\u003e in de academie van D\u0026uuml;sseldorf had mogen tentoonstellen. Drie jaar later, in 1972, had de befaamde \u0026lsquo;Documenta V\u0026rsquo; plaatsgevonden, waar Panamarenko \u003cem\u003eThe Aeromodeller\u003c/em\u003e had getoond. In 1988 leken deze data voor mij ver weg. Nu begrijp ik dat twintig jaar niks is en dat het voor mijn generatie bijvoorbeeld niet zonder betekenis is geweest dat wij amper twintig jaar na het einde van de tweede wereldoorlog geboren zijn en dat onze ouders, die zo oud waren als Panamarenko, opgegroeid waren tijdens en vlak na die verschrikking. Om twee redenen. Ten eerste omdat ze op een of andere manier getekend waren door de oorlog (dit gold bijvoorbeeld ook voor de ouders van Luc Tuymans, die geboren is in 1958), ten tweede omdat ze begeesterd waren door de nieuwe economische, sociale en culturele mogelijkheden. Ik denk dat we kunnen stellen dat Panamarenko, wiens ouders arbeiders waren, opgroeide in een angstige sfeer van materi\u0026euml;le onzekerheid, maar ook in een wereld waarin de nieuwe technologische mogelijkheden onuitputtelijk leken.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003eKortom, ik ontmoette Panamarenko in 1988, amper twintig jaar nadat de tentoonstelling van \u003cem\u003eDas Flugzeug\u003c/em\u003e in D\u0026uuml;sseldorf hem tot het inzicht had gebracht dat technische verwezenlijkingen tot het domein van de kunst gerekend konden worden. Intussen had hij, vooral tijdens de eerste helft van de jaren zeventig, tal van \u0026lsquo;tuigen\u0026rsquo; ontwikkeld, waarvan de meeste al gebouwd, tentoongesteld en verkocht waren. Zelf had ik wijsbegeerte en literatuur gestudeerd en had ik via de theaterwereld, waarin ik een bescheiden rol had vervuld, enkele jonge schilders leren kennen die mij vroegen of ik over hun werk wilde schrijven. Omdat mijn academische vorming mij ontoereikend scheen, vroeg ik hen wie de bekendste kunstenaar van ons land was, in de hoop meer van hem of haar te kunnen leren. Iedereen noemde Panamarenko. (Luc Tuymans, wiens werk ik in 1985 in de Oostendse termen al had gezien, was nog niet bekend.) In die tijd gaf ik samen met de schilder Damien De Lepeleire een kunsttijdschrift uit dat verspreid werd op een honderdtal exemplaren. Ik besloot Panamarenko voor dit tijdschrift te interviewen en vroeg de kunsthistorica V\u0026eacute;ronique Daneels om mij aan hem voor te stellen. We verplaatsten ons met een bescheiden gezinswagen. In het centrum van Antwerpen raakte Daneels het spoor bijster, maar toen we een fietser vroegen of die wist waar Panamarenko woonde, stelde die voor ons al rijdend de weg te wijzen. Zo kwam het dat ik het huis van Panamarenko voor het eerst bereikte in het spoor van een wild gesticulerende, als een gek voorspurtende fietser.\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nTijdens deze eerste ontmoeting, die vele uren bestreek, werd besloten dat ik drie maand later terug zou keren voor het interview, wanneer ik alles wat Panamarenko mij die dag had verteld weer vergeten zou zijn. En zo geschiedde. Het interview verscheen als bijlage van het tijdschrift op 4 april 1989. Het heette \u003cem\u003eKnockando\u003c/em\u003e, zoals de whisky die we tijdens onze eerste ontmoeting hadden gedronken en vergeleken met de inhoud van een fles Glenfiddich die ik zelf had meegebracht. V\u0026eacute;ronique Daneels verkeerde immers in de overtuiging dat Panamarenko veel whisky dronk, wat niet zo was. Hij dronk cola. Eigenlijk dronk hij alleen maar alcohol als hij samen was met andere mensen en verlegen was of zich verveelde. Panamarenko werd zo de eerste persoon die ik ontmoette die boeiende dingen deed en niet dronk.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003eTegelijk had ik de man ook iets te bieden. Hij vroeg zich af of Wittgenstein, Nietzsche en andere denkers en schrijvers wel zo bijzonder waren als werd beweerd: \u0026lsquo;Ik vraag U raad erover,\u0026rsquo; schreef hij mij, \u0026lsquo;is er zoiets als literatuur?\u0026rsquo; Ik bezorgde hem boeken, die hij soms op \u0026eacute;\u0026eacute;n nacht uitlas, bijvoorbeeld \u003cem\u003eAan gene zijde van goed en kwaad\u003c/em\u003e, dat hij enthousiast als zijn lievelingsboek bestempelde en waarvoor hij diezelfde nacht een nieuwe kaft had ontworpen.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003eTussen 1989 en 1998 werkte ik verschillende keren met Panamarenko aan een nieuwe sculptuur, hielp ik hem met het opbouwen van tentoonstellingen en maakte ik teksten, boeken, foto\u0026rsquo;s en videofilms over zijn werk. De eerste keer, in juni 1989, trokken we samen naar de Zwitserse Furkapas om er te trachten een pastillemotor aan het draaien te krijgen. Twee weken lang hebben we geprobeerd, tevergeefs. Maar we hebben wel geprobeerd. De tussenschotjes werden aangepast en geolied, de brandstofmengeling werd aangepast, de bougie werd tientallen keren schoongemaakt, maar niets hielp. (Later ontdekte Panamaenko dat de pi\u0026euml;zo-aansteker die we hadden gebruikt niet werkte boven 1200 meter hoogte.) Zo leerde ik dat het Panamarenko menens was en zag ik hoe dit soort experiment onvermijdelijk hetzelfde soort einde kreeg: het werd achtergelaten in zijn staat van onvoltooidheid en verkocht aan een museum in Lyon. In september van datzelfde jaar keerden we terug om een kleine gletschertank te testen: \u003cem\u003ePrins Misjkin\u003c/em\u003e. Het voertuigje werd aangedreven door twee elektrische boren. Er waren vooral problemen met de tandwielen en de ketting. Hier was Panamarenko volledig afgeweken van zijn oeuvre, zo leek het, en ging het louter om een vorm van speelgoed. Maar dit was slechts schijn. Panamarenko heeft altijd alleen maar speelgoed gemaakt, waar hij terecht de nodige ernst voor opeiste. In juni 1990 vlogen we naar de Malediven om er het duiktoestel \u003cem\u003eThe Portuguese Man of War\u003c/em\u003e te testen. In september 1990 werkten we aan de vliegende auto \u003cem\u003eK2\u003c/em\u003e. In 1992 hebben we samen met de galeriehouder Tokoro een nieuwe \u003cem\u003eBig Elbow\u003c/em\u003e getest in de zee tussen Japan en China. In 1995 heb ik geholpen bij het bouwen van het vliegend platform \u003cem\u003eBernouilli\u003c/em\u003e en de duikboot \u0026Pi;\u0026alpha;\u0026nu;\u0026alpha;\u0026mu;\u0026alpha;. In 1998 was ik betrokken bij het bouwen van de vliegboot \u003cem\u003eScotch Gambit\u003c/em\u003e.\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nHet duiktoestel \u0026lsquo;The Portuguese Man of War\u0026rsquo;\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003eAangezien ik door MuZee werd uitgenodigd iets te vertellen over onze maritieme avonturen, zal ik dit relaas beginnen met \u003cem\u003eThe Portuguese Man of War\u003c/em\u003e, een duiktoestel dat werd genoemd naar een kwallensoort. De aanloop naar \u003cem\u003eThe Portuguese Man of War\u003c/em\u003e bestond in het testen van een soort van onderwaterfiets die \u003cem\u003eBig Elbow\u003c/em\u003e werd genoemd. Eerst wilde Panamarenko \u003cem\u003eBig Elbow\u003c/em\u003e testen in de Westerschelde, omdat hij had gehoord dat een vooraanstaande heer uit de museumwereld, die ook aan diepzeeduiken deed, daar ooit een kreeft van anderhalve meter lang had gevangen. Enigszins ontmoedigd stonden we aan de oever van dit grote duistere en koude water en besloten we het elders te proberen. Week na week huurden we een publiek zwembad af dat zich bevond in Montagne de Miel en waar we ongestoord konden sleutelen, foto\u0026rsquo;s maken en filmen. In dat zwembad leerde ik met open ogen zwemmen om foto\u0026rsquo;s onder water te kunnen maken.\u0026nbsp;\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003e\u003cem\u003eBig Elbow\u003c/em\u003e bestond uit een steel met aan \u0026eacute;\u0026eacute;n zijde een handvat en/of een riem om het toestel om te gorden en aan de andere zijde een boei, pedalen en een schroef. Het grootste werk sloop in het vormgeven van het handvat, de boei en de schroef. Ik herinner mij een viertal schroeven die van vorm en materiaal verschilden. Ze bestonden uit koolstofvezel, hout of metaal. De bedoeling was dat ze niet te groot of te zwaar werden, maar toch veel water verplaatsten. Voor het testen van \u003cem\u003eBig Elbow\u003c/em\u003e had Panamarenko een speciaal duikmasker met luchtpijp gemaakt. Het teveel aan water liet hij eruit lopen door boven water even aan de elastische kin te trekken. Zo kwam hij allicht op het principe van \u003cem\u003eThe Portuguese Man of War\u003c/em\u003e, dat hierin bestond dat de duiker de druk in de duikershelm aan de rondom heersende druk aanpaste door minder of meer lucht in de helm te pompen. De lucht werd aangevoerd door een doorzichtige slang die bevestigd was aan een opgeblazen binnenband die op het zeeoppervlak dobberde. Was er overdruk in de helm, dan ontsnapte de lucht aan de onderzijde via een beweeglijke rubberen flap die de hals omsloot. Was er onderdruk, dan liet diezelfde flap het water naar binnen stromen. De duiker wist dus wanneer hij harder moest pompen: als zijn helm volstroomde met water. Op de helm waren twee loodblokken gekleefd. Verder was hij door middel van dunne touwen verbonden met een halster die de romp van de duiker omsloot. Beide voorzorgen beletten dat de helm onder water, door de luchtinhoud, naar boven schoot. Verder droeg de duiker een riem met lood. Op een dag werd het toestel gecontroleerd door een duikinstructeur die zich verantwoordelijk voelde, maar ons nadien toch extra lood bezorgde.