Every time I go away Berlin, I discover a cool odor on my garments. It’s not sweaty, musky or damp, and never totally disgusting, relatively constructional than corporeal: disused coal ovens, the mud between floorboards, smokey particles. An unheated bed room. A calcified faucet. Abandonment—with a aspect of sourdough. What may sound just like the notes of an overused and outdated area of interest fragrance, units off my alarm bells: get. away. from. me.

I not too long ago gave up the steadiness, and by now privilege, of a tenancy contract and entered an infinite chain of sublets, one thing I had efficiently prevented for many of my keep on this metropolis. The housing market is for gamblers and buyers, and I categorised as risk-adverse with no belongings.

Within the outdated condominium I left behind a fridge, an outdated mattress, some oatmeal and a pile of garments. It took a couple of week till I spotted that the odor had moved together with my different stuff into my new place. The way to eliminate this all too acquainted scent? One thing that one is so habituated to, that it disappears from one’s personal notion and solely enters consciousness when faraway from the context of dwelling? Can or not it’s left behind?

I attempt to pin down the place I first collected the particular particles and organisms that make up that odor. I’ve inhaled bits of all types of architectures.

Drank leaded water from outdated pipes. Shared drinks and kissed asses. Fed my microbiome. I think about that these conjunctions are beginning to develop a home inside me.

I’m reminded of my time in artwork college and the way the whole lot was all the time dusty. I stroll to my newly put in bookshelf in my newly inhabited condominium—“congrats, what an improve”—and pull out a Paul Thek catalogue. I don’t take into account myself to be a very nostalgic individual—however maybe the within of The Tomb bore olfactory resemblance to what I’m describing? I’m flipping by way of the pages, searching for a drawing that claims GET OVER YOURSELF GET OVER YOURSELF GET OVER YOURSELF GET

OVER YOURSELF. As a substitute, I discover a bit printed snail crawling over the again of the ebook, with wings hooked up to its shell and stars glowing over its tentacles, the right setup, and what extra might you ask for?

Christopher Wierling

at Shahin Zarinbal, Berlin
till December 17, 2022