Fallen into oblivion
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One
of these days I was heading towards the Viennese Woods on my usual
weekend foot-trip. I meant to be smart by seeing first my bank and then
the pharmacy. This, however, resulted in a slight bend in my usual
itinerary,
reaching the magical Türkenschanzpark from a new direction. Unless you
command an excellent working memory for changing directions, I advise
to avoid any orientation experiments with that spell-bound park.
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My confusion set in at some
quiet crossroad I had no recollection of at all. At the corner, all alone
sprang some modest announcement in my view. One of the most famous and
cherished musical artists of the world was graciously pleased to make his
humble appearance in our praised City in the coming November. This
simple sheet of paper (formate A3) appeared rather strange to me. Was I
dreaming? Was this real?
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A few steps further, I noticed a strange building behind a
curtain of prolific vegetation. Also this rotten jewel of long
forgotten better times had to this moment escaped my notice. I slipped
away into a chain of thoughts embracing both recent impressions: the
imminent appearance of the high guest, and the neo-baroque ruin.
Shouldn't we ... Couldn't we ... Where was I? I had entered the
close-by park and didn't know, where I was heading to. I was to leave
the park at the other side, although ... This park never has 'another
side'. It is a miracle in 3 dimensions.
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Finally, I made it into the
Viennese Woods and to the little restaurant up the hills. But thoughts
around these two unexpected encounters continued to stir up my fantasy. I
decided to learn more about this exceptional building. For my trip on
next weekend I charged my small digital camera, but, helas: the building had disappeared.
To be more precise: it was not where I remembered it to be. Also the weekend
after I failed to localise it. But then I lost patience and repeated at
leisure on an ordinary Wednesday my historical itinerary.
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Here
was the bank. And here the
pharmacy. Fine. And there was the park. The bend in my usual approach
meant to enter from the western and not from the southern side. Of
course, this stubborn area has no real sides. At best, you may identify
a north-western border. But ... here it was! My pseudo-baroque jewel! I got
my photographs and the address. Back at home, a few moments in the
internet made everything clear to me: this building was
famous! A certain Schapira had it erected in the 20ies as tribute to his
wife. I also found out that it presently belonged to all of us.
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The Schapiras
had Jewish and
Romanian roots and lots of money. They shared these roots with a family
Rosenblüth, the next owners. The building survived the nazi regime
untouched thanks to the nationality of the owners. After the war, it
came under public ownership and accomodated an institute of the nearby
BOKU university till 2016. The property is actually vacant and in
deteriorating condition. Nevertheless, particularely due to its
abandoned look, it attracts the curiosity of good-old-style aficionados
- and real estate sharks.
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Maybe
we should retain
exactly the actual state and offer the object as very special
accomodation for very special guests, as the actual one scheduled for
November. He might even be inclined to do some cautious cleaning
himself, and bring his own sleeping
bag.
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Danielle Spera (2014) Der Vater der Pop Art. nu
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9/26 < MLB (9/26) > 9/26
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