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003eHoe dieper de duiker over de koraalbodem wandelde, hoe harder hij moest pompen. Vaak ging er echter iets stuk of was de duiker door de inspanning en de nauwelijks bedwongen angst na enkele minuten uitgeput, zodat de helm volliep met water. Dan was het zaak de loodgordel (en niet de halster, die dezelfde sluiting had) los te maken om naar de oppervlakte te kunnen stijgen. Eenmaal boven, liep de helm echter niet leeg, omdat je met de rubberen onderrand tot boven het wateroppervlak moest zien te geraken, wat je op je eentje niet kon bewerkstelligen, omdat de helm vastzat aan de halster. Je moest kalm blijven en een rots vinden om op te klauteren of een tweede persoon moest je boven het water uittillen, zodat je het water kon laten weglopen. Zo gebeurde het dat ik een paar keer bijna verdronk, omringd door lucht, met een troebel uitzicht op een tropisch eiland, tot de arm van een reus, die zichzelf vasthield aan een rots, mij net op tijd boven het water uittilde. Onze experimenten duurden twee weken. Elke dag werd er aan de duiktoestellen gesleuteld met de weinige middelen die voorhanden waren, waaronder een rubberen handschoen van de kok, waarvan een onderdeel moest beletten dat er via de as van de pomp water in de luchttoevoer geraakte. Elke dag aten we gebakken brokken vis, die vermoedelijk afkomstig waren uit een grote diepvriezer. Er was ook een zaak waar je ijsjes kon bestellen, maar ondanks de indrukwekkende kaart was er maar \u0026eacute;\u0026eacute;n soort ijs beschikbaar. Er was een winkeltje, maar er was niets te koop, behalve onnutte souvenirs\u0026nbsp; en handdoeken met schreeuwerige opdrukken. De handdoeken en kleren werden nooit droog. Er was geen airconditioning. Er waren wel veel muggen en mieren, die Panamarenko best sympathiek vond tot ze een stoet over zijn bed vormden en hem onderweg allemaal meenden te moeten bijten. Kortom, het was een hel. Zo kwam het dat Xavier, die ons vergezelde, op een dag in een flits het eiland verliet door in een vertrekkende boot te springen, een deel van zijn bagage daarbij achterlatend.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003eOnverstoord bleven wij duiken, sleutelen, foto\u0026rsquo;s maken en filmen. Ik wilde graag een foto van mezelf, lezend op de zeebodem. Panamarenko wilde graag een film waarop je eerst een haai en een school vissen zag zwemmen en mij daarna zag duiken. Zijn films mislukten keer op keer, omdat ik niet lang genoeg kon duiken voor de langzame, allerlei fauna ontdekkende camerabeweging die Panamarenko in gedachten had. Na elk duik spoedden we ons naar het strand om het gemaakte filmpje te bekijken, dat meestal niets bezienswaardig bevatte, tenzij een klein kleurig visje dat Panamarenko een minuut of twee was achterna gezwommen om daarna, voor zover mogelijk, met een sierlijke camerabeweging mij ergens op de bodem van de zee wandelend aan te treffen, terwijl ik meestal al ergens stikkend een helm probeerde te laten leeglopen door watertrappend hoog genoeg boven het klotsende zeeoppervlak uit te torenen.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003eAan het eind van deze twee weken liepen we naar een afvalcontainer en sloeg Panamarenko beide helmen stuk. Waarschijnlijk wilde hij beletten dat iemand anders onze toestellen met minder geluk zou uitproberen.\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nDe duikboot \u0026Pi;\u0026alpha;\u0026nu;\u0026alpha;\u0026mu;\u0026alpha;\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003eIn juni 1995 liet Panamarenko mij weten dat hij na lang twijfelen tot een nieuwe onderneming had besloten. In een botenwinkel had hij een smaragdgroene dieselgenerator van het merk Lister gezien, die we samen gingen bekijken en dezelfde dag lieten leveren. Rond die generator, vertelde hij, zouden we een duikboot bouwen die als het ware uit die generator tevoorschijn gekomen zou zijn. \u0026lsquo;Omdat die boot al in die generator zat.\u0026rsquo; Als model voor de duikboot maakte hij aangepaste tekeningen van het po\u0026euml;tische object \u003cem\u003eWalvis\u003c/em\u003e uit 1967. Toen gingen we 7 mm dik plaatstaal kopen in een liftenfabriek en begonnen we te plooien, te snijden en te lassen. Enkele platen had hij in repen laten snijden. Daarmee maakten we de profielen voor het skelet van de boot. Rond dit skelet werden platen gelast. Om elke plek te kunnen bereiken, werd de uiteindelijk twee ton wegende duikboot opgehangen aan het plafond en door middel van katrollen en kettingen geroteerd als rond een spit. Het lassen duurde lang, want het devies was: \u0026lsquo;driedubbele las\u0026rsquo;. Er mocht geen druppel binnen kunnen. Zo heb ik drie maanden lang gelast, tot ik vernam dat de boot niet getest zou worden, maar tentoongesteld in een galerie. Voor mij was dat een onoverkomelijk bezwaar. We hadden een plek gevonden bij een jachtclub waar de boot met een kraan op de droge bodem van de Schelde gelegd kon worden en waar we op het stijgende tij konden wachten om te zien of de boot waterdicht was. Jaren later vertelde Panamarenko mij dat hij niet in die mogelijkheid had geloofd. Ik had de boot graag getest, al was het maar om te zien of de driedubbele las geslaagd was.\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nDe vliegboot \u0026lsquo;Scotch Gambit\u0026rsquo;\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003e\u003cem\u003eScotch Gambit\u003c/em\u003e, de steltloper, is een vliegboot op vlotters, aangedreven door twee vliegtuigmotoren. De vlotters en de stelten schoren een basisconstructie die dient als kapstok voor de carrosserie, maar natuurlijk ook de zware motoren draagt. Het geheel bestaat uit drie delen die aan elkaar geschroefd en gegespt worden. Er zijn plannen geweest om de boot in een Scheldedok te laten dobberen, met een aanlegsteiger die zou dalen en rijzen met het getij, maar de stad Antwerpen was niet ge\u0026iuml;nteresseerd. De laatste keer dat ik het met Panamarenko over de boot had, enkele maanden geleden, sprak hij de wens uit de vliegtuigmotoren te vervangen door buitenboordmotoren die op de vlotters geplaatst zouden worden.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003ePanamarenko had mij al enkele keren verteld dat op de zolder het ijzeren skelet van een boot lag, die hij met zijn vader was begonnen lassen, maar waaraan de werken stilgelegd waren na een meningsverschil over de geoorloofdheid van schuttingstaal tijdens het werk. In 1998 arriveerde ik in de galerie van Ronny Van de Velde en zag ik een groot gedeelte van het al verroeste geraamte van de te bouwen boot, die afgewerkt zou worden met twee millimeter plaatstaal. Toen ook de aluminium draagstructuur en de immense vlotters arriveerden, begonnen we met de bouw. Duizenden miniboutjes en nadien parkerschroefjes in iets te grote gaatjes zorgden ervoor dat de platen bleven zitten, maar niet te strak, zodat ze niet verkreukten. Zoals ook al het geval geweest was bij de duikboot, ging het er opnieuw om plaatstaal in twee richtingen te buigen, wat niet mogelijk is zonder blutsen te maken. Zo ontdekte ik dat Panamarenko eigenlijk gestroomlijnde carrosserie\u0026euml;n wilde maken op een onmogelijke manier (zonder te walsen). Bij uitbreiding geldt dit voor zijn hele werk: telkens weer probeert hij iets te verwezenlijken op een manier die bij voorbaat uitgesloten is. En zo leert hij meer over materialen en technieken dan iemand die op een gangbare manier te werk gaat.\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nSlot\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003eToen we in 1990 doken in de Indische oceaan scheen Panamarenko doordrongen te zijn van de uniciteit van dat moment. Als jongeman wist ik niet dat dergelijke momenten zich zelden voordoen. Nu ik zelf de leeftijd heb bereikt die hij toen had, ben ik blij dat ik toen zo\u0026rsquo;n intense ervaring heb meegemaakt, omdat ze een graadmeter is geworden voor alles wat is gevolgd. Op een groezelig koraaleiland van nog geen zes voetbalvelden groot zijn we samen voor heel even ontsnapt aan de griezelwereld van de kunst, niet door het beoefenen van een sport, maar door middel van een zelfgebouwd toestel vechtend met water, lucht en zwaartekracht. \u0026lsquo;Looking for novelty and amusement,\u0026rsquo; schreef ik toen, \u0026lsquo;they proved to be men enough to face the darkness.