Led Astray
A guided tour through the byways and divagations in the work of Ann Louise Andersen.
By Art Historian, M. A., Inger Marie Hahn Møller, 2012

The following guided tour of some selected works by Ann Louise Andersen (b. 1976) will no doubt lead us astray, into the wrong turnings and dead ends of these works. The tour will also be a tour of your own inner maze of hidden corridors, stuffy isolated storage rooms and the subconscious, roundabout ways of your psyche, since any work by Ann Louise Andersen is a complex mesh of numerous intertwined psychological, social, historical and political references which can never truly be unravelled yet always leave room for the references that we, the viewers, carry with us. Our bodies are an indispensable part of the experience of a work by Ann Louise Andersen because our entire quiescent gamut of physical experiences is stirred up along with, and in strong coherence with, the mental images that the works evoke.
I would have liked to blindfold you and to whisper to you as we moved through these works – which for the most part no longer exist. With my words I would try to attune your senses to the subtle stimuli and microscopic details contained in these works – a change in the intensity of the light, the concentration of a certain smell, the filtration of the noises from outside, a step up, a step down, some new kind of flooring which feels differently under our feet, a surface which is rough, unpolished or smooth, a space which enfolds …

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Let us start from the beginning: Ann Louise Andersen is a Danish sculptor who graduated from the sculpture department of The Royal Danish Art Academy in 2007. She experimented with a wide variety of materials, techniques and ways of expression before finding the path which in a moment will lead us astray. She is interested in the construction of spaces, architecture – in our physical and mental perception of our surroundings, and in shifting our often too rooted and habitual perspective on the world which surrounds us.
Through the use of a number of strategies that always physically involve us, the viewers, she manages to puncture the protective membrane of “wilful blindness” with which we move through our immediate and well-known surroundings.
Such a strategy may result in smaller autonomous sculptural works, or in larger spatial interventions and installations, and finally take up the entire space as a kind of sequence, a total, all-encompassing, installation which of course, being site-specific, often has a limited duration. Seen from the perspective of art theory, Ann Louise Andersen’s works are linked to a number of newer theories within such fields as Visual Culture Studies, New Social Art History, Psychoanalysis, Phenomenology, Deconstructivism – and many more – which are cross-connected within the works. They are often hinted at as hidden references which, however, do not necessarily have to be decoded in order to experience the piece.
It is all of these common cultural ‘clues’ within the works that we will now take a closer look at as we begin our guided tour through these impossible and complex constructions of spaces and spatial sequences, which convincingly confuse and allure us, and lead us astray.

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Ann Louise Andersen finds the gaps in our existing structures – a degree of uncertainty in our otherwise fixed view of the world – for what waits ahead? A Kafkaesque loss of orientation seeps into the body of the viewer who now, on her own, has to look for new points of orientation in order to navigate through these psycho-physical, labyrinthine spaces from which there is no way out, and yet they remain extremely open.

Dead End

The first stop on our tour is the non-commercial, artist-run exhibition space Koh-i-noor, back in 2008. For her solo exhibition here Ann Louise Andersen created Dead End, the first of her radical total installations which are the focal points of this tour. The first thing we see is Koh-i-noor’s display window which does not, as we would expect, give us a glimpse of what we are to expect on the inside. Rather our sight is blocked by a white wall which is mounted up against the window pane. There is, however, an opening in the wall: a small hatch in the centre of the wall, by the floor. We cannot, however, see anything through this hatch, the darkness prevents any further guesses as to what goes on inside. A handle indicates that it is indeed possible to open or shut the hatch, but to let who or what through? Prevent who or what from coming in? The construction of the hatch bears some resemblance to the structure of a guillotine, a first indication of the general uneasiness, which is sensed throughout the installation. Already we are made aware of the many layers of meaning in the exhibition title. A dead end, a blind alley, refers of course not only to traffic but also to our thoughts; a wrong conclusion, a shred of meaning in a cul-de-sac, a trap which has been set for us, a fatal end.

