Reviews The endless Moment (Der endlose Moment)

Commentary by Sabine Wangler, Midwife:

 

“How is a work of art created?

I observe the artist, and slowly yet steadily, his infectious passion for creativity reveals itself to me. It is the ‘how’—not the ‘what’! For me, it is far more than just painting. I sense the sheer intensity of following Rolf Kuhlmann’s passion. I am infected! Then the creative journey begins. I am privileged to accompany this man who reveals himself—and in doing so, reveals us: our times, our culture, our weaknesses, our complexity, our strengths—with such authenticity, holding up a mirror to us; a man who paints and paints over, who grapples, questions, and reorients himself; who, with a blend of courage and uncertainty, approaches strangers while he paints, gathering up the entirety of our contemporary existence into the very making of his work: consumerism, war, threats, lightness, color, superficial denial—even mysticism, escape, nature, solitude, desire, play—EVERYTHING that we are... By the end, I am utterly captivated, speechless, and deeply moved. THIS FILM IS REALLY A WORK OF ART!”

 

Commentary by Guido Preuss, Tanzwerke Vaněk Preuß: Conceptual Dramaturg, Dancer/Performer, and Musician “Heartfelt thanks for such wonderful work! This film is a work of art that is touching and deeply moving on so many levels! Something truly unique has emerged here—something that is not merely a film by Claudia Schmid about yet another artist; rather, it is both an intervention by Claudia and a profound engagement on the part of Rolf. You truly opened yourselves up to one another—in a way that, perhaps, can only ever work through paradox. The visual-aural-movement language—and the quest involving gaze, body, and speech—within this composition draws me, as a participating witness, so deeply into a vortex forming between these various art forms and levels of thought and feeling; it is simply stunning...

 

I honestly found myself weeping—really *sobbing*—at least three or four times during the film, for it circles around a certain state of the world-soul shared by Western, ‘educated’ people: those who desire the good, yet find themselves unable to achieve it... And then there is the intimacy with the very act of searching through painting—the trying, failing, testing, and beginning anew. At times, the close-up focus on details—on the fleeting precursors to those traces of discovery that would later be painted over multiple times—seemed to bring us even closer to the process than Rolf Kuhlmann himself. All of this is interwoven with your own thoughts, Rolf—thoughts that are deeply personal, astute, and expressed in language that feels somewhat old-fashioned. It is precisely these thoughts of yours—which were always palpable to me whenever we spoke, yet suddenly feel ‘more objective’ within the context of the film—that mirror the very essence that has crystallized as the defining characteristic of your painting: namely, the search for new connections involving the consciously ‘old’—elements that are not obsolete, but rather, as yet unredeemed. You are a traumatized Platonist, projecting a world outward from the dimly lit, chiaroscuro confines of your plaster cast—a world that, despite all its catastrophes, still holds forth the promise of beauty and solace through art. And then comes Claudia, and...” ...holds up to you precisely the mirror into which gazing actually carries a high risk.

 

You know me, and that is why I am writing—completely uncensored—about the cinematic echoes that are still resonating within me. — The Sauerland Episode: Toads, rain, daughter, meat, the great wheel of existence, saddle of venison, the paradigm of abundance, and anti-moralism (all without *Fridays for Future* or similar movements ever being explicitly verbalized). — The imagery of the Sauerland is beautiful, yet also unsettling. Claudia—you and I once spoke... back in 2008 at Café Schmidt, about power and powerlessness, and about breaking free from unconscious forms of submission. When I watched the film today, I saw and heard so many enduring themes—themes that preoccupy both Rolf and you (as well as me, as a friend)—this time explored through the lens of a process that generates a material trace, a transitional object. There is a certain joy to be found in this very lack of answers. For even if we do not truly know how to move forward, we can grasp it more fully through the descriptive lens of this hybrid essay-film.

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The magic of existence slowly begins to reveal itself. The textual layer is deeply enlightened and humanistic; there is no cynicism here, no destructive judgment caught in endless loops of evaluation—only a wealth of sincere insight into Rolf’s way of thinking and perceiving. And there is so much to marvel at—so much that destabilizes our conventional categories of observation: his daughter Amalia, who herself could be a living embodiment of Rolf’s imagery, and who, with a spirit both eager to learn and full of curiosity, studies the toads. There is the studio, with the flying Jesus suspended from a fishing line; the majestic, gold-foil-wrapped skeleton—a figure of salvation—seated in the moth-eaten armchair; the recurring motif of the Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses; his hairstyle—at times perfectly coiffed, at others wildly disheveled; the touch of his hand in the wet paint; the smearing and sculpting of the applied color; and the clacking and slapping of the triptychs: *Bang*—a new image! *Clonk*—the image vanishes! *Slap*—the reverse side appears! These are images that serve, in themselves, as the very loading ramps for their own future interpretations.