\u0026rsquo; Ik was een hypochonder die droomde over een lichtvoetiger leven en tijdens deze dagen zowel Conrads \u003cem\u003eHeart of Darkness\u003c/em\u003e als Plutarchus\u0026rsquo; \u003cem\u003eLife of Greeks \u003c/em\u003elas. \u0026lsquo;Rivets!\u0026rsquo; roept de held van \u003cem\u003eHeart of Darkness\u003c/em\u003e uit, \u0026lsquo;we want rivets!\u0026rsquo; De klinknagel als soelaas voor de wanhoop, het sleutelen als geheime remedie tegen de zwarte gal. Geen bricoleren, in de prachtig geformuleerde betekenis die Claude L\u0026eacute;vi-Strauss aan dit woord heeft gegeven: het bewaren van onnutte voorwerpen in de hoop er ooit op een oneigenlijke manier alsnog praktisch profijt uit te kunnen trekken. Want Panamarenko is geen bricoleur, maar een sleutelend denker. En samen met hem verzon ik het personage Bedrich Eisenhoet: een jongeman die wilde worden wie hij was door iets minder te tillen aan de zwarigheden des levens en te fantaseren over een wereld waarin je elke keer met de dingen zou kunnen omgaan alsof het de eerste en tevens de laatste keer was.\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nMontagne de Miel, 2 juli 2014\u003c/p\u003e\r\n"},{"locale":"fr","short_description":"","description":"\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003e\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n__________\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nHans Theys\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cstrong\u003eEchapp\u0026eacute; au monde infernal de l\u0026rsquo;art\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nQuelques mots sur ma collaboration avec Panamarenko\u003c/strong\u003e\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nIntroduction\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003eMa premi\u0026egrave;re rencontre avec Panamarenko a eu lieu en novembre 1988. Il avait 48 ans, moi vingt-cinq. J\u0026rsquo;ai aujourd\u0026rsquo;hui 51 ans et je porte un autre regard sur notre rencontre. En 1988, il y avait \u0026agrave; peine vingt ans que Panamarenko, \u0026agrave; l\u0026rsquo;invitation de Joseph Beuys, avait expos\u0026eacute; \u0026agrave; l\u0026rsquo;Acad\u0026eacute;mie de D\u0026uuml;sseldorf sa sculpture \u003cem\u003eDas Flugzeug\u003c/em\u003e, alors con\u0026ccedil;ue comme un objet po\u0026eacute;tique. Trois ans plus tard, en 1972, Panamarenko exposait \u003cem\u003eThe Aeromodeller\u003c/em\u003e \u0026agrave; la c\u0026eacute;l\u0026egrave;bre \u003cem\u003eDocumenta V\u003c/em\u003e. Ces dates relevaient d\u0026rsquo;un lointain pass\u0026eacute; pour le jeune homme que j\u0026rsquo;\u0026eacute;tais en 1988. Je sais aujourd\u0026rsquo;hui que vingt ans n\u0026rsquo;est pas grand-chose. Ma g\u0026eacute;n\u0026eacute;ration est n\u0026eacute;e vingt ans apr\u0026egrave;s la guerre, et nos parents, qui avaient alors l\u0026rsquo;\u0026acirc;ge de Panamarenko, ont grandi pendant et apr\u0026egrave;s toutes ces horreurs. Un fait non sans importance et ce pour deux raisons : la premi\u0026egrave;re parce qu\u0026rsquo;ils ont \u0026eacute;t\u0026eacute; marqu\u0026eacute;s par la guerre d\u0026rsquo;une mani\u0026egrave;re ou d\u0026rsquo;une autre (c\u0026rsquo;est aussi le cas des parents de Luc Tuymans, qui est n\u0026eacute; en 1958), la deuxi\u0026egrave;me parce qu\u0026rsquo;ils \u0026eacute;taient fascin\u0026eacute;s par les nouvelles possibilit\u0026eacute;s \u0026eacute;conomiques, sociales et culturelles. Je pense que nous pouvons dire que Panamarenko, n\u0026eacute; dans une famille d\u0026rsquo;ouvriers, a grandi dans l\u0026rsquo;angoisse de l\u0026rsquo;ins\u0026eacute;curit\u0026eacute; mat\u0026eacute;rielle, mais aussi dans un monde o\u0026ugrave; la technologie semblait offrir des chances illimit\u0026eacute;es. Une \u0026eacute;poque tr\u0026egrave;s diff\u0026eacute;rente des ann\u0026eacute;es quatre-vingts, o\u0026ugrave; le jeune adulte que j\u0026rsquo;\u0026eacute;tais a grandi dans un monde d\u0026eacute;sillusionn\u0026eacute;, offrant peu de perspectives \u0026eacute;conomiques, et peu d\u0026rsquo;action culturelle, \u0026agrave; l\u0026rsquo;exception du th\u0026eacute;\u0026acirc;tre.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003eBref, j\u0026rsquo;ai rencontr\u0026eacute; Panamarenko en 1988, vingt ans \u0026agrave; peine apr\u0026egrave;s l\u0026rsquo;exposition de \u003cem\u003eDas\u003c/em\u003e \u003cem\u003eFlugzeug\u003c/em\u003e \u0026agrave; D\u0026uuml;sseldorf qui lui avait fait comprendre que les r\u0026eacute;alisations techniques pouvaient relever de l\u0026rsquo;art. Il a con\u0026ccedil;u depuis lors des \u0026lsquo;engins\u0026rsquo; en quantit\u0026eacute;, surtout pendant la premi\u0026egrave;re moiti\u0026eacute; des ann\u0026eacute;es 70, dont la plupart ont \u0026eacute;t\u0026eacute; construits, expos\u0026eacute;s et vendus. J\u0026rsquo;avais \u0026eacute;tudi\u0026eacute; moi-m\u0026ecirc;me la philosophie et la litt\u0026eacute;rature, et, via le th\u0026eacute;\u0026acirc;tre, o\u0026ugrave; j\u0026rsquo;avais jou\u0026eacute; un r\u0026ocirc;le modeste, j\u0026rsquo;\u0026eacute;tais entr\u0026eacute; en contact avec quelques jeunes peintres qui me demand\u0026egrave;rent d\u0026rsquo;\u0026eacute;crire des textes pour eux. Ma formation acad\u0026eacute;mique en mati\u0026egrave;re d\u0026rsquo;art me paraissant insuffisante, je leur avais demand\u0026eacute; le nom de l\u0026rsquo;artiste belge le plus connu du moment, dans l\u0026rsquo;espoir d\u0026rsquo;apprendre quelque chose \u0026agrave; son contact. Ils nomm\u0026egrave;rent tous Panamarenko. (Luc Tuymans, dont j\u0026rsquo;avais d\u0026eacute;j\u0026agrave; vu les \u0026oelig;uvres en 1985 aux thermes d\u0026rsquo;Ostende, n\u0026rsquo;\u0026eacute;tait pas encore connu). J\u0026rsquo;\u0026eacute;ditais \u0026agrave; cette \u0026eacute;poque avec le peintre Damien De Lepeleire une revue artistique publi\u0026eacute; \u0026agrave; une centaine d\u0026rsquo;exemplaires. Je d\u0026eacute;cidai alors d\u0026rsquo;interviewer Panamarenko pour cette revue et demandai \u0026agrave; la critique d\u0026rsquo;art V\u0026eacute;ronique Daneels de me le pr\u0026eacute;senter. Nous avons fait la route dans une modeste voiture familiale. V\u0026eacute;ronique a perdu son chemin dans le centre d\u0026rsquo;Anvers, mais un cycliste \u0026agrave; qui nous demandions s\u0026rsquo;il savait o\u0026ugrave; vivait Panamarenko a propos\u0026eacute; de nous servir de guide, et c\u0026rsquo;est ainsi que j\u0026rsquo;entrai pour la premi\u0026egrave;re fois chez Panamarenko dans le sillage d\u0026rsquo;un cycliste gesticulant et p\u0026eacute;dalant comme un fou.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003eIl fut d\u0026eacute;cid\u0026eacute; lors de cette premi\u0026egrave;re rencontre, qui dura de longues heures, que je reviendrais pour l\u0026rsquo;interview trois mois plus tard, lorsque j\u0026rsquo;aurai tout oubli\u0026eacute; de ce que Panamarenko m\u0026rsquo;avait dit ce jour l\u0026agrave;. L\u0026rsquo;interview parut en encart du magazine le 4 avril 1989. Elle \u0026eacute;tait intitul\u0026eacute;e \u003cem\u003eKnockando\u003c/em\u003e, comme le whisky que nous avions bu lors de notre premi\u0026egrave;re rencontre et compar\u0026eacute; \u0026agrave; la bouteille de Glenfiddich que j\u0026rsquo;avais moi-m\u0026ecirc;me apport\u0026eacute;. V\u0026eacute;ronique Daneels \u0026eacute;tait en effet convaincue que Panamarenko buvait beaucoup de whisky, ce qui n\u0026rsquo;\u0026eacute;tait pas le cas. Il buvait du coca. Il ne buvait de l\u0026rsquo;alcool que quand il \u0026eacute;tait en compagnie, par timidit\u0026eacute; ou par ennui. Panamarenko \u0026eacute;tait alors la premi\u0026egrave;re personne que je rencontrai qui faisait des choses passionnantes et ne buvait pas.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003eJ\u0026rsquo;avais semble-t-il moi aussi quelque chose \u0026agrave; lui offrir. Il me demanda si Wittgenstein, Nietzsche et d\u0026rsquo;autres penseurs et \u0026eacute;crivains \u0026eacute;taient si sp\u0026eacute;ciaux qu\u0026rsquo;on le disait : \u0026laquo;\u0026nbsp;Je vous le demande,\u0026nbsp;\u0026raquo; m\u0026rsquo;\u0026eacute;crivait-il, \u0026laquo;\u0026nbsp;la litt\u0026eacute;rature, \u0026ccedil;a existe\u0026nbsp;?