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We enter an unpolished industrial room with a grey painted concrete floor and rough laths in the ceiling and on the back wall, which have been painted white. In a way it feels like a temporary, rudimentary air raid shelter. After a while we begin to realize that something is all wrong with the proportions of the space. The white wooden ceiling is tilted ever so slightly, so that the space seems to suck us in and lead us toward the door at the end of the room. The installation makes use of an optical illusion but not in a way that is too evident; just enough to confuse our sense of space and instil the uneasiness in us which we immediately feel when our surroundings are not quite as we expected them to be.
When we entered the ceiling height was normal, but gradually the room contracts, and towards the end of the room many of us have to bow our heads. The gaps between the ceiling laths and the walls have been puttied with toilet paper. What is going on here? You get the feeling that this shelter was built in great haste out of whatever was at hand – and why? Nuclear threat? War? Terror? Gang rivalry? A private hidden torture chamber? The idea that some paranoid or psychopathic person has isolated herself here and attempts to fill every little crevice may pop up, along with historical references to World War II, Holocaust, secret corridors and shafts, hiding places for someone persecuted or someone running from the police.

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A sharp white light sieves through the door at the end of the room, leading us further into the installation. We are curious to find out what has happened here. We then enter another room with roughly plastered mildewed walls and concrete floor. On the back wall there are three uncovered fluorescent tubes, and three laths lean against the wall. No other clues are left behind. The empty rooms leave it up to us, up to our imagination, to find out what has happened here. Standing here in this concrete room, in this stark electric light, we may think of bunkers and their humid, claustrophobic inner labyrinths. These images are concordant with the general impression of the installation and with its immanent references to shelters and entrenchment. Visionary utopian concrete architecture which has fallen into disrepair and is instead turning into ghettoes and social ruin. A cold and stale concrete basement or a dark deserted tunnel soiled with urine, these are also mental images that the work may bring about. As we turn to leave we realize that the installation is a dead end. There is no way out. We are immured within our own mental images, our anxiety and our uneasiness. The door can only be opened from the outside. There is not even a handle on the inside. We are totally dependant on the others outside this room.Dead End is a work which is in line with the principles of the total installation as a genre. Ann Louise Andersen intervenes in the existing architectural and spatial situations offered by a given exhibition space. She considers it important that her spatial interventions do not stand out from the existing architecture, so that we as viewers may meet her works unprepared – is it an artwork or just part of the space?

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In this way the works of Ann Louise Andersen strike psychological and emotional chords in us – We are unaware that we are being lead astray. Ultimately these spatial and perceptual ‘games’ are aimed at enhancing our sensibility and awareness of our surroundings, and perhaps even give us a new view of all of the structures and constructions which surround us every day, but which we rarely even notice.

Historically and from the point of view of art theory, the highest goal of a total installation is precisely that; to transform the viewer’s perception of space – and of spaces, of architecture and of spatial constructions in general. Physically involving the viewer has been central to achieving this transformation. We have to get out onto the floor and into the artwork. We need to experience the work with all our senses in order for it to affect our experience of space, because that experience is like a kind of physical memory within our bodies. The total installation as a genre emerges in the sixties and seventies in concurrence with other redefinitions of the artwork and the art institution such as Minimalism, Land Art and Light and Space. However, throughout the history of art, and particularly in Dadaist and Surrealist circles, there have been works which could be characterized as total installations. Kurt Schwitters’ extensive Merzbau which invaded the family’s homes during the twenties and thirties is an example of a total installation from the early avant-garde, as well as an example of an integration of art into daily life (1).

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Another, earlier, example could be Richard Wagner’s idea of the Gesamtkunstwerk which he formulated in 1849; an artwork which includes: architecture, painting, text, music and, last but not least, the audience.
In his famous essay Art and Objecthood from 1967 the American critic Michael Fried introduces the terms the absorptive and the theatrical. While the formalist art of Modernism is absorptive and so to speak encloses the viewer, who, through purely visual and intellectual observations, deciphers the final signification of the piece, Minimalism theatrically reaches out to the viewer who is forced to move around the piece and perceive it phenomenologically, with all of her senses. According to Fried the pure, absorptive and transcendental perceptive act is threatened by the physical presentness of the theatrical pieces in which a number of external factors and impulses influence the experience of the work and thereby removes it from a locus immanent within the work itself, thus also removed from the realm of control of the artist – The Great Modern Master (2).
In Minimalism, as well as in the related genres such as Land Art and Installation Art, the viewer’s body is explicitly integrated in the works in line with the Phenomenological theories of Merleau Ponty. This integration of the body is implemented in a wide variety of artistic practices during the seventies, eighties and nineties. One of the theorists who have continued and expanded the phenomenological theories of Merleau Ponty is the American art historian Amelia Jones who has, among other things, introduced the idea of a body-memory connection. Jones’ work puts a further emphasis on the importance of the body in the reception of an artwork.

