Inka Schube/ Mrs Raab wants to go home:
“During the past 25 years, the photographer Zoltán Jókay (born 1960) has been exploring the possibilities and limits of inter-human relationships and has forever remained faithful to his querying mind. His photography is also a self-searching process, a coming to terms with togetherness as the quintessence of human existence. The photographic genre of the portrait is the perfect medium to this end, for it presupposes the coming together of two people, an encounter, from which a virtually paradigmatic situation evolves, the ultimate expression of which is the portrait itself.
Mrs. Raab wants to go home, the photographer’s most recent work, has as its theme human sociality viewed from the perspective of absolute solitude. Since 2007 Zoltán Jókay has been working in a low-income district on the outskirts of Munich, first as a district carer and then as a carer in an old people’s home. Having been given basic retraining as a low-paid auxiliary, he was entrusted with the job of looking after after old people suffering from dementia. At first there was no thought of being able to use his photography, for earning a living was the main concern. But then the status of human life as an operand is nowhere so bluntly evident as in the brutal economy of social care and welfare. The human beings Zoltán Jókay encounters here are hardly able to care for themselves and look after their own interests. And added to this loss of personal autonomy and the loss of one’s own four walls is the loss of memory. What remains is solitude. While solitude is not of course exclusively contingent on whether one is rich or poor, it is certainly the dire fate of those who are no longer able to purchase respect and dignity.
Zoltán Jókay responded to this situation by meeting the need to give back to the people he worked with, and cared for, the very dignity and individuality their circumstances so often denied them. After two years he began to photograph them and the three years that followed saw the creation of a series of more than 60 photographs that were just as magically lyrical as they were brutally honest.
While the loss of memory may also erase its images, the colours of Zoltán Jókay’s photographs seem to store, like pent-in emotions, the richness of a life once lived. With the utmost discretion and economy of language, Zoltán Jókay affords his subjects the possibility of describing their lives anew. Not least in this regard do the frail yet powerful images from the series Mrs. Raab wants to go home generate a force that is at once discomforting and moving.
Book Review of Zoltan Jokay’s: der, die, das
One of the most compelling bodies of work I recently discovered is that of Zoltan Jokay.
Accompanying a large exhibition on the people of Ravensburg, Germany, he published a book with the title: der, die, das
(the translation of which doesn’t do it justice). By photographing people in their immediate environment,
he produced a sociological fingerprint of ‘small town Germany’.
On the very first page of the book is the photograph of an apple tree.
Right from the beginning, Jokay sets the pace for what is to come. We all know about the connotations of the apple in the Garden of Eden.
In my opinion, the artist is giving us a metaphor for youth and life rather than abandonment from paradise.
The skeleton like branches of the tree and the grey autumn sky also suggest a general melancholy that follows us throughout the book.
The following image is that of a young girl standing in her driveway.
It almost seems as if the leaves of the apple tree are leaping into the portrait of the girl,
although many pages of introduction are in-between. The direct eye contact with the young woman is engaging and revealing at the same time.
She doesn’t seem to be happy, nor does she seem to be sad. It is the neutral expression on her face that keeps reappearing
in Jokay’s portrait of a small town.
Only a few of his figures are smiling shyly. His portraits of mostly children are frontal and convincingly objective.
Although he might have directed the people photographed, Jokay seems to reveal who they really are.
That can be accredited to the general trust children have – even in strangers.
I am implying that Jokay was a stranger to the subjects photographed in most cases.
In his accompanying essay, Thomas Knubben writes: „Zoltan Jokay mostly photographs children.
It is their proverbial opennessthat predestined them for the spontaneous meeting with the camera.“
Certainly the photographer used this so-called openness for his own means.
Towards the second half of the book, Jokay has included photographs of adults.
The fact that a few of them are taken in interiors (kitchen, factory, hospital etc.)
suggests that the artist had a closer relationship to the subject. In these cases Jokay probably wasn’t dependent on a childish openness
because friendships and family relations gave him already permission to photograph.
Evidently, the choice of portraits included in the book is part of a greater message.
It is the „in Germany-born foreigner in him“ (page 9) that led him to include to a large extent
images of immigrants (Eastern European, Turkish etc.). In either case, all the portraits of Ravensburg share the fact that
they were photographed with a very sensitive and sympathetic eye.In the foreword it says: „They are images of unusual proximity and partly irritating directness;
simultaneously they are also images with a great amount of sympathy for the human being.“
Along with all the sympathy for his subjects, Jokay also produced a self-portrait.Maybe it is what he sees in the person that reminds him of himself.