\u0026nbsp;\u0026raquo; Je lui fournissais des livres, qu\u0026rsquo;il lisait parfois en une nuit, comme \u003cem\u003ePar-del\u0026agrave; le bien et le mal\u003c/em\u003e. Il le d\u0026eacute;vora avec enthousiasme, en fit son livre de chevet et dessina la nuit m\u0026ecirc;me une nouvelle couverture pour ce livre.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003eEntre 1989 et 1998, j\u0026rsquo;ai travaill\u0026eacute; plusieurs fois avec Panamarenko sur une nouvelle sculpture, je l\u0026rsquo;ai aid\u0026eacute; \u0026agrave; monter des expositions, \u0026eacute;crit des textes et des livres, r\u0026eacute;alis\u0026eacute; des photos et des films vid\u0026eacute;o sur son \u0026oelig;uvre. Nous avons fait notre premier voyage ensemble en juin 1989, \u0026agrave; Furkapas en Suisse, pour tenter de faire tourner un moteur \u0026agrave; pastilles. Nous avons essay\u0026eacute; sans succ\u0026egrave;s pendant deux semaines. Nous avons modifi\u0026eacute; et huil\u0026eacute; les parois, revu le m\u0026eacute;lange de combustible, nettoy\u0026eacute; la bougie des dizaines de fois, mais en vain. C\u0026rsquo;est ainsi que j\u0026rsquo;ai vu que Panamarenko prenait tout cela tr\u0026egrave;s au s\u0026eacute;rieux, alors que ce type d\u0026rsquo;exp\u0026eacute;rience s\u0026rsquo;achevait toujours de la m\u0026ecirc;me fa\u0026ccedil;on : l\u0026rsquo;engin \u0026eacute;tait abandonn\u0026eacute; avant m\u0026ecirc;me d\u0026rsquo;\u0026ecirc;tre achev\u0026eacute; et vendu \u0026agrave; un mus\u0026eacute;e de Lyon. Les outils aux riches couleurs et les pi\u0026egrave;ces d\u0026eacute;tach\u0026eacute;es que nous avions laiss\u0026eacute;s avec la machine fix\u0026eacute;e \u0026agrave; une table avaient \u0026eacute;t\u0026eacute; gard\u0026eacute;s par le vendeur par pingrerie, si bien que l\u0026rsquo;aventure devenait invisible pour le visiteur du mus\u0026eacute;e. Nous sommes revenus en septembre de la m\u0026ecirc;me ann\u0026eacute;e pour tester un petit tank con\u0026ccedil;u pour un glacier : \u003cem\u003ePrins Misjkin\u003c/em\u003e. Le petit v\u0026eacute;hicule \u0026eacute;tait activ\u0026eacute; par deux perceuses \u0026eacute;lectriques. Les roues dent\u0026eacute;es et la cha\u0026icirc;ne posaient des probl\u0026egrave;mes. Panamarenko semblait avoir totalement d\u0026eacute;vi\u0026eacute; de son \u0026oelig;uvre et ce n\u0026rsquo;\u0026eacute;tait apparemment qu\u0026rsquo;un jouet. Mais ce n\u0026rsquo;\u0026eacute;tait qu\u0026rsquo;une impression, car Panamarenko n\u0026rsquo;a toujours fait que des jouets, tout en exigeant la plus grande rigueur. En juin 1990, nous nous sommes envol\u0026eacute;s pour les Maldives afin de tester son scaphandre \u003cem\u003ePortuguese Man of War\u003c/em\u003e. En septembre 1990, nous avons travaill\u0026eacute; sur la voiture volante \u003cem\u003eK2\u003c/em\u003e. En 1992, nous avons test\u0026eacute; avec le galeriste Tokoro un nouveau \u003cem\u003eBig Elbow\u003c/em\u003e dans la mer entre le Japon et la Chine. En 1995, je l\u0026rsquo;ai aid\u0026eacute; \u0026agrave; construire la plateforme volante \u003cem\u003eBernouilli\u003c/em\u003e et le sous-marin \u003cem\u003ePanama\u003c/em\u003e. En 1998, j\u0026rsquo;ai particip\u0026eacute; \u0026agrave; la construction de l\u0026rsquo;hydravion \u003cem\u003eScotch Gambit\u003c/em\u003e.\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nLe scaphandre \u003cem\u003ePortuguese Man of War\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003ePuisque j\u0026rsquo;ai \u0026eacute;t\u0026eacute; invit\u0026eacute; par MuZee \u0026agrave; relater nos aventures maritimes, je commencerai par le \u003cem\u003ePortuguese man of War\u003c/em\u003e, un scaphandre qui porte le nom d\u0026rsquo;une esp\u0026egrave;ce de m\u0026eacute;duse. L\u0026rsquo;id\u0026eacute;e du \u003cem\u003ePortuguese Man of War\u003c/em\u003e est n\u0026eacute;e lors des tests d\u0026rsquo;un type de v\u0026eacute;lo sous-marin appel\u0026eacute; \u003cem\u003eElleboog\u003c/em\u003e ou \u003cem\u003eBig Elbow\u003c/em\u003e. Panamarenko voulait d\u0026rsquo;abord tester le \u003cem\u003eElleboog\u003c/em\u003e dans l\u0026rsquo;Escaut occidental parce qu\u0026rsquo;il avait entendu dire qu\u0026rsquo;un monsieur important du monde mus\u0026eacute;al, qui faisait de la plong\u0026eacute;e sous-marine, y avait attrap\u0026eacute; un homard d\u0026rsquo;un m\u0026egrave;tre et demi de long. Mais nous avons \u0026eacute;t\u0026eacute; un peu d\u0026eacute;courag\u0026eacute;s par ces eaux sombres et froides et nous avons d\u0026eacute;cid\u0026eacute; d\u0026rsquo;aller tester l\u0026rsquo;engin ailleurs. Pendant des semaines, nous avons lou\u0026eacute; une piscine publique de la Montagne de Miel, o\u0026ugrave; nous avons pu bricoler, faire des photos et filmer. C\u0026rsquo;est dans cette piscine que j\u0026rsquo;ai appris \u0026agrave; nager les yeux ouverts pour prendre des photos sous l\u0026rsquo;eau.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003e\u003cem\u003eElleboog\u003c/em\u003e \u0026eacute;tait constitu\u0026eacute; d\u0026rsquo;un manche avec \u0026agrave; une extr\u0026eacute;mit\u0026eacute; une poign\u0026eacute;e et/ou une courroie ceinturant l\u0026rsquo;engin et de l\u0026rsquo;autre c\u0026ocirc;t\u0026eacute; une bou\u0026eacute;e, des p\u0026eacute;dales et une h\u0026eacute;lice. Je me souviens de quatre h\u0026eacute;lices de formes et de mat\u0026eacute;riaux diff\u0026eacute;rents : fibre de carbone, bois et m\u0026eacute;tal. L\u0026rsquo;id\u0026eacute;e \u0026eacute;tait qu\u0026rsquo;elles soient ni trop grandes ni trop lourdes, mais d\u0026eacute;placent beaucoup d\u0026rsquo;eau. Pour tester \u003cem\u003eElleboog\u003c/em\u003e, Panamarenko avait con\u0026ccedil;u un masque de plong\u0026eacute;e sp\u0026eacute;cial \u0026agrave; tranch\u0026eacute;e. Il laissait \u0026eacute;chapper l\u0026rsquo;exc\u0026eacute;dent d\u0026rsquo;eau en tirant sur le menton \u0026eacute;lastique du masque au-dessus de l\u0026rsquo;eau. C\u0026rsquo;est certainement ainsi que lui vint l\u0026rsquo;id\u0026eacute;e du \u003cem\u003ePortuguese Man of War\u003c/em\u003e, le principe \u0026eacute;tant que le plongeur adaptait la pression dans le casque de plong\u0026eacute;e \u0026agrave; la pression environnante en pompant plus ou moins d\u0026rsquo;air dans le casque, achemin\u0026eacute; par un tuyau transparent fix\u0026eacute; \u0026agrave; une chambre \u0026agrave; air gonfl\u0026eacute;e qui flottait \u0026agrave; la surface de l\u0026rsquo;eau. En cas de pression excessive dans le casque, l\u0026rsquo;air s\u0026rsquo;\u0026eacute;chappait par le bas par un rabat en caoutchouc mobile qui entourait le cou. Ce m\u0026ecirc;me rabat permettait de faire entrer l\u0026rsquo;eau en cas de sous-pression. Le plongeur savait donc qu\u0026rsquo;il devait pomper plus fort quand son casque se remplissait d\u0026rsquo;eau. Il y avait deux blocs de plomb coll\u0026eacute;s au casque. Le plongeur \u0026eacute;tait encore reli\u0026eacute; par de fines cordes \u0026agrave; une courroie entourant la coque du scaphandre. Le plomb et les cordes emp\u0026ecirc;chaient que le casque remonte \u0026agrave; la surface sous la pression de l\u0026rsquo;air. Le plongeur portait en plus une ceinture de plomb. La machine fut contr\u0026ocirc;l\u0026eacute;e un jour par un instructeur de plongeur qui se sentait responsable mais nous procura quand m\u0026ecirc;me du plomb suppl\u0026eacute;mentaire.