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She argues that the body-memory-connection exists alongside the common cultural and visual references that also make up our memories. The body and psyche as well as the individual memories and desires of a person should be considered integral parts of the experience of an artwork, and this notion constitutes a fruitful conversion from the dominant art historical focus on the visual experience which has given almost sole priority to the idea that a work of art should be seen from one specific and fixed locus. According to Jones the predominance of the visual experience in art history is a development which is ideological and specific to the Western world, and there is great hidden potential in the repressed sensory fields which are just waiting to be awoken, stimulated, activated and interpreted on a par with visual media(3).
Ann Louise Andersen’s total installations involve our entire body and our entire sensory range – and not just vision – in a way which potentially generates a revised mode of experience in which the detached body is given a space and which demands bodily involvement in a practice which many may initially find awkward or even unpleasant.

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The total installation directs and manipulates us, however, at the same time it is extremely open and holds numerous potential significations that are activated by each individual viewer, whereby it allows us to form our own impressions of the work and its connotations. The Russian-American artist Ilya Kabakov who is a pioneer in the field of total installation says with regards to this viewer that he is simultaneously both a ‘victim’ an a viewer, who on the one hand surveys and evaluates the installation, and on the other, follows those associations, recollections which arise in him; he is overcome by the intense atmosphere of the total illusion (4).
In Dead End we are as perceiving bodies theatrically integrated into the piece and its signification. Our sense of control is taken from us and in stead we are left with a spatial and bodily disorientation and with our complex and entangled body-memories which will eventually lead us to new experiences of complex matters of a spatial as well as an existential nature.

Never Ending

The next stop on our guided tour of Ann Louise Andersen’s works is the group show Invited to Invite at gallery Henningsen Contemporary, also in 2008. Ann Louise Andersen’s contribution to the exhibition is the installation Never Ending. Behind a partition wall in the gallery a dark passage opens up. The opening is reminiscent of a filthy garbage or cellar shaft with dampspotted concrete walls, and as such it contrasts the otherwise clean and cool gallery space. We would prefer to hurry past this dark opening, to shut our eyes and try to ignore it.

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In actual fact the shaft simply leads to the other end of the gallery but as unprepared visitors we have no chance of knowing this and we cannot physically grasp it or foresee it. How wide is that strange crack in the space? It is not wide enough for us to pass through it should we want to (which we certainly do not!), but during the time in which we are looking at the space our thoughts are lead into the darkness and we undergo a mental and psychological process; existential questions impose themselves upon us and a kind of perceptual sensibility to the sense of being in a passage, of going from one point to another through the darkness, opens up. Visually there is the play with perspective. The passage narrows and the dim light which marks the exit at the other end seems infinitely far away. The optical illusion confuses us spatially and makes us uncertain of our own perception of the surroundings.
Generally speaking Never Ending is a scar or a laceration in the white interior surface of the gallery, an architectural anomaly which has suddenly been uncovered in the perfect coolness of the white cube (5), a piece of architecture which has been turned inside out so that its ‘body’, its ‘inner organs’ and its hidden functions (such as a garbage shaft or a sewer) are out in the open and accessible. Ann Louise Andersen has built this tunnel within the already existing, though blocked and hidden away, space under a staircase in the gallery. It is a forgotten superfluous space which we would otherwise never become aware of which has now been revealed and opened up.

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The architectural uncanny is, according to the terminology of the American professor in architecture Anthony Vidler(6), a kind of architecture gone wrong which reveals the ‘blind angles’ and ‘dead areas’ within modern rational Western architecture and which shows us not only its regulatory power structures but also its more irrational, obscene and horrifying tendencies. Vidler argues that until the rise of Modernism our horrors were ascribed to nature, but with the breakthrough of Modernism the mood shifts and our fears are relocated, from the natural wilderness to the jungle of Modernity, the metropolis. The uneasiness which is generated by Ann Louise Andersen’s installations is closely linked to this idea of the architectural uncanny; the long cellar or prison-like corridors, the passages and tunnels of the modern city, labyrinthine passageways and sealed rooms. However, Ann Louise Andersen’s use of the uncanny also plays upon the idea of the uncanny within Freudian terminology, according to which the eerie feeling of Das Unheimliche arises precisely when something familiar suddenly becomes strangely unfamiliar – just as in Ann Louise Andersen’s spaces which never appear quite as we had expected them to (7). Or in Vidler’s terms: the familiar turned strange. Precisely herein lies the quality of Das Unheimliche The unsettling experience of something unfamiliar can generate new experiences of and new insights into that which is familiar to us. Shafts, concrete cellars, barred and locked spaces, corridors and narrow passageways are all spaces which we associate with something scary, secret and dubious.

