Passengers

Beings with a fragile opacity are like blocks of humanity. They go back and forth across an endless expanse. They pass through it. It passes through them. They are like dots in eternity. Or like living spots passing by. They are hardly there, so precarious and allusive are they. However, Marc Krüger’s subtle dream world, haunted by the combined presence of all the infinite whiteness of the world and the dark puddles of the universe, vibrates deeply around the human presence. Although humanity does not lay down its law, although it never crushes the surfaces, it is the living fabric of the expanse. It is the very site of life, uncertain and miraculous, in the illusory clarity of appearances. It is the fleshly talisman which has been vibrating since time immemorial, and which is the solitary embodiment of the unfathomable enigma of existence and it nakedly haunts Marc Krüger’s whole body of work. Black and white clash, merge and embrace one another in this mysterious world. There is infinite chromatic sensitivity, in the infinite interplay of all possible shades. Humans seen in silhouette are like the primary, shifting spots which make up the chaos of life. They give themselves up to the lack of certainty. They pass through. The invisible energies which carry Marc Krüger’s enchanted behind-the-scenes world pass through them. And the ephemeral is his territory. Christian Noorbergen