Literally translated, „Mediterranean“ refers to what lies between territories, within the mainland: the uninhabited, non-culturalised transfer area on whose edges, that is, on whose coasts a myriad of spaces, architectures and cultures abound. Interestingly enough, the „middle“ of this outwardly vaguely delineated but inwardly sharply divided political and social area is a hole: the Sea. Sparsely populated, it is a place of transit, a centre that neither demands nor produces an identity of its own, but nevertheless offers up the use of its name to the conglomerations on its shores. Organising these complex spaces with a camera and microphone, cataloguing and categorising them is an intrinsically pretentious venture; even the most conscientiously subjective visual and tonal research will be fragmented.
When considering the land from the sea, one can easily become lost in the sheer diversity of the structures and landscapes there. The view from land, on the other hand, is a relative homogenous (and homologous) panorama: A horizon line between sea and sky, regardless of the coast on which the camera happens to be positioned. In this first catalogue entry, the camera is mounted on the second storey balcony of the Regency Hotel in the tourist town Monastir. The view is of the Tunisian Mediterranean on a windy day, a section of the Mediterranean coast shared by price-conscious tourists from central and northern Europe and those making their way from the coasts of nearby Libya to the European island of Lampedusa – and supposedly, salvation. Today, the majority of the hotel rooms here – behind the camera and therefore not visible – are empty. A week ago, on the 30th of October, a man was arrested on the street opposite the hotel. If he had succeeded in igniting his explosive belt before his arrest, it would have been the first suicide bombing on Tunisian territory.