This self-discovery process doesn’t have to be present while Jokay is shooting on location. It can happen much later when the questions turn up
of which images should be included or excluded. Clearly, the choice of images in the book der, die, das
reveal a mysterious interpretation of childhood and also life in general that leads us back to the apple tree.
In studying Jokay’s work, the viewer discovers an omnipresent layer that suggests that the artist himself had a questionable childhood.
This layer is a common thread throughout his portraits and reveals so much more than the faces of his subjects.
Nevertheless, it is my impression that Jokay might have carried his own personal conception of childhood a little too far.
The children he photographed almost seem too serious. After all they are only children. In Claudio Hils accompanying essay it says:
“In children’s faces we encounter the decisive expression of an adult, whereas adults seem to be lost in the world of the moment.”
The reason for this phenomena might be that Jokay photographed the children just like adults (frontal, eye to eye, sometimes monumental).
It was the photographers’ choice to make them look like adults by using his creative means.This is not a valid criticism in itself rather than the discovery that der, die, das is more likely an artistic and not as much a documentary project. In either way, Jokay’s portraits have haunted me for quite some time now,
which in this case speaks for the quality of his work.
Marco Bohr, 2002
Verena von Gagern/ Memory
It is not necessary to look at Zoltán Jókay’s photographs very often.
Once seen, they remain effective,
as much by what is as by what is not in them
and also by what must have been before they were created,
and what was long ago.
Seldom do photographs achieve this presence
which they have so often been lauded as possessing since the invention of the medium.
Photographs like these insert themselves instantly
into the observer’s inner storage place,
like imprints of thoughts,
where they revive as components of his or her own memory,
thus causing unrest.
At the time of the exposure, the photographer placed all his bets on a single card.
He concentrated all his attentions on one inner point,
and can only be encountered at that point, that one innermost point.
He can afford this fine emphasis on such a personal moment of correspondence
between him and the person to whom he is reacting photographically,
because he has given sufficient consideration to the language and art of photography,
and as a result does without much of what usually makes images speak.
As always when an artist intends to evade a medium’s tendency toward the glossy surface,
the alternative, the broken or incomplete form, demands an even greater mastery of the means.
Zoltán Jókay leaves the story of the people he portrays not to the narrative form of the physical space,
but to the moment of the encounter transported by the image.
That delicate, almost unnameable point of inner closeness has taken shape
through the distance of a photographic apparatus that always captures in a documentary mode.
You could now arrive at some agreement on what it is you see, could compare or describe it,
take every detail into account, seek many words for it. Instead, you put down the pictures.
Something has got under your skin without you having sensed anything on the surface.
From that moment on, the photographs take effect from within.
European Photography Nr.:66 Volume 20 Issue 2 Winter 1999/200
Inka Schube/ Fragments of a biographical novel.
It is possible to read Zoltán Jókay’s photographs as fragments of a biographical novel
that begins to glow when exposed to light. What is written is the artist’s biography:
Yes, he was born in Germany in 1960,
the son of Hungarian parents who had left their homeland four years earlier
in response to the tumultuous political events of 1956.
And yes, his early work presented under the title sich erinnern (remembering)
deals with the childhood experience of hurting and loneliness.
And yes, the photographer leaves these images behind in sich begegnen (encountering),
proceeding in cautious, probing steps to search for new images
that teil of the potential nuances of happiness.
And yes, he then discovered, in „erwachsen werden“ (growing up),
that estrangement is a condition of human existence.
To experience this, he ultimately had to travel to Africa.
That all sounds like a cliché. Yet life is like that sometimes.
Zoltán Jókay has a very dose relationship to his photographs.
In this sense they are self-images.
Taking pictures is working at a broken mirror,
working on an image of oneself in the image of another.
Photography is a language, a tool used to come to grips with one’s own biography,
to understand it, and to protect oneself against it.
There is nothing cool or distanced about these pictures,
and although that may seem somewhat anachronistic,
it may well explain their unique appeal.
For they are always concerned with intimacy, closeness,
being touched in both a literal and a figurative sense.
Yet although they are within sight of the boundary to voyeurism,
they never actually cross it.
None of this says very much about the photographs
and their relationship to time, however.
Although the photographer cites the influence of such artists
as August Sander and Diane Arbus, Zoltán Jókay’s visual language
is rooted in a premodern historical sphere of reference.
It is characterized by an intensity of psychological and emotional expression
of the kind found in the work of such Old Masters as Raphael,
although it is achieved without the use of opulent formats
or pictorial signs and symbols with demonstrable allegiance to Christian iconography.
More important in this context is the way in which Jókay condenses human existential states,
which can perhaps be most aptly described äs a form of secularization of the biblical
as represented by the Old Testament.
Viewed from the vantage point of antecedents, Sander and Arbus,
Jókay takes a step „backward and ahead.“
He does not dissect his „models“— which actually never become models but instead
remain in an old-fashioned way human beings — on the sacrificial fable of modernism.
He does not process them within the system of references created by media history.
He shows — sometimes it is just that simple —what it is to be human.
Zoltán Jókay attracted attention in the early nineteen-nineties with a series of portraits
mostly done in Leipzig shortly after the so-called Wende—the period of political change
leading to the collapse of the East German government and German reunification.
What brought him to the city in Saxony was not so much a specific working idea
but rather his curiosity about the political events of the time
and the people involved in them.
There he found the visual vocabulary that offered him, the son of Hungarian immigrants
raised on the outskirts of Munich, a basis for developing a visual language
that would enable him to explore his own biographical background.
He completed his first series entitled sich erinnern,
photographs which can be regarded as attempts to come to grips with his own childhood.
There were four photographers working in the German-speaking region during the nineties
who devoted themselves in a similar documentary approach to the full-figure portrait.
The work of each is a product of an exploration of biographical origins
and each fixes them within a clearly defined geographic area.
This phenomenon may be attributable, among other things,
to the fact that the process of self-identification that took place
during the early phase of the artistic careers of members
of this generation unfolded precisely at that moment in history
at which an enormous deficit in social values and utopias became evident.
Investigating one’sorigins is part ofthe process of existential self-assurance.
Jitka Hanzlova (*1958), Albrecht Tübke (*1971), and Bernhard Fuchs (*1971)
developed their visual language by revisiting the settings of their childhood in photographs.
Hanzlova photographed in Rokytnik, northern Bohemia; Tübke in Dalliendorf, Mecklenburg;
and Fuchs in the environs of Helfenberg in Upper Austria. They focused on rural existence,
paying more or less attention to the Invasion of modernity into idyllic country life.
In Hanzlova’s case in particular, these photographs seem to be images of longing
for a primal state of unity with nature and a corresponding sense of time.
Jókay did not find his memories of childhood in the homeland of his parents but in a German city,
in which he lived for an extended period of time. That seems fitting;
given the premodern ambience that characterizes many parts of Leipzig
and the often old-fashioned appearance of its inhabitants.
Yet what Jókay discovered here above all is the tear in the fabric of time,
an experience with which he was familiar from his childhood.
For „sich erinnern“, his first series of photographs done between 1988 and 1993,
Zoltán Jókay photographed children and adolescents in a socio-psychological limbo,
young people growing up with adults who were struggling to survive in this gap and who,
like their children, remained strange and lost within it. The experience of the adults,
who are usually absent in these images, is inscribed as a trace of physical violence in the images
of the children and youth, for whom doorframes, upholstered furniture, fathers‘ legs, cats,
and bath towels offer no support or comfort. They seem lost, an impression that is held in check
only by the visual vocabulary that relies on keen sensitivity to color values.
Jókay did not actually photograph them, these figures standing, sitting,
and lying before him, as children. They appear instead as small,
heavily burdened adults seen in a brief, fragile moment of self-awareness
which they reveal —entirely unconsciously—to the man with the camera.
Jókay is neither a conceptual creator nor an image-producer.
He is not interested in systematization or typification.
His work reflects a sense of time that is not oriented
toward the criteria of professional production.
And thus the attention given to these pictures and the corresponding expectations
they generate turned into a kind of curse.
It became important to escape from these „first“ images,
which were preceded above all by diary-style photographic and textual notes,
and to pack them up and take them along on a journey with an unknown itinerary.
In the course of the following decade, Jókay realized two series of photographs
entitled sich begegnen and erwachsen werden. At first glance,
we recognize only minimal formal differences among the three series—
such as the use of a different image format.
Actually, there are pictures among them which could easily belong to either series.
Yet we recognize a movement through all three successive series
that is reflected in the ultimate elimination of the reflexive pronoun „sich“
in the German title of the last work.
I met Zoltán Jókay during this journey in 1995, somewhere in Scotland.
It was raining, as usual, and this man in his mid-thirties,
whom l had known for no more than a few hours and with whom
l was now walking over wet cobblestones, talked about his longing for contact,
about his attempts to comprehend people in moments of touching.
That longing had a tentative goal. Having originated in the description of loneliness,
it now sought closeness, fulfilment of the yearning for home.
The focus — as the pictures clearly show — was now on distances,
which had to be defined, overcome, and reconquered.
„Sich begegnen“ exhibits a noticeably erotic or rather tenderly sensual component.
Moments of happiness, albeit fragile, appear as if the photographer wanted to experience
with the aid of the camera how it feels, how differently it can be „grasped.“
He photographed people wherever he encountered them —
ordinarily along roadsides and spaces between roads,
more rarely in the protective intimacy of their homes.
His subjects are seen standing or sitting. Some are captured in full figure,
others in three-quarter views. Their clear outlines set them apart
from the soft-focus backgrounds. In many of these images,
at least one of the pairs of eyes in the picture gazes toward the camera
and the photographer hiding behind it. And in others,
where this is not so and a subject’s gaze is directed toward someone eise,
it seems deeply immersed in itself and the world.
Jókay has worked in Berlin and Scotland, in Budapest and Ravensburg,
where he lived and worked on a grant.
The frame of view in his photographs has grown larger,
due in part to his use of a different camera,
reflecting an-other step in the process of expanding his gaze.
Architecture began to play a role, although only rudimentarily at first.
In Jókay’s first video piece—done during an artist-in-residence assignment
in the small town of Rottweil in southern Germany in 2003 —
space expands surprisingly in several different senses.
The understanding of composition and color gained through photography
now serves the purposes of a debate conducted in language
about the experience of alienation: interviews characterized
by the same non-invasive gaze and dialogue reflected in the photographs
are interrupted and commented upon by long camera runs
through urban sections of the small town.
Jókay’s interest — as he has often emphasized in interviews —
is not sociological. It is more an instinctive, deeply rooted curiosity
about the existence of others that is expressed in this film.
Nothing is explained, it offers no commentary,
but relies instead upon the language of the images and that of its protagonists.
The latter are once again veiled and protected within a finely composed cocoon
of color and form which, in its fragile existence, promises stability
and something to hold onto in life for as long as the Images endure.
But now the distance is defined, the artist’s alienation is distinct
from the alienation of others. We are half-way there.
Inka Schube, curator at the Sprengel Museum Hannover, 2004
Verena von Gagern/ Speicher
Zoltán Jókays Bilder muß man nicht oft anschauen.
Einmal gesehen, bleiben sie gleichermaßen wirksam durch alles, was in ihnen ist,
wie alles, was in ihnen nicht ist, wie auch, was kurz bevor sie entstanden,
gewesen sein muß und lang vorher war.
Selten erreichen Fotografien diese ihnen eigentlich in die Wiege gesungene Präsenz.
Fotografien dieser Art schieben sich dem Betrachter augenblicklich wie Gedankenbilder
in den inneren Speicher, wo sie sich als Bestandteile der eigenen Erinnerung wiederfinden
und gleichzeitig Unruhe stiften.
Der Fotograf hat zum Zeitpunkt der Belichtung alles auf eine Karte gesetzt.
In großer Aufmerksamkeit ist er auf einen inneren Punkt konzentriert
und ist nur an diesem Punkt zu berühren, an diesem eigenen tiefsten Punkt.
Er kann sich diese Zuspitzung auf einen so persönlichen Moment der Korrespondenz mit dem Menschen,
auf den er fotografisch reagiert, leisten, weil er die Sprache und die Kunst der Fotografie reichlich bedacht hat
und folglich auf vieles verzichtet, was Bilder gewöhnlich zum Sprechen bringt.
Wie immer, wenn ein Künstler sich dem Hang eines Mediums zum schönen Schein entziehen möchte,
verlangt seine Alternative, die gebrochene oder unfertige Form, eine noch größere Beherrschung der Mittel.
Zoltán Jókay überläßt die Geschichte der Menschen, die er porträtiert, nicht der Erzählform des physischen Raumes,
sondern dem Zeitpunkt der durch das Bild übertragenen Begegnung.
Dieser zarte, kaum benennbare Punkt innerer Nähe
hat durch die Distanz des immer dokumentarisch erfassenden fotografischen Apparates Gestalt genommen.
Jetzt könnte man Einigkeit erzielen über das, was man sieht, vergleichen, beschreiben,
keines der Details auslassen, viele Worte dafür suchen.
Doch jetzt legt man die Bilder aus der Hand.
Etwas ist einem unter die Haut gegangen,
ohne daß man auf der Oberfläche einen Reiz verspürt hätte.
Ab dann wirken die Bilder von innen.
European Photography Nr.:66 Volume 20 Issue 2 Winter 1999/2000
Michael Stoeber/ Mrs Raab wants to go home
In einem Interview danach befragt, warum er Bilder mache, antwortete der Fotograf Zoltán Jókay, weil er darin die Möglichkeit sehe, sich kennen zu lernen. Wenn er also, wie es der Fall ist, in immer neuen Serien andere porträtiert, entdeckt er in ihnen auch sich selbst. Seine Porträtkunst wird getragen von einer zutiefst humanen Empathie. Sie grenzt den anderen nicht aus – weder durch Pathetisierung noch durch Pathologisierung. Sondern sie versucht, seiner Eigenart ganz selbstverständlich gerecht zu werden. Mit dieser Haltung fotografiert Jókay Menschen. Nicht weil er findet, dass sie so anders sind, sondern weil er im Fremden das Eigene erkennt. Man mag dabei an Gustave Flaubert denken, der von seiner berühmten Romanheldin gesagt hat: „Madame Bovary, c´est moi.“ Der zarten Art, mit der Jókay Menschen begegnet, entspricht die Form, die er seinen Porträts gibt. Der Künstler fotografiert die Menschen dort, wo sie leben. Wenn er sie aufnimmt, oft auf der Straße, seltener zuhause, dann in Situationen, wie sie alltäglicher nicht sein könnten. In klaren Bildern, die ihren Blick suchen. An spektakulären, Aufsehen erregenden und mit unserer voyeuristischen Lust rechnenden Aufnahmen ist Zoltán Jókay nicht interessiert. Seine große Begabung besteht darin, in äußerst diskreten Fotografien seine Protagonisten genau zu charakterisieren. Es ist zutiefst berührend zu sehen, wie die Menschen auf seinen Bildern von Affekten bewegt werden, in denen nicht nur der Fotograf, sondern auch der Betrachter sich wieder zu erkennen vermag. Diese Qualität zeichnet bereits die „Porträts“ aus, die ihn bekannt gemacht haben. Sie umfassen insgesamt vier Werkserien, von denen die früheste mit dem Titel „sich erinnern“ zur Zeit der Wende entsteht. Weitere Kapitel heißen „sich begegnen“, „erwachsen werden“ und „fremd“. Hinter den Porträts scheint zugleich zeichenhaft die Biografie des Künstlers auf, der 1960 in Deutschland als Kind ungarischer Eltern geboren wurde, die vier Jahre zuvor aus politischen Gründen ihr Land verlassen hatten.
Diese Porträts werden 2004, begleitet von einem schönen Katalogbuch, im hannoverschen Sprengel Museum gezeigt. Die Kuratorin ist Inka Schube. Sie stellt nun verdienstvoller Weise auch die neue Werkserie des Künstlers in Hannover vor. Ihre Aufnahmen sind in den letzten Jahren in einer Siedlung am Rande Münchens entstanden, deren Bewohner vorwiegend einer einkommensschwachen Schicht angehören. Zoltán Jókay arbeitet dort seit 2007, zuerst als ungelernter Sozialarbeiter, gegenwärtig als Betreuer in einem Altersheim. Nachdem man ihn zur Hilfskraft ausgebildet hat, kümmert er sich dort vorwiegend um Menschen, die an Demenz leiden. Jókay nimmt seine Arbeit sehr ernst. So sind die Bilder der neuen Werkserie ausschließlich in seiner Freizeit und alle mit Einverständnis der Porträtierten entstanden. Hinweise, auf die der Künstler großen Wert legt. Der Titel der Werkserie „Mrs. Raab wants to go home“ könnte symbolischer nicht sein. Alle Menschen, die Jókay hier porträtiert hat, sind Einsame und Verlassene. Alle, nicht nur Frau Raab, wollen nach Hause. Sie sehnen sich fort von dem Ort, an dem sie sind, hin zu einem anderen Ort, an dem es ihnen besser gehen soll. Für die Menschen, die Jókay als Sozialarbeiter kennen gelernt und porträtiert hat, ist das vor allem eine andere Zeit, denn zuhause in ihrer Wohnung leben sie ja noch. Alt geworden, zum Teil auch krank, träumen sie sich zurück in jene Jahre, als sie noch jung, schön und gesund waren. Wie Frau Stern, die in den 1930er Jahren eine gefeierte Filmschauspielerin war und die von ihrem Krankenlager auf ein Gemälde blickt, das sie als blühende Frau zeigt. Sie kokettiert damit, dass sie auch heute noch kein einziges graues Haar habe, was natürlich überhaupt nicht stimmt. Jókay hat seine Porträts als Doppel aus Text- und Bildtafel in identischer Größe und verwandter Farbigkeit angelegt. Die Texte, die er über die Menschen geschrieben hat, sind ebenso schwerelos wie herzzerreißend. Mit ihnen blickt er in die Seelen und Herzen der von ihm Porträtierten. Sie illustrieren seine Bilder nicht, sondern schließen sie auf. Wenn Frau Lechner ins Leere schaut und der Text uns lakonisch mitteilt, dass ihre Tochter schon lange tot ist, weiß man, woran sie die ganze Zeit denkt. Genau wie die Frau, die einsam rauchend an einem Tisch sitzt, während der Text sie mit nur einen einzigen Satz zitiert: „Everything was better while my husband was still alive.“
Auch mit diesen Porträts gelingt es dem Künstler wieder, dass wir auf sie schauen wie in einen Spiegel. Weil sie deutlich machen, dass uns genau das unvermeidlich bevorsteht, was sie zeigen. Dabei können wir uns so gut mit ihnen identifizieren, weil Zoltán Jókay seine Porträtierten nicht zu Opfern macht, sondern ihnen in seinen Bildern ihre Würde lässt. Weil er von ihnen aus der Perspektive des Lebens erzählt. Dennoch ist der Tod immer gegenwärtig. Jókay unterschlägt ihn ebenso wenig wie die Not und das Elend des Alters. Oder die tristen Verhältnisse in der Siedlung und im Pflegeheim. In der präzisen Dramaturgie des Künstlers verbinden sich die Porträts seiner Protagonisten zu einer großartigen Zusammenschau, die als komplexes Panorama ihre innere und äußere Situation zeigt. Dabei bringen uns die kleinen Formate der Bilder, 30 x 21 cm, dazu, dass wir uns ihnen mit großer Aufmerksamkeit zuwenden. Wovon sie alle gleichermaßen erzählen ist die fundamentale Einsamkeit des Menschen, die mit zunehmendem Alter anscheinend immer größer wird. Weil die Menschen, die wir kennen und lieben, auf einmal nicht mehr da sind, und die Jungen mit ihrem eigenen Leben genug zu tun haben. Und weil die schlecht bezahlten Pfleger in den Heimen mit ihren vielfältigen Betreuungsaufgaben oft genug überfordert sind. All das erfahren wir. Aber eher als Ostinato in einer Partitur des Behauptungswillens. Diese Bilder sind ganz und gar nicht weinerlich. In ihrem Fokus steht die Mut machende Haltung, mit der Zoltán Jókays Protagonisten dem Meer von Plagen begegnen, das sie umgibt. Frau Weiss, die jeden Tag ein wenig mehr ihr Gedächtnis und damit ihre Identität verliert, steht in ihrem eindrucksvollen roten Kleid wie eine Diva des Stummfilmkinos vor uns. Farben spielen überhaupt eine große Rolle in der Werkserie. Sie grundieren die Bilder emotional und erinnern zugleich an Leitsysteme. Frau Licht wandert vom Dunkel ins Helle, Frau Stein sucht jede Nacht aufs Neue ihr Bett. Und wenn Frau Raab in ein farbig illuminiertes Fenster blickt, träumt sie sich hinaus in eine freudvollere Gegenwart. In Gedanken begleiten wir sie. Wobei unser Mitleid ihr wie uns gilt.
Kunstforum International