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The spaces in themselves connote obscene criminal acts and incidents which we would prefer not to know any more about, but which none the less stimulate our curiosity. In continuation of the theories concerning the uncanny and the unheimliche Ann Louise Andersen uses tricks taken from the world of film, such as for instance the filmic suspense in which we, the audience, are trapped in a titillating position where we do not know what is to come and are unable to prevent it. Filmic suspense plays with our imagination of what has happened or will very soon happen. The spaces which Ann Louise Andersen has ‘choreographed’ are reminiscent of classical setups from thriller or horror films, such as for instance the iconic sets in Alfred Hitchcock’s black and white films in which the rooms in themselves make us breathless and keep us in suspense, thus supporting the psychological intensity of the narrative. In his book Warped Space – Art, Architecture and Anxiety in Modern Culture (9) Vidler analyses a number of the phobias and mental illnesses of modernity which are related to spaces and architecture: claustrophobia, agoraphobia, and after the world wars: panic attacks, shell shocks and an architectural/spatial alienation or rootlessness. Spaces have become extremely psychological, on all levels, because our sense of space and of our surroundings has been warped and distorted in these ways, something which is closely connected to The Architectural Uncanny and to Das Unheimliche.

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It is these phobic, neurotic, psychological spaces which Ann Louise Andersen builds in her total installations. They may appear empty at first glance but just beneath the surface they are overloaded with disturbing impulses and atmospheres. Uncanny is all that which should have remained hidden but which has revealed itself, says Freud (10)

Silent Site

We continue our tour to another group exhibition, Træ(f)punkt (Out of (the) Wood) at Rebecca Kormind Gallery in 2009 for which Ann Louise Andersen created the installation Silent Site. We enter the white gallery space and in the wall on our right side there is a door. We do not really pay any mind to this door because we do not consider it part of the exhibition. The door, however, turns out to be part of Ann Louise Andersen’s work and when we go through it we enter a space with a completely different atmosphere than the generic white cube of the gallery space. An extremely narrow corridor with varnished panels in some dark type of wood from floor to ceiling leads towards an exit. The ceiling is quite high, it is the width that is the problem, and in the ceiling there are these heat emitting tacky golden spotlights which together with the pervasive smell of layer upon layer of varnish and the claustrophobic dimensions make us physically uneasy, gives us a feeling of having lost control.Etymologically the word corridor comes from the French courir – to run. A corridor is originally a ‘runway’ and thus etymologically connected to the physical act of running. It is connected to the body in motion through the corridor / the installation in correspondence with the basic principle of the total installation.

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The body is manipulated and chivvied into a zone of physical and sensory uncertainty, which challenges all our senses. If we for a moment hold on to the corridor in the context of signification it is in politics a place or an assembly wherein an important political matter is discussed secretly and informally before the formal vote on the matter, hence the expression the corridors of power. This expression also makes you think of covertness and secrecy, of lobbyism and secret lodges. The varnished dark wooden panels in Ann Louise Andersen’s installation suggest such a secret place, a place of intimacy where things take place that should never see the light of day. It is a confinement without windows reminiscent of something from a film – the private chamber of a president or a judge, perhaps a meeting place for some secret lodge. Something is definitely taking place in this corridor and we do not know what it is. We open the heavy door at the end of the corridor and enter a small room, which is just big enough for one person to stand upright, facing a window to a busy street. You realise now that you have ended up in the gallery’s display window, trapped like a monkey in a cage and put on display for all to see. In an instant you are out of the secrecy of the corridor and you have in stead become a public person, an object, something on display, vulnerable and exposed to other visitors to the gallery and to all of the passers-by. Silent Site is another cul-de-sac – at least physically. Mentally though, as we are trapped in this claustrophobic display case, we have hopefully been taken a step further in our reflections concerning spaces and their underlying (power) structures.

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A corridor, like a passageway, guides us on our way, and alongside the physical movement through the space there is a mental transition, changes in our psyche. Etymologically the word passage is derived from the French word passer – to walk through. In the German literary critic and philosopher. Walter Benjamin’s renowned Das Passagenwerk (The Arcade Project), written between 1927 and 1940 (11), Benjamin analyses the modern covered passageways which arose as a new element in Paris’ architecture along the right bank of the Seine in the 1820s. The architecture of the old city of Paris was integrated into this new architectural shape, the covered passageway. Rather than destroying or tearing down what was already there, it was incorporated into these new structures and in new spatial (and significative) complexities - just as Ann Louise Andersen’s installations are integrated in the existing architecture of a given space, yet radically change the meaning of that space.To Benjamin the passageway is a historic architectural and topographic phenomenon as well as a philosophical and psychological term for a process related to the abandonment of static structures and rigid systems of signification, and furthermore related to the transitions and transformations, physically and with regards to identity, occurring in a subject passing through (such a) space. Benjamin explains the historic links between these Parisian passageways and museums, churches and catacombs, to these sacred out-of-the-ordinary places also referred to in Ann Louise Andersen’s works.

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Finally Benjamin links the passageways to the threshold experiences or rites de passage in anthropology, transitions in time and space, ceremonies in connection with birth, puberty, marriage, manhood and death. In a passage the subject experiences a degree of uncertainty and instability which forces it to navigate through these new experiences on its own and to thereby discover new ways of looking at the world. One could say that it is a kind of ‘decay of experiences’ in a positive sense, because it allows the subject to open up again: The rationality through which the subject has perceived the world is fractured, presenting it with an opportunity to search for a new form of cognition within the gaps in rational thinking (12).
As with Benjamin’s theory regarding passages Ann Louise Andersen’s constructed passageways, corridors, shafts and spatial sequences provoke the subject as she moves through them to also undergo a psychological process wherein hidden, repressed and uncanny things are revived and put into play in confrontation with the subject’s habitual and rational view of the world which will thereby (hopefully) be somewhat torn and potentially fall to pieces altogether, simultaneously with the subversive changes which take place within the subject’s anchorage in its own identity.


Never gonna be the same

Our guided tour has now reached 2010 where we stop at the exhibition space Machwerket in Aarhus. Ann Louise Andersen has just opened her solo exhibition Never gonna be the same here. As we enter the exhibition space we are at first quite disorientated - where is the exhibition? The room is empty. A bit further into the room we discover a door and slowly walk towards it.

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We go through. The door shuts behind us so now there is no turning back. We look around the room – where are we? We are in a strange indefinite room with a twisted perspective where all of the angles are crooked and the dimensions somehow wrong. Its sloping walls make the room reminiscent of a storeroom in an attic, though in reality we are on a level sous-terre. Already this ‘storey confusion’ introduces a general spatial confusion, a feeling of having lost one’s sense of direction, which will only increase as we move through the installation. From floor to ceiling the room is covered with neo-classicistic panels and stuccowork, which at first gives it an elegant and luxurious air, but then again completely clashes with the dimensions of the space and its likeness to an attic. We are in a room, which is at once familiar and ‘all wrong’. Perhaps this panel room is about to collapse around our ears as a disruptive reminder that nothing is what it appears to be and that even stabile structures such as architecture and our familiar surroundings are negotiable and constantly mutating.
Almost hidden by one of the panels we discover a small hatch, only a small handle reveals that it is there. The hatch opens into a corridor / passageway which turns a corner halfway so that at first we do not know where we are lead or if there even is a way out. We have to crawl on our hands and knees, because the corridor is no more than perhaps 3 feet high and 2 feet wide, however, there is no way back.

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The neo-classicistic cliché is behind us. The narrow passageway is covered with dark varnished wooden boards and only sporadically does a light guide our way, into the darkness. The references to the sinister secret corridor remain, alongside a feeling of crawling around in the ‘internal organs’ of the architecture. Around the corner, at the end of the tunnel, another door appears, this one looks somewhat like the door to a prison cell and the window in it is barred. The door is quite high up in relation to our position in the tunnel on our hands and knees. Where are we now? Are we deep down in some catacomb or sewer? Or are we still in the attic? We are down here on the floor but completely thrown off balance. We have to pull ourselves up almost three feet to reach the door, our only escape. On the other side of the door we are again in a white space.Keeping Walter Benjamin’s rites de passage in mind the round arch of the door and its round barred window makes it reminiscent of something sacred or cultic – a hidden ceremonial chamber known only by the consecrated, or perhaps a kind of confession stand where we may now confess our sins. In the room we have entered, however, the floor is unpainted concrete and the walls are brick walls painted white. It is a small room, and we are now above street level.We are in fact – this we discover now – standing in the gallery’s display window facing the street. Our vulnerability is put on display. We have become objects, no different from the art objects normally displayed here.

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As the French thinker Michel Foucault explains in his theories regarding surveillance and the power-knowledge structures in the modern prison system (13), we are here subjects being watched in our entrapment – this observation stretches far beyond the prison metaphors it uses. It is true of modern society as such, in which we are caught in endless loops of power, control, and loss of identity. Behind us, across from the window is the ‘confession stand’ or ‘prison’ door through which we entered, and right next to it we now discover an identical door which will perhaps lead us out of this trap. We open the door, but in order to get out we have to jump down again three feet. After this we are lead into the courtyard behind the gallery. We are finally out, but out where?
In spite of our regained freedom the claustrophobic uneasiness and the feeling of being incarcerated is still with us. Something fundamental has happened to our physical experience of our surroundings, and to our mental concept of what architectural spaces are and can do. Never gonna be the same is somewhat like an attraction in an amusement park where, in a state of simultaneous joy and fear, we are lead through a scary tunnel.In Ann Louise Andersen’s version all of the artefacts and all of the decorations have been removed, the rooms in themselves evoke these feelings in us, of loss of orientation, loss of direction, existential uncertainty and loss of control. We are Never gonna be the same after these experiences.

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To walk through a door and come out a different person, slightly altered, is a classic characteristic in fairy tales, where the psychological (as well as the physical) transitions in a persons life, in connection with for instance puberty, going from childhood to adulthood, are portrayed as actual physical transitions: Sleeping Beauty’s one hundred years of sleep, walking through a dark forest, through the closet to Narnia, finding Wonderland at the end of a rabbit hole.
Ann Louise Andersen’s ‘guided tour’ of a completely altered Machwerket ends where it began: With uncertainty and a growing uneasiness – What does it all add up to? The tour offers no definite conclusions, rather it generates numerous questions – existential, psychological, philosophical, structural and architectural questions through which we must all find our own way according to our individual guidelines. The tour does not end in clarity and coherence, rather our heads are still spinning, with rows of associations and interesting dilemmas that, none the less, make us think again, and think differently. Perhaps from now on we will think twice before entering a room, and see it differently once we have entered.

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1) Kurt Schwitters’ (1887 – 1948) famous Merzbau was built and rebuilt from 1923 to 1937, first in the family’s house in Waldhausenstrasse 5 in Hannover, until the family had to escape to Norway due to World War II. The Waldhausenstrasse Merzbau was destroyed under the bombing of Hannover in 1943 but the Sprengel Museum in Hannover owns a reconstruction. During this period Schwitters would turn all of the family’s homes into Merzbau projects. There is a Merzbau in Oslo and one in Cumbria, England. For further information on The Merzbau see Elisabeth Burns Gamard: Kurt Schwitters’ Merzbau – The Cathedral of Erotic Misery, Princeton Architectural Press, New York, 2000.

2) Michael Fried: Art and Objecthood, Søren Jensen, Kristine Kern & Lars Bent Petersen ed.: Fundament – Kunstteori I Det 20. Århundrede, Det Fynske Kunstakademi, Odense, 2007, pp. 54 – 76.

3) See: Amelia Jones: Body Art – Performing the Subject, University of Minnesota Press, Minneapolis, 1998, and Postmodernism and the Engendering of Marcel Duchamp, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 1994.

4) Ilya Kabakov: On the Total Installation, Ostfilden, 1995, p. 256.

5) Brian O’Doherty: Inside the White Cube – The Ideology of the Gallery Space, 1976, Danish translation, Rævens Sorte Bibliotek, Politisk Revy, Copenhagen, 2002.

6) Anthony Vidler: The Architectural Uncanny – Essays in the Modern Unhomely, MIT Press, Cambridge & London, 1999.

7) Sigmund Freud: Das Unheimliche, 1947, Danish translation, Rævens Sorte Bibliotek, Copenhagen, 1998.

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8) Anthony Vidler: The Architectural Uncanny – Essays in the Modern Unhomely, MIT Press, Cambridge & London, 1999, p. 29.

9) Anthony Vidler: Warped Space – Art, Architecture, and Anxiety in Modern Culture, MIT Press, Cambridge & London, 2002.

10) Sigmund Freud: Das Unheimliche, 1947, Danish translation, Rævens Sorte Bibliotek, Politisk Revy, Copenhagen, 2002, p. 23.

11) Walter Benjamin: Das Passagenwerk, Danish translation, Politisk Revy, Copenhagen, 2007.

12) Rikke Rosenberg & Berit Anne Larsen: Passages – Benjamin and Four Contemporary Artists, Passepartout # 12, Aarhus University, Aarhus, 1998, p. 133.

13) Michel Foucault: Discipline and Punishment – The Birth of the Prison, 1975, Danish translation, Det Lille Forlag, Copenhagen, 2005.

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