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003ePlus le plongeur s\u0026rsquo;enfon\u0026ccedil;ait en marchant dans le fond corallien, plus il devait pomper. Il arrivait que quelque chose casse ou que le plongeur soit \u0026eacute;puis\u0026eacute; apr\u0026egrave;s quelques minutes par l\u0026rsquo;effort et l\u0026rsquo;angoisse \u0026agrave; peine contenue et que le casque se remplisse d\u0026rsquo;eau. Il fallait alors qu\u0026rsquo;il d\u0026eacute;tache la ceinture de plomb (et non la courroie, qui avait la m\u0026ecirc;me fermeture) pour pouvoir remonter \u0026agrave; la surface. Un fois \u0026agrave; la surface, le casque ne se vidait pourtant pas tant que le plongeur ne sortait pas suffisamment le rabat en caoutchouc hors de l\u0026rsquo;eau, ce qu\u0026rsquo;il ne pouvait pas faire seul puisque le casque \u0026eacute;tait fix\u0026eacute; \u0026agrave; la courroie. Le plongeur devait absolument garder son calme et trouver un rocher pour s\u0026rsquo;y accrocher ou une deuxi\u0026egrave;me personne devait le hisser hors de l\u0026rsquo;eau pour lui permettre d\u0026rsquo;\u0026eacute;vacuer l\u0026rsquo;eau. Il arriva ainsi que je fr\u0026ocirc;le la noyade, cern\u0026eacute; d\u0026rsquo;eau, avec une vue trouble d\u0026rsquo;une \u0026icirc;le tropicale jusqu\u0026rsquo;\u0026agrave; ce que le bras d\u0026rsquo;un g\u0026eacute;ant qui s\u0026rsquo;accrochait lui-m\u0026ecirc;me \u0026agrave; un rocher se soul\u0026egrave;ve hors de l\u0026rsquo;eau juste \u0026agrave; temps. Nos tests dur\u0026egrave;rent deux semaines. On bricolait chaque jour sur les scaphandres avec les moyens du bord, notamment un gant en caoutchouc du cuisinier dont une partie devait emp\u0026ecirc;cher que l\u0026rsquo;eau entre dans l\u0026rsquo;arriv\u0026eacute;e d\u0026rsquo;air par l\u0026rsquo;axe de la pompe. Nous mangions chaque jour des morceaux de poisson qui venaient probablement d\u0026rsquo;un grand cong\u0026eacute;lateur. Il y avait aussi une petite baraque o\u0026ugrave; on pouvait commander des glaces, mais qui, en d\u0026eacute;pit d\u0026rsquo;une carte impressionnante, ne vendait qu\u0026rsquo;un seul parfum. Il y avait aussi une petite boutique o\u0026ugrave; il n\u0026rsquo;y avait rien \u0026agrave; vendre sauf des serviettes de bain aux imprim\u0026eacute;s criards et des souvenirs sans int\u0026eacute;r\u0026ecirc;t. Les serviettes et les v\u0026ecirc;tements ne s\u0026eacute;chaient jamais. Il n\u0026rsquo;y avait pas de climatisation. Beaucoup de moustiques et de fourmis en revanche, que Panamarenko trouvait plut\u0026ocirc;t sympathiques jusqu\u0026rsquo;\u0026agrave; ce qu\u0026rsquo;elles se mettent \u0026agrave; former une colonne sur son lit, mordant tout sur leur passage. En un mot, c\u0026rsquo;\u0026eacute;tait l\u0026rsquo;enfer. Xavier, qui nous avait accompagn\u0026eacute;s, quitta l\u0026rsquo;\u0026icirc;le d\u0026rsquo;un jour \u0026agrave; l\u0026rsquo;autre en sautant dans un bateau, abandonnant derri\u0026egrave;re lui une partie de ses bagages.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003eImperturbables, nous avons continu\u0026eacute; \u0026agrave; plonger, bricoler, prendre des photos et filmer. Je voulais une photo de moi-m\u0026ecirc;me lisant au fond de l\u0026rsquo;oc\u0026eacute;an. Panamarenko voulait faire un film dans lequel on voyait d\u0026rsquo;abord nager un requin et un banc de poissons, puis moi plongeant. Ses films rataient les uns apr\u0026egrave;s les autres, parce que je ne pouvais jamais plonger assez longtemps pour le balayage de la cam\u0026eacute;ra d\u0026eacute;couvrant lentement la faune que Panamarenko avait en t\u0026ecirc;te. Apr\u0026egrave;s chaque descente, nous retournions en h\u0026acirc;te sur la plage pour visionner le film, qui ne contenait g\u0026eacute;n\u0026eacute;ralement rien d\u0026rsquo;int\u0026eacute;ressant, si ce n\u0026rsquo;est un petit poisson color\u0026eacute; que Panamarenko avait suivi une minute ou deux pour ensuite, d\u0026rsquo;un joli mouvement de cam\u0026eacute;ra, me filmer marchant au fond de la mer, tandis que, suffoquant, j\u0026rsquo;essayais de vider le casque en me hissant assez haut au-dessus des vaguelettes.\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nAu bout de ces deux semaines, nous sommes all\u0026eacute;s jusqu\u0026rsquo;\u0026agrave; un conteneur de d\u0026eacute;chets et Panamarenko a bris\u0026eacute; les deux casques. Il voulait sans doute \u0026eacute;viter que quelqu\u0026rsquo;un d\u0026rsquo;autre essaye nos engins avec moins de succ\u0026egrave;s.\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nLe sous-marin \u003cem\u003ePANAMA\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003eEn juin 1995, Panamarenko m\u0026rsquo;informa qu\u0026rsquo;apr\u0026egrave;s avoir beaucoup h\u0026eacute;sit\u0026eacute;, il avait d\u0026eacute;cid\u0026eacute; de se lancer dans une nouvelle entreprise. Il avait rep\u0026eacute;r\u0026eacute; dans un magasin de bateaux un g\u0026eacute;n\u0026eacute;rateur diesel vert \u0026eacute;meraude de la marque Lister, que nous sommes all\u0026eacute; examiner ensemble et avons fait livrer le jour m\u0026ecirc;me. Nous allions, m\u0026rsquo;expliqua-t-il, construire autour de ce g\u0026eacute;n\u0026eacute;rateur un sous-marin qui aurait l\u0026rsquo;air de sortir du g\u0026eacute;n\u0026eacute;rateur. \u0026laquo;\u0026nbsp;Parce que le bateau \u0026eacute;tait d\u0026eacute;j\u0026agrave; dans le g\u0026eacute;n\u0026eacute;rateur.\u0026nbsp;\u0026raquo; Il se basa sur des dessins corrig\u0026eacute;s de son objet po\u0026eacute;tique \u003cem\u003eWalvis\u003c/em\u003e de 1967. Nous avons alors achet\u0026eacute; de l\u0026rsquo;acier en plaque de 7 mm d\u0026rsquo;\u0026eacute;paisseur chez un fabricant d\u0026rsquo;ascenseurs et nous nous sommes mis \u0026agrave; plier, couper et souder. Il fit d\u0026eacute;couper quelques plaques en lamelles, avec lesquelles nous avons fabriqu\u0026eacute; les profils de la structure du bateau. Les plaques furent ensuite soud\u0026eacute;es autour de ce squelette. Pour pouvoir atteindre le sous-marin sous tous les angles, la pi\u0026egrave;ce de deux tonnes fut suspendue au plafond et pivot\u0026eacute;e par des poulies et des cha\u0026icirc;nes comme une pi\u0026egrave;ce de viande \u0026agrave; r\u0026ocirc;tir. Les travaux de soudure dur\u0026egrave;rent tr\u0026egrave;s longtemps, selon le principe de la triple soudure. L\u0026rsquo;engin devait \u0026ecirc;tre enti\u0026egrave;rement \u0026eacute;tanche. J\u0026rsquo;ai donc fait de la soudure pendant trois mois, jusqu\u0026rsquo;\u0026agrave; ce que j\u0026rsquo;apprenne que le but n\u0026rsquo;\u0026eacute;tait de tester le bateau dans l\u0026rsquo;eau, mais de l\u0026rsquo;exposer dans une galerie. Ce fut un coup dur pour moi. Nous avions trouv\u0026eacute; un club de yacht o\u0026ugrave; on pouvait poser le bateau sur le fond de l\u0026rsquo;Escaut \u0026agrave; mar\u0026eacute;e basse et attendre que l\u0026rsquo;eau monte pour v\u0026eacute;rifier l\u0026rsquo;\u0026eacute;tanch\u0026eacute;it\u0026eacute; du bateau. Des ann\u0026eacute;es plus tard, Panamarenko me confia qu\u0026rsquo;il n\u0026rsquo;avait jamais cru en cette possibilit\u0026eacute;. J\u0026rsquo;aurai bien aim\u0026eacute; tester le bateau, si ce n\u0026rsquo;est que pour v\u0026eacute;rifier l\u0026rsquo;efficacit\u0026eacute; de la triple soudure.\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nL\u0026rsquo;hydravion \u003cem\u003eScotch Gambit\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003eL\u0026rsquo;\u0026eacute;chassier Scotch Gambit est un hydravion sur flotteurs propuls\u0026eacute; par deux moteurs d\u0026rsquo;avion. Les flotteurs et les \u0026eacute;chasses forment une structure de base qui sert de support \u0026agrave; la carrosserie, mais portent naturellement aussi les lourds moteurs. Le tout est en trois parties viss\u0026eacute;es et fix\u0026eacute;es entre elles. Il \u0026eacute;tait pr\u0026eacute;vu de faire flotter le bateau dans un bassin de l\u0026rsquo;Escaut, avec un ponton qui s\u0026rsquo;enfoncerait et s\u0026rsquo;\u0026eacute;l\u0026egrave;verait avec la mar\u0026eacute;e, mais la Ville d\u0026rsquo;Anvers n\u0026rsquo;\u0026eacute;tait pas int\u0026eacute;ress\u0026eacute;e. La derni\u0026egrave;re fois que j\u0026rsquo;ai parl\u0026eacute; du bateau avec Panamarenko, il y a quelques mois, il a \u0026eacute;mis le souhait de remplacer les moteurs d\u0026rsquo;avion par des moteurs de hors-bord qui seraient plac\u0026eacute;s sur les flotteurs.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003ePanamarenko m\u0026rsquo;avait dit \u0026agrave; plusieurs reprises qu\u0026rsquo;il avait encore au grenier le squelette en fer d\u0026rsquo;un bateau qu\u0026rsquo;il avait commenc\u0026eacute; \u0026agrave; souder avec son p\u0026egrave;re, mais avait arr\u0026ecirc;t\u0026eacute; les travaux apr\u0026egrave;s un diff\u0026eacute;rend sur le bien-fond\u0026eacute; d\u0026rsquo;employer un langage de charretier en travaillant. En 1998, je suis all\u0026eacute; \u0026agrave; la galerie de Ronny Van de Velde et y ai vu une grande partie du squelette entre temps rouill\u0026eacute; du bateau \u0026agrave; construire, qui devait \u0026ecirc;tre parachev\u0026eacute; avec de l\u0026rsquo;acier en plaque de deux millim\u0026egrave;tres d\u0026rsquo;\u0026eacute;paisseur. Nous avons commenc\u0026eacute; la construction lorsque la structure porteuse en aluminium et les immenses flotteurs sont arriv\u0026eacute;s. Les plaques \u0026eacute;taient fix\u0026eacute;es par des milliers de boulons miniatures puis des vis Parker pour les trous un peu trop grands mais sans trop serrer, sans quoi la t\u0026ocirc;le risquait de se froisser. Comme dans le cas du sous-marin, il fallait plier l\u0026rsquo;acier dans deux directions, ce qui n\u0026rsquo;\u0026eacute;tait pas possible sans faire des bosses. C\u0026rsquo;est ainsi que j\u0026rsquo;ai d\u0026eacute;couvert que Panamarenko voulait en fait produire des carrosseries fusel\u0026eacute;es d\u0026rsquo;une mani\u0026egrave;re impossible (c\u0026rsquo;est-\u0026agrave;-dire sans laminage). C\u0026rsquo;est en fait toujours la m\u0026ecirc;me chose : il essaye chaque fois de r\u0026eacute;aliser quelque chose d\u0026rsquo;une mani\u0026egrave;re qui est de pr\u0026eacute;f\u0026eacute;rence exclue. Il en apprend ainsi davantage sur les mat\u0026eacute;riaux et les techniques que celui qui s\u0026rsquo;en tient aux m\u0026eacute;thodes courantes.\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nConclusion\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"text-align: justify;\"\u003eLorsque nous plongions dans l\u0026rsquo;oc\u0026eacute;an Indien en 1990, Panamarenko semblait impr\u0026eacute;gn\u0026eacute; du caract\u0026egrave;re unique du moment. Le jeune homme que j\u0026rsquo;\u0026eacute;tais ne savait pas \u0026agrave; quel point de tels moments sont rares. Maintenant que j\u0026rsquo;ai atteint l\u0026rsquo;\u0026acirc;ge qu\u0026rsquo;il avait alors, je suis heureux d\u0026rsquo;avoir particip\u0026eacute; \u0026agrave; une exp\u0026eacute;rience d\u0026rsquo;une telle intensit\u0026eacute;, parce qu\u0026rsquo;elle est devenue la mesure de tout ce qui a suivi. Sur une \u0026icirc;le corallienne peu hospitali\u0026egrave;re grande comme \u0026agrave; peine six terrains de foot, nous avons \u0026eacute;chapp\u0026eacute; un instant \u0026agrave; l\u0026rsquo;univers infernal de l\u0026rsquo;art, non pas en pratiquant un sport, mais en nous mesurant avec un engin de notre fabrication \u0026agrave; l\u0026rsquo;eau, l\u0026rsquo;air et la gravitation. \u0026laquo;\u0026nbsp;En cherchant la nouveaut\u0026eacute; et l\u0026rsquo;amusement,\u0026nbsp;\u0026raquo; ai-je alors \u0026eacute;crit, \u0026laquo;\u0026nbsp;ils se sont r\u0026eacute;v\u0026eacute;l\u0026eacute;s assez hommes pour affronter les t\u0026eacute;n\u0026egrave;bres.\u0026nbsp;\u0026raquo; J\u0026rsquo;\u0026eacute;tais un hypochondriaque qui r\u0026ecirc;vait d\u0026rsquo;une vie plus insouciante et je lisais \u0026agrave; l\u0026rsquo;\u0026eacute;poque aussi bien \u003cem\u003eAu c\u0026oelig;ur des t\u0026eacute;n\u0026egrave;bres\u003c/em\u003e de Conrad que \u003cem\u003eLa vie des Grecs\u003c/em\u003e de Plutarque. \u0026laquo;\u0026nbsp;Des rivets!\u0026nbsp;\u0026raquo;, s\u0026rsquo;\u0026eacute;crie le h\u0026eacute;ros de \u003cem\u003eAu c\u0026oelig;ur des t\u0026eacute;n\u0026egrave;bres\u003c/em\u003e, \u0026laquo;\u0026nbsp;nous voulons des rivets!\u0026nbsp;\u0026raquo;. Le rivet comme solution du d\u0026eacute;sespoir, le bricolage comme rem\u0026egrave;de secret contre l\u0026rsquo;atrabile. Pas du bricolage dans le sens superbement formul\u0026eacute; par Claude L\u0026eacute;vi-Strauss : la conservation d\u0026rsquo;objets inutiles en vertu du principe que \u0026laquo;\u0026nbsp;\u0026ccedil;a peut toujours servir\u0026nbsp;\u0026raquo;. Car Panamarenko n\u0026rsquo;est pas un bricoleur, mais un penseur qui bricole. Ne serait-ce d\u0026eacute;j\u0026agrave; dans les titres de ses \u0026oelig;uvres! \u003cem\u003ePolistes\u003c/em\u003e! Le cynips vert sombre avec une taille de gu\u0026ecirc;pe \u0026agrave; la Ava Gardner. \u003cem\u003eScotch Gambit\u003c/em\u003e! Des hommes avec des jupes d\u0026eacute;couvrant leurs bijoux de famille, mais aussi un terme du jeu d\u0026rsquo;\u0026eacute;checs destin\u0026eacute; \u0026agrave; tromper les adeptes du concept franco-am\u0026eacute;ricain. Et avec Panamarenko, j\u0026rsquo;ai imagin\u0026eacute; un personnage qui voulait devenir ce qu\u0026rsquo;il \u0026eacute;tait en se laissant moins plomber par les difficult\u0026eacute;s de la vie et en r\u0026ecirc;vant d\u0026rsquo;un monde o\u0026ugrave; on appr\u0026eacute;hende les choses comme si c\u0026rsquo;\u0026eacute;tait la premi\u0026egrave;re et la derni\u0026egrave;re fois.\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nMontagne de Miel, 2 juillet 2014\u003c/p\u003e\r\n"},{"locale":"ru","short_description":"","description":""},{"locale":"de","short_description":"","description":"\u003cp style=\"color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: sans-serif,Arial,Verdana,\u0026amp;quot;trebuchet ms\u0026amp;quot;; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;\"\u003e\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n__________\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nHans Theys\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cstrong\u003eEscaping a creepy world of art \u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nOn being with Panamarenko\u003c/strong\u003e\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nIntroduction\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nMy first encounter with Panamarenko was in November 1988. He was 48 years old at the time, I was 25. Now that I am 51, I view that first meeting in a different light. In 1988 it was just twenty years since Joseph Beuys had invited Panamarenko to exhibit \u003cem\u003eDas Flugzeug\u003c/em\u003e (The Aeroplane) \u0026ndash; then regarded as a poetic object \u0026ndash; at D\u0026uuml;sseldorf academy. Three years later, in 1972, Panamarenko showed \u003cem\u003eThe Aeromodeller\u003c/em\u003e at the famous \u0026lsquo;Documenta V\u0026rsquo;. In 1988 those dates seemed to me very distant. Now I understand that twenty years is nothing and that for my generation, for example, it was not without its significance that we had been born just twenty years after the end of the Second World War and that our parents, who were as old as Panamarenko, had grown up during and shortly after those horrors. The timing was not without its significance for two reasons. Firstly, because my parents\u0026rsquo; generation had been marked in some way by the war (the same applied for example to the parents of Luc Tuymans, who was born in 1958) and, secondly, because they were inspired by the new economic, social and cultural possibilities. I believe it is true to say that Panamarenko, whose parents were workers, grew up in an angst-ridden atmosphere of material uncertainty, but also in a world in which the new technological possibilities seemed inexhaustible. The 1980s were very different, when as a young adult I grew up in a world of disillusionment, with limited economic prospects and, apart from in the theatre, little cultural movement. \u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: sans-serif,Arial,Verdana,\u0026amp;quot;trebuchet ms\u0026amp;quot;; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;\"\u003eBe this as it may, I met Panamarenko in 1988, barely twenty years after the exhibition in D\u0026uuml;sseldorf where he had shown \u003cem\u003eDas\u003c/em\u003e \u003cem\u003eFlugzeug\u003c/em\u003e, which had awoken him to the fact that technical realizations could be deemed to belong to the domain of art. In the meantime, and especially during the first half of the 1970s, he had developed numerous \u0026lsquo;contraptions\u0026rsquo;, most of which had been built, exhibited and sold. I myself had studied Philosophy and Literature and through the theatre world in which I had played a modest role, I had got to know several young painters who asked me if I would write about their work. Because my academic studies seemed to me insufficient qualification for the task, I asked them who they regarded as the most famous artist in Belgium, in the hope of learning more about that artist. Panamarenko\u0026rsquo;s name came up every time. (Luc Tuymans, whose work I had seen at the Thermae Palace in Ostend in 1985, was as yet unknown). At the time, the painter Damien De Lepeleire and I were publishing an art journal which had a circulation of around 100 copies. I decided to interview Panamarenko for the journal and asked the art critic V\u0026eacute;ronique Daneels to introduce me to him. We drove to Antwerp in a modest family car, but in the city centre Daneels lost her way. When we asked a cyclist if he knew where Panamarenko lived, he suggested that he lead the way on his bicycle and that was how I arrived at Panamarenko\u0026rsquo;s house for the first time, trying to keep up with a frantically pedalling and wildly gesticulating cyclist.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: sans-serif,Arial,Verdana,\u0026amp;quot;trebuchet ms\u0026amp;quot;; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;\"\u003eDuring that first meeting, which lasted many hours, we agreed that I should return in three months for the interview, by which time I would have forgotten everything Panamarenko had told me that day. And that is what happened. The interview appeared as a supplement to the journal on April 4th 1989. It was called \u003cem\u003eKnockando\u003c/em\u003e, after the whisky we had drunk during our first meeting and compared to the contents of a bottle of Glenfiddich which I had taken along. V\u0026eacute;ronique Daneels was sure that Panamarenko drank a lot of whisky, which turned out not to be the case at all. In fact, he drank Coca Cola. He only drank alcohol when he was with other people and feeling disconcerted or bored. Panamarenko was the first person I met who did fascinating things and didn\u0026rsquo;t drink. \u0026nbsp;\u0026nbsp;\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: sans-serif,Arial,Verdana,\u0026amp;quot;trebuchet ms\u0026amp;quot;; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;\"\u003eAt the same time, I had something to offer him. He wondered if Wittgenstein, Nietzsche and other philosophers and writers were really as extraordinary as was claimed: \u0026ldquo;I am asking your advice on the subject\u0026rdquo;, he wrote to me. \u0026ldquo;Is there such a thing as literature?\u0026rdquo; I supplied him with books, which he sometimes read in one night, including Nietzsche\u0026rsquo;s\u003cem\u003e Beyond Good and Evil\u003c/em\u003e. He enthusiastically labelled it his favourite book and designed a new cover for it that same night.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: sans-serif,Arial,Verdana,\u0026amp;quot;trebuchet ms\u0026amp;quot;; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;\"\u003eBetween 1989 and 1998 I worked with Panamarenko on several new sculptures, I helped him build exhibitions and I produced texts, books, photographs and video films about his work. The first time, in June 1989, we set off together to the Furka Pass in Switzerland to try and get a Pastille motor to work. We spent two weeks trying, to no avail. But we certainly gave it our best shot. The partitions were adjusted and oiled, the fuel mixture was adapted, the spark plug was cleaned scores of times, yet nothing helped. This is how I came to realize that Panamarenko was serious about his work and I saw how this kind of experiment inevitably met the same sort of end: it was left in a state of incompletion and sold to a museum in Lyon. The complex apparatus and the various tools we had left behind together with the contrivance attached to a table, were withheld by the miserly dealer, thereby depriving the museum visitor of the adventure. In September of that same year we returned to test a small glacier tank called \u003cem\u003e\u003cem\u003ePrince\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/em\u003e \u003cem\u003e\u003cem\u003eMyshkin\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/em\u003e, which was powered by two electric drills. The main problems were with the gears and the chain. This time, it seemed, Panamarenko had deviated altogether from his oeuvre and was just busying himself with some sort of toy. But this was mere semblance. Panamarenko only ever made toys and he tackled them with the earnestness they deserved. In June 1990 we flew to the Maldives to test the diving equipment \u003cem\u003ePortuguese Man of War\u003c/em\u003e. In September 1990 we worked on the flying car \u003cem\u003eK2\u003c/em\u003e. In 1992 we tested a new \u003cem\u003eBig Elbow\u003c/em\u003e in the sea between Japan and China together with the gallery owner Tokoro. In 1995 I helped Panamarenko build the flying platform \u003cem\u003eBernouilli\u003c/em\u003e and the submarine \u003cem\u003ePanama\u003c/em\u003e and in 1998 the flying boat \u003cem\u003eScotch Gambit\u003c/em\u003e.\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nThe\u003cem\u003e Portuguese Man of War \u003c/em\u003ediving apparatus\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: sans-serif,Arial,Verdana,\u0026amp;quot;trebuchet ms\u0026amp;quot;; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;\"\u003eMuZee invited me to say something about our maritime adventures, so I will begin with the \u003cem\u003ePortuguese Man of War\u003c/em\u003e, a set of diving equipment named after a jelly-like marine animal. The run-up to the \u003cem\u003ePortuguese Man of War\u003c/em\u003e involved testing a sort of underwater bicycle named \u003cem\u003eElleboog\u003c/em\u003e or \u003cem\u003eBig Elbow\u003c/em\u003e. At first Panamarenko wanted to test \u003cem\u003eElbow\u003c/em\u003e in the West Scheldt because he had heard that a well-known gentleman from the museum world, who also went deep-sea diving, had once caught a one-and-a-half-meter lobster there. Slightly disheartened, we stood on the bank of this large, dark and cold expanse of water and decided to try somewhere else. Week after week we hired a public swimming pool in Montagne de Miel where we could tinker, take photographs and film undisturbed. In that swimming pool I learned to swim with open eyes so as to be able to take photographs under water.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: sans-serif,Arial,Verdana,\u0026amp;quot;trebuchet ms\u0026amp;quot;; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;\"\u003e\u003cem\u003eElbow\u003c/em\u003e consisted of a staff with a handle on one side and/or a belt to gird the device and, on the other side, a buoy, pedals and a screw propeller. The bulk of the work was designing the handle, the buoy and in particular the screw propeller. I remember four screw propellers which differed in shape and material. They were made of carbon-fibre, wood and one partly of metal. The idea was that they should not be too big or too heavy, but displace a lot of water. To test \u003cem\u003eElbow\u003c/em\u003e Panamarenko had made a special diving mask with a windpipe. He just pulled on the elastic chinstrap above water to allow excess water to escape. This may have been what led to the principle of the \u003cem\u003ePortuguese Man of War\u003c/em\u003e, which consisted of the diver adjusting the pressure in the diver\u0026rsquo;s helmet to the pressure round about by pumping more or less air into the helmet, which was conveyed through a transparent hose attached to an inflated inner tube that bobbed up and down on the surface of the sea. If there was excess pressure in the helmet, the air escaped at the bottom through a movable rubber flap which encircled the neck. If there was too little pressure, then that same flap allowed the water in. So the diver knew when he had to pump harder: when his helmet filled up with water. Two lead blocks were stuck onto the helmet. The helmet was also attached by means of lengths of string to a halter which encircled the diver\u0026rsquo;s body. Both precautions prevented the helmet shooting up when under water because of the air content. The diver also wore a lead belt. One day the apparatus was checked by a diving instructor who felt responsible, but after that he nevertheless supplied us with extra lead.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: sans-serif,Arial,Verdana,\u0026amp;quot;trebuchet ms\u0026amp;quot;; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;\"\u003eThe deeper the diver walked over the coral reef, the harder he had to pump. Often, however, something would break or the diver was exhausted after just a few minutes by the effort and the barely suppressed fear, so that the helmet filled up with water. Then it was a question of releasing the lead belt (and not the halter, which had the same closure) so as to be able to resurface. Once back up, the helmet didn\u0026rsquo;t empty, however, because the rubber border around your neck had to be above the water surface which was impossible to achieve on your own because the helmet was fixed to the halter. You had to remain calm and find a rock to clamber onto or someone had to raise you up out of the water so that you could let the water escape. And so it was that I almost drowned a couple of times, surrounded by air, with a murky view of a tropical island, until the arm of a giant, who himself was holding onto a rock, raised me above the water in the nick of time. Our experiments lasted two weeks. Every day we tinkered with the diving equipment with the few resources available, including a rubber glove belonging to the cook, a part of which had to prevent water getting into the air supply through the pump shaft. Every day we ate fried chunks of fish, which had probably come from a large deep-freeze. There was also a shack where you could order ice creams, but despite the impressive menu there was only one sort of ice cream available. There was a little shop, but there was nothing to buy, apart from garishly printed towels and useless souvenirs. Our towels and clothes were never dry. There was no air-conditioning. There were lots of midges and ants, which Panamarenko quite took to until they formed a procession over his bed intent on biting him on the way. In short, it was hell on earth. And so one day Xavier, who had accompanied us, left the island in a matter of minutes by jumping onto a departing boat, leaving behind some of his luggage.\u0026nbsp;\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: sans-serif,Arial,Verdana,\u0026amp;quot;trebuchet ms\u0026amp;quot;; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;\"\u003eUnperturbed we went on diving, tinkering, taking photographs and filming. I wanted a photograph of myself reading on the bottom of the ocean. Panamarenko wanted a film in which you first saw a shark and a school of fish swimming and then me diving. His films were always a dismal failure because I couldn\u0026rsquo;t dive long enough for the slow, fauna-spanning camera movement Panamarenko had in mind. After every dive we hurried to the beach to look at the film, which usually contained nothing worth seeing, apart perhaps from a small colourful fish which Panamarenko had swum after for a minute or two before encountering me with a graceful camera movement walking somewhere on the bottom of the sea, by which time I was usually choking as I trod water while holding my helmet high above the sloshing surface of the sea in an attempt to empty it.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: sans-serif,Arial,Verdana,\u0026amp;quot;trebuchet ms\u0026amp;quot;; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;\"\u003eAt the end of those two weeks we walked to a skip and Panamarenko smashed both helmets to pieces. Presumably he wanted to prevent a less fortunate someone trying out our equipment. \u0026nbsp;\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nThe submarine \u003cem\u003ePANAMA\u003c/em\u003e\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: sans-serif,Arial,Verdana,\u0026amp;quot;trebuchet ms\u0026amp;quot;; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;\"\u003eIn June 1995 Panamarenko informed me that after long deliberation he had decided on a new enterprise. In a boat shop he had seen an emerald-green, Lister diesel generator, which we went to look at together. It was delivered that same afternoon. Around that generator, he explained, we would build a submarine to look as if it had emerged from the generator. \u0026ldquo;Because that boat is already in that generator.\u0026rdquo; By way of a model he adapted drawings of the poetic object \u003cem\u003eWhale\u003c/em\u003e dating from 1967. We then went to a lift factory to buy 7-mm-thick steel plates and we started folding, cutting and welding. He had had several sheets cut into strips and we used them to make the profiles for the frame of the boat. Sheets were welded around that frame. To enable us to reach every part of it, the submarine, which eventually weighed two tons, was hung from the ceiling and rotated like a spit by means of pulleys and chains. The welding took a long time, because the motto was: \u0026lsquo;triple weld\u0026rsquo;. Not a drop of water should be able to seep in. So I spent three months welding, until I learned that the boat would not be tested, but exhibited in a gallery. I was terribly disappointed. We had found a place at a sailing club where the boat could be placed on the dry bottom of the Scheldt using a crane and where we could wait for the rising tide to see if the boat was watertight. Years later Panamarenko told me that he had not believed it possible. I would like to have tested the boat, if only to see if the triple weld had worked.\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nThe flying boat \u003cem\u003eScotch Gambit\u003c/em\u003e\u0026nbsp;\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: sans-serif,Arial,Verdana,\u0026amp;quot;trebuchet ms\u0026amp;quot;; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;\"\u003eScotch Gambit, the stilt-walker, is a flying boat on floats, powered by two aeroplane engines. The floats and the stilts support a basic construction which serves as the framework for the bodywork, but of course it also supports the heavy engines. The whole thing consists of three parts screwed and strapped together. We had planned to have the boat float in a dock on the Scheldt along with a landing stage that would rise and fall with the tide, but the City of Antwerp was not interested. The last time I discussed the boat with Panamarenko, a few months ago, he expressed the desire to replace the aeroplane engines with outboard motors on the floats.\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: sans-serif,Arial,Verdana,\u0026amp;quot;trebuchet ms\u0026amp;quot;; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;\"\u003ePanamarenko had told me several times that he had the iron frame of a boat up in the attic. He had begun welding it with his father in the seventies, but work had come to a standstill after a difference of opinion about the permissibility of foul language while working. In 1998 I arrived at Ronny Van de Velde\u0026rsquo;s gallery and I saw a large part of the already rusted structure of the boat-to-be, which would be finished with two-millimetre steel plate. When the aluminium supporting structure and the huge floats also arrived, we started building. Thousands of mini-bolts and after that Parker screws in holes that were slightly too big held the sheets in place, but not too tightly to prevent them creasing. As was the case with the submarine, it was again a question of bending steel plate in two directions, which is impossible to do without making dents. And so it was that I discovered that Panamarenko really wanted to make streamlined bodywork in an impossible way (without rolling). The same applies to all his work: he invariably tried to achieve something in a way that didn\u0026rsquo;t stand an earthly chance of succeeding. Consequently, he learned more about materials and techniques than someone who sets to work in a more customary manner.\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nConclusion\u003c/p\u003e\r\n\r\n\u003cp style=\"color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family: sans-serif,Arial,Verdana,\u0026amp;quot;trebuchet ms\u0026amp;quot;; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: justify; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;\"\u003eWhen we dived in the Indian Ocean in 1990 Panamarenko was convinced of the unicity of that moment. As a young man I didn\u0026rsquo;t know that such moments are rare. Now that I myself have reached the age he was then, I am glad I had such an intense experience because it became a yardstick for everything that followed. Together on a squalid coral island no larger than six football pitches, we briefly escaped the horrific world of art, not by practising a sport, but by means of a self-built contrivance fighting with water, air and gravity. \u0026ldquo;Looking for novelty and amusement,\u0026rdquo; I wrote at the time, \u0026ldquo;they proved to be man enough to face the darkness.\u0026rdquo; I was a hypochondriac who dreamed of a more light-footed life and in those days read both Conrad\u0026rsquo;s \u003cem\u003eHeart of Darkness\u003c/em\u003e and Plutarch\u0026rsquo;s \u003cem\u003eLife of Greeks\u003c/em\u003e. \u0026ldquo;Rivets!\u0026rdquo; shouted the hero of \u003cem\u003eHeart of Darkness\u003c/em\u003e, \u0026ldquo;we want rivets!\u0026rdquo; The rivet as consolation for despair, the tinkering as a secret remedy for melancholy. Not \u0026lsquo;bricolage\u0026rsquo; in the sense given to the word by Claude L\u0026eacute;vi-Strauss: the preservation of useless objects in the hope of one day being able to put them to good use in an inappropriate way. Because Panamarenko was not a \u0026lsquo;bricoleur\u0026rsquo;, but a tinkering thinker. Take the titles of his works! \u003cem\u003ePolistes\u003c/em\u003e! The dark-green gall wasp with a figure like Ava Gardner. \u003cem\u003eScotch Gambit\u003c/em\u003e! Men in skirts showing off the family jewels, but also a word from the world of chess and a move designed to bewilder the lovers of the Franco-American concept. And together with Panamarenko I invented a character that wanted to become who he was by taking the trials and tribulations of life less seriously and fantasizing about a world in which you could always deal with things as if for the first and also the last time. \u0026nbsp;\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\n\u003cbr /\u003e\r\nMontagne de Miel, July 2nd 2014\u003c/p\u003e\r\n"},{"locale":"es","short_description":"","description":""},{"locale":"el","short_description":"","description":""}],"actors":[]}