Cosima zu Knyphausen. Life & Work, 2021. Linen, pastel and oil on canvas, 22 × 30 cm
Cosima zu Knyphausen. effort de l’esprit, 2021. Fabric, egg shells and vinyl paint on linen, 21 × 30 cm
Cosima zu Knyphausen. Überlieferung, 2021. Oil on linen. 23 × 30 cm
Cosima zu Knyphausen. Christine de Pizan leaving the studio as
mother calls for supper, 2021. Aluminium foil and vinyl paint on linen, 24 × 19 cm
Cosima zu Knyphausen. Alameda, 2021. Vinyl paint, egg shells and oil on linen, 16 × 23 cm
Cosima zu Knyphausen. Studio visit (Rosa), 2021. Pastel and vinyl paint on canvas, 16 × 23 cm
Cosima zu Knyphausen. The mother of an artist, 2021. Vinyl paint and egg shells on canvas, 27 × 35 cm
Cosima zu Knyphausen. Einschlägige Berufserfahrung, 2021. Egg shells on painted canvas, 19 × 15 cm
Cosima zu Knyphausen. for it was evening, 2021. Vinyl paint, pastel and oil on linen, 16 × 15 cm
Cosima zu Knyphausen. Ansicht (micro), 2020. Vinyl paint and egg shells on linen, 20 × 28 cm
Cosima zu Knyphausen. Ansicht (macro), 2021. Vinyl paint and egg shells on linen, 48 × 42 cm
Cosima zu Knyphausen. The Artist’s Mother, 2021. Vinyl paint and oil on linen, 40 × 48 cm
Cosima zu Knyphausen. Homo Bar, 2021. Vinyl paint and wall paint on linen, 50 × 40 cm
Cosima zu Knyphausen. Living and working, 2021. Vinyl paint, sulfur and acrylic on canvas, 52 × 50 cm
Cosima zu Knyphausen. Studio, 2021. Vinyl paint and pastel on canvas, 48 × 60 cm
Cosima zu Knyphausen. Psych. Anal. Küken. (after Gertrude Abecrombie), 2021. Egg shells, vinyl paint and oil on linen, 18 × 15 cm
Cosima zu Knyphausen. L’origine du monde, 2021. Egg shells on canvas, 16 × 22 cm
Oskar Weiss and Oliver Falk are pleased to announce Ei Mosaik, an exhibition of new works by Cosima zu Knyphausen.
“Have you forgotten that when a fine gold is tested in the furnace, it does not change or vary in strength but becomes purer the more it is hammered and handled in different ways?”
– Lady Reason, upon visiting Christine in her study
I’m enjoying the steady hum of my commitment to investigating truths through long and continual study. I toil day and night, never at the same time but always in the same place, very seldom remembering or caring to remember an anecdote once shared with me:
“The average prehistoric person could make a nice living in about a fifteen-hour work week.”
I have a recurring nightmare: Colors are dull and flat and there is no wind. Trees stand tall and still, water takes no shape and light from the sun shines dull and uninterrupted. Life moves as if it were confined to the edges of a map, yielding only inwards. I can’t imagine pictures or recall things I’ve seen in the past. The gears of my mind barely turn; I can’t persuade my imagination to procure a single image.
Usually I wake from this nightmare in a cold sweat, alarm ringing, sun ringing, alarm sweating, bells ringing, past noon again in one of my many beds. I rise, stretch, taking note of myself in the mirror.
And so I will spend another day in search of a word for the process that governs my life, musing and begging my beloved Lady Rectitude for more time to prove myself through my hard work and dedication. I contemplate the common denominator of the universe, wishing that harmony ruled all things and was the singular practice of my life and the time that seemed to pass around me.
“It’s not,” a familiar voice says, “It’s not harmony, quite the opposite. Chaos rules all things, including you. Lady Reason, Lady Rectitude, and Lady Justice have all shut the gates of heaven on you on account of your terrible habits.” I begin to sweat again, realizing that I’m not looking in the mirror, getting ready for my day. “You are a prisoner of your own design, disconnected from reality with no hope of...” The voice continues as I gain consciousness. No, I can’t be awake, the voice comes from a crack in an egg at the bottom of a bag across the room. I’m laying down? Mother of god, I’m on the Freud couch. The crack goes on. “Only acceptance will set you free... ”
I slam the book shut, banishing it from the piles on my desk to the safety of the shelf. I begins to survey the other titles I’ve strewn about, stopping over “How to Live a Perfect Life” and “The Encyclopedia of Good Habits” when the dinner bell sounds again and I’m summoned away for refreshments, taking comfort in departing knowing that many tasks await me the next day.