April 2025, Leipzig

“So you actually don’t even find Horror House that interesting yourself?”, Connie Cox asks me. We’re sitting at her desk in her big, bright office at the Academy of Fine Arts. On her iPad in front of her, Connie Cox is looking at Horror House’s Youtube channel with much concentration while inhaling her vape. I feel a bit busted. I honestly don’t know Horror House’s artwork very well, cause it seems there’s not much of it, at least not online. I just know there’s something alluring about them, especially Mephisto. He’s been this character I’ve been equally fascinated and frightened by since I discovered him several years ago. Him and his previous art collective, PASTINAK produced a series of great films which I really enjoyed watching during my diploma studies. The movies are documenting the involved artist’s real interactions with each other and with the art world. The PASTINAK-gang would go to art fairs and exhibitions, talk about the artworks on display, the artists behind, criticise curators and art historians for being woke-opportunists and call out nonsensical discourses embedded in activism disguised as artworks. I often took notes when Mephisto was speaking on camera. There seemed to be a completely unfiltered, direct connection between his thoughts and his words, between his mind and his expression. He spoke with such raw immediacy, yet what he said seemed so very eloquent and complex. The movies he made with PASTINAK were a huge inspiration to me, in terms of how I myself perceive and look at art. I’d love to be able to think and speak about art the way the PASTINAK-gang did it. But then, a couple of years ago, Mephisto and the other members of PASTINAK had a fallout, which ultimately led Mephisto to drop out and establish his own art collective with his girlfriend Beth: Horror House. Of course I was more than curious to see what Mephisto would do outside of PASTINAK. Based on the social media of Horror House, it mostly just looked like a lot of action and a lot of fun. And God am I starving for action and fun in the art bubble of Leipzig.

At the Academy of Fine Arts, there is a gallery space. It’s a spacious, clean, beautiful white cube situated in the middle of the university building. Connie Cox is the curator of this gallery. I’d inquired a meeting with her, because I want to use the gallery for a very specific purpose: I’ve invited Horror House to come do an exhibition with myself and other artists whose work I think could be pushing the boundaries of what is considered to be politically correct in the Leipzig art scene. Horror House and I have titled this exhibition The Unsafe Event. The gallery at the Academy of Fine Arts is the perfect place for The Unsafe Event, because this particular space represents the very frame our exhibition wants to break, in every aspect of it’s existence. Releasing Horror House and other misfits inside this palace of German-Academic order and morality would just be the most explosive combination ever.

While Connie Cox is still scrolling through Horror House’s YouTube content, I take the chance to explain to her my project: “The Unsafe Event is a part of an ongoing, artistic investigation I’ve begun working on. This artistic investigation is called The Project. I’m turning my life into an artwork in the sense that everything that happens in my life has the potential to be material for the artwork, for The Project. In this way, I’m also provoking situations and interactions for the purpose of the plot. It is life as a constant performance, in which dramaturgy overrules authenticity. I’m so excited and happy these days, Connie. Everything has turned interesting, cause everything is suddenly art”. Connie Cox raises her head from her iPad and looks at me. She inhales her vape slowly, our eyes locked, “And so Horror House functions as a kind of character within The Project, the gallery of this academy the setting for a specific scene?”, she asks, “Right”, I nod. Connie Cox is a tough audience, her mind filled with knowledge and abstractions, but I’m trying to not let this intimidate me. I take a deep breath and continue to speak my mind: “I think art is supposed to create interactions and dialogue across borders of diversity. That be diversity of political opinions, for example. I’m saddened by the general consensus around the discourse that everything is per default political. Cause I think that art is the one place that should be able to be apolitical. And I think the political climate here at our academy is extremely strong, to such an extent that it’s actually oppressive to the young artist’s minds of this environment. The Unsafe Event is an attempt to shed lights on and break with this issue in a playful, artistic way”. Now looking down at her iPad again, Connie Cox nods her head slowly. “And what are they doing here?”, she asks me and points to a video on her screen. I look down and see Mephisto, Beth and other members of Horror House standing around wearing uniforms, stomping on the ground while performing a gesture with their arms that can very well be interpreted as the Hitler salute. Fuck. “I don’t know, I guess it’s supposed to be some kind of performance,” I say, “but look, I’ll be the curator of the show and I think it could be really interesting to add Horror House to it. I know the main initiator, Mephisto, from previous works of his, and I think he’s an interesting character. Certainly different than anything this school has seen before. I still don’t know what they would do, Mephisto and his group, but that’s the whole concept behind the show, The Unsafe Event: No one knows what will happen. It might sound dangerous, and “unsafe”, but it’s actually not, cause it’s only art. That’s the point”. Connie Cox looks at me, a serious, yet open gaze meets mine. “Who else did you invite to participate in the event?”, she asks. This should be interesting. “So far, the participant’s list include Normal Slavic Girl, Quirky Cool Boy, B and Theis Tooty. Still more to come”, I tell Connie Cox and pour myself a glass of sparkling water. “Normal Slavic Girl and Quirky Cool Boy, okay, but..”, she says, reaches out in front of her and picks up a post-it and a pen from her desk. She scribbles down “B” and “Theis Tooty”, puts down her pen and looks at me. She dabs her one pointing finger on the note a few times while looking at me. I smile. I knew these two specific characters would be trouble. All of the artists I’ve mentioned are students of the Academy of Fine Arts. Theis Tooty is well known for getting brutally cancelled back in 2023, after he got called out on an Instagram page called Your Friends Are Evil (Throw Them Out) for having liked several woke-critical memes. The other person the curator has scribbled down on her post-it is my ex-boyfriend B. B is highly unpopular at our university because he’s openly pro-Israel, conservative, and is not afraid to speak up about it, which is all in all not comme-il-faut within this environment. 

Connie Cox inhales her vape and looks at me. “Theis Tooty hurt a lot of people with his meme-liking and never apologised for it. Thus it’s his own fault that he was never able to redeem himself”, she says in a matter-of-fact tone. “I think what’s been missing from this whole scandal is a dissection and research on the memes in question. I’ve been speaking to many people about this case, most of which are condemning Theis for being satan himself, though when asked about the memes he liked, it turns out most people didn’t even look at them. Theis Tooty’s case is representing gossip-culture at it’s worst. Shouldn’t we be investigating what started it all, those memes, before we condemn Theis Tooty for being in the wrong, to say the least?”, I suggest. “Those memes are hostile towards queer people”, Connie Cox states. I go quiet. I’ve been having this discussion one too many times before, and though I never shy away from sharing my opinion on the issue in question, it always makes me feel extremely uncomfortable. It’s hard to argue against such high moral standards. At best, it can make you look nonchalant. At worst it can make you look queer-hostile, ignorant and obnoxious. “My very best friend is queer”, Connie Cox tells me, puts a new filter tip into her vape and inhales. “I’ve known this person since we were children, so I’ve been first row audience to their development and their deep identity-struggles”. Something in the air intensifies and I feel a new sense of interconnectedness with the clarified woman sitting across from me. “Queer history has a development of 70 years, where queer people have been fighting for their right to exist. And now we’re at a point where, in some societies like ours, there has been created these safe spