Listen to me carefully, you bunch of snobs haunting the air-conditioned galleries with your dark glasses and your learned notes on contemporary art. Today, we are going to talk about Isa Genzken, this sublime witch of German sculpture who, for nearly five decades, has been throwing the sparkling debris of our decomposing modernity in our faces.
Imagine for a moment that Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir were reincarnated as one person, an artist capable of carving existential angst into tangible objects that stare at us with the intensity of urban discomfort. This is Isa Genzken. This woman who dared to seize the fragmented world of post-war Germany and transform it into an aesthetic of catastrophe so personal that it becomes universal.
Born in 1948 in Bad Oldesloe, Genzken emerges in an artistic landscape dominated by men, where female sculptors were as rare as sober unicorns at artists’ parties. American minimalism was then dominant, and here comes this Germanic amazon with her “Ellipsoids” and “Hyperbolos” from the 1970s, elongated lacquered wooden shapes that seemed to say “Fuck you” to Carl Andre and all those macho men who believed sculpture should remain stoic, immutable and, above all, masculine.
But let us not stop at the surface of these early works. What makes these geometric sculptures resonate is precisely the existential tension they embody. Existentialism teaches us that existence precedes essence, and Genzken shows us how objects exist in a state of perpetual negotiation with space, with their own materiality, with our perceptions. These long wooden forms that seem to hover above the ground are not just formal exercises—they are explorations of the ontological condition of the object in space.
Sartre would have appreciated how Genzken transforms the inert “in-itself” of traditional sculpture into a dynamic and contingent “for-itself.” These objects are here, but they refuse to accept their passive “thingness.” They confront us, challenge us, demand that we see them not as fixed entities, but as spatial propositions in constant evolution. These early works remind us that art, like existence, is an unfinished project, always becoming.
When we follow Genzken’s trajectory in the 1980s, we see her abandon mathematical elegance to explore concrete, that banal material of German reconstruction. Her “Windows” from this period are monuments to emptiness, frames that frame nothing, openings without views. These concrete sculptures evoke urban ruins while rejecting nostalgia. They speak to us of the existential absurdity of a world that constructs and destroys in perpetual cycles.
Again, existentialism offers us a key to interpretation. The human condition, for Camus, is that of Sisyphus eternally pushing his rock. Genzken presents us with architectural forms that shelter no one, structures that exist in a paradoxical state between construction and decay. These sculptures remind us that any attempt to create meaning is confronted with the fundamental absurdity of existence.
And then comes the rupture, that moment when Genzken seems to have swallowed an explosive cocktail of millennial anxiety and consumerist debris. Her assemblage work that begins with the series “Fuck the Bauhaus” in 2000, featuring DIY architectural models made from pizza boxes, shells, plastic toys, and colorful tape, marks a radical transition. One could see it as a abandonment of her previous formal rigor, but it is rather an intensification of her existential quest.
If existentialists teach us that we are “condemned to be free,” Genzken shows us what this freedom means in a world saturated with consumable, disposable objects that, nonetheless, are always present. Her assemblage practice becomes a form of material existentialism, where objects are ripped from their commercial destinies and reconstituted in new meaningful relationships.
Take her installation “Oil” for the German Pavilion at the Venice Biennale in 2007. The entrance of the building wrapped in scaffolding, the interior populated with abandoned suitcases, suspended astronauts and omnipresent mirrors—all of this creates a landscape of perpetual transit, a non-place in the sense that anthropologist Marc Augé uses the term. It is a profound meditation on contemporary alienation, on our collective inability to fully inhabit the world we have created.
Sartre and Beauvoir’s existentialism reminds us that we are defined by our actions, by our choices, by our existential “project.” Genzken, by transforming the waste of consumer culture into complex and disturbing sculptures, chooses to confront the material chaos of our time. She rejects the nostalgia of clean and orderly minimalism, just as she rejects the temptation to retreat into an artistic ivory tower.
The bizarrely dressed mannequins from her recent “Schauspieler” (Actors) series perhaps offer the clearest manifestation of her existential reflection. These humanoid figures, clad in eccentric outfits, pose like actors frozen in an absurd play. They remind us that in a spectacle society, we are all in constant performance, playing roles that are imposed upon us while trying to construct a personal authenticity.
As Simone de Beauvoir writes in “The Second Sex”: “One is not born a woman; one becomes one.” Genzken’s mannequins seem to say: “One is not born a contemporary subject; one becomes one” through a chaotic accumulation of cultural signs, fashion trends, learned postures, and identity accessories. These anthropomorphic sculptures, neither entirely human nor merely objects, embody the ontological ambiguity that is at the heart of existentialism.
Critics who see in Genzken’s recent work only a superficial commentary on consumer culture miss the point. Her aesthetic of collage, excess, and hodgepodge is not merely a critique of contemporary superficiality—it is a profound exploration of how objects shape our experience of the world and of ourselves.
Existentialism teaches us that we are “situated” within a specific historical and social context that constrains our choices while making those choices meaningful. Genzken, as a German artist born in the immediate post-war period, is situated within a complex and troubled national history. Her most recent works can be read as attempts to grapple with this history without being overwhelmed by it, to create art that recognizes its context while transcending it.
Genzken’s post-9/11 assemblages, such as the series “Empire/Vampire, Who Kills Death” (2003), are not mere reactions to a contemporary tragedy. They are part of a broader meditation on historical violence, on the cycles of destruction and reconstruction that defined the 20th century. When she places toy soldiers amid improvised and fragile architectures, she reminds us that war is never really over, that peace is always precarious.
Beauvoir wrote that “the drama of the woman is this conflict between the fundamental claim of any subject, which always poses as the essential, and the demands of a situation that constitutes her as inessential.” Genzken, as a woman artist in a male-dominated environment, has had to navigate this conflict throughout her career. Her works can be read as persistent assertions of her essential subjectivity in a world that would attempt to marginalize her.
But Genzken transcends mere identity politics. Her work is not reducible to her position as a woman artist, just as existentialism is not reducible to a theory of isolated individuals. It is rather an exploration of intersubjectivity, of how we always exist in relation to others and to the material world that we share.
The series “New Buildings for Berlin” (2001-2006) offers us a perfect example of this relational reflection. These fanciful architectural models, with their bright colors and unrealistic forms, are not simply critiques of modern urban planning. They propose alternative visions, utopian possibilities that could exist if we had the courage to radically rethink our built environment.
Existentialism encourages us to imagine alternative futures, to recognize that the world could be different than it is. Genzken, with her impossible architectures and improbable assemblages, invites us to this radical imagination. She shows us that even in a world saturated with prefabricated objects and imposed structures, we can still create something new, unexpected, transformative.
There is a joy in this work, a jubilation in the chaotic assemblage that contradicts the stereotypical image of existentialism as a dark, defeatist philosophy. Yes, Genzken acknowledges the absurdity and contingency of our material existence, but she also finds a creative freedom in that recognition. Her works are not monuments to despair but celebrations of possibility.
Look at her “Rose II” (2007), this oversized steel flower that stood proudly in front of the New Museum in New York. It is a work that embraces artificiality—no one would confuse this metallic structure with a real rose—and transcendent beauty. It reminds us that even in a world of manufactured objects, we can still be moved, still feel something that goes beyond the utilitarian and the commercial.
Sartre tells us that we are what we do with what we have been made. Genzken takes the debris of our material culture—the disposable objects, the construction materials, the fashion accessories—and makes something new out of it, something that transcends their origins while recognizing them. It is a form of existential alchemy, transforming banality into meaning.
In an age where art is increasingly treated as a commodity, as a financial investment or a status symbol, Genzken’s work remains stubbornly ungovernable. Her sculptures refuse to be reduced to objects of passive contemplation or demonstrations of technical virtuosity. They demand rather a form of existential engagement, an acknowledgment that we are all caught up in the same complex and often contradictory systems that produce both gleaming skyscrapers and mountains of plastic waste.
Existentialism teaches us that authenticity comes from a honest recognition of our situation, followed by a conscious choice about how we respond to that situation. Genzken, confronted with the material and ideological chaos of the late 20th and early 21st centuries, chooses not to turn away, but to dive in completely. She transforms this chaos into a distinctive artistic practice that refuses easy formulas and prefab solutions.
Her refusal to stick to a recognizable style, her willingness to risk failure and misunderstanding by constantly pursuing new directions, all testify to a deeply existentialist understanding of artistic creativity. As Camus reminds us, Sisyphus must be imagined happy in his endless labor. Similarly, Genzken seems to find satisfaction in the impossible yet necessary task of giving shape to the chaos of our contemporary world.
In an artistic landscape dominated by brand-name artists and industrialized studio practices, Genzken remains a singular and unimitable voice. She reminds us that art is not simply about producing aesthetically pleasing or conceptually coherent objects, but an existential engagement with the materials, histories, and possibilities that surround us.
If existentialism is a philosophy that insists on our radical freedom even in the face of the severest constraints, then Genzken is truly an existential artist. Her work shows us how creative freedom can emerge even amid the most overwhelming cultural disorder, how new meanings can be forged from the debris of mass consumption.
While so much contemporary art seems either to capitulate to market forces or to oppose them with predictable and ineffective critique, Genzken finds a third way. She accepts the material world as it is—saturated with objects, fragmented, often absurd—but refuses to accept that this is the end of the story. In each chaotic assemblage, each architectural sculpture, every strangely attired mannequin, she affirms the possibility of new meaning, new relationships, new perspectives.
And isn’t that the heart of existentialism? Not despair in the face of absurdity, but the recognition that it is precisely this absurdity that makes our creation of meaning so significant. In a predetermined universe, art would simply be an illustration of pre-existing truths. In the contingent and open world that existentialism presents to us, art becomes an essential act of meaning-making.
Isa Genzken, with her refusal of easy formulas and her willingness to confront the material chaos that surrounds us, embodies this existential understanding of art. Her work reminds us that even in the most disconcerting circumstances, we still have the freedom to create, to transform, to give new meaning to what seems senseless.
So the next time you find yourself facing one of her unbalanced sculptures or one of her chaotic assemblages, don’t just seek to understand what the work “means.” Instead, ask yourself how it invites you to rethink your own relationship to the material world, how it challenges you to see differently the objects around you, how it encourages you to imagine new possibilities in what already seems determined.
For it is there, in this invitation to a new perception, a new relationship, that lies the true existential power of Genzken’s work. She shows us that even in our overmediated and hypercommodified world, we can still find moments of authentic freedom, opportunities to create meaning where there seemed to be only noise.
So yes, admire the technical virtuosity of her early wooden sculptures, appreciate the boldness of her recent assemblages, but do not forget that what ties these seemingly disparate works together is a constant preoccupation with our existential condition in a constantly evolving material world. Isa Genzken is not just a sculptor or an assemblage artist—she is a visual philosopher who uses objects, space, and our own perception to pose the most fundamental questions about our being in the world.
And in an artistic landscape too often dominated by cynicism or empty spectacle, this sincere existential inquiry is as refreshing as it is necessary. Thank you, Isa Genzken, for reminding us that art can still be a matter of life and death, of meaning and absurdity, of freedom and constraint—in short, a matter of human existence in all its chaotic and wonderful complexity.
