1998, 15x10x5cm, Güntr´s hair, plastic, metal

I met Günter when I was working in Berlin at the Academy of Art. He was a 70-year-old pensioner who worked at the Academy as a doorman and guard. He wore the typical retired-man’s drab clothing, and powerful glasses hung from his wrinkled face. He was bald, with liver spots spread evenly over his head, a contrast to his perfectly shiny skin. I was attracted to the last of his hair. This almost wafty clump, which looked like fluff, very sparse. It looked perfectly dead and white, borderline artificial, cosmic. It seemed to me that it was no longer a part of his head. Up close, however, his hair was surprisingly firm and strong, like silon. I had a very friendly relationship with Günter, and because I knew that he had an irresistible sense of humor, I dared to ask him to give me his last strands of hair. After clarifying to him my peculiar reasons, he agreed and suggested that I could snip them off myself. But I wanted them whole, including the roots – no rarity should ever be destroyed. So I asked him to use my cerulean hair brush to comb out his hair during the rest of my stay in Berlin. Six months later I received the brush with the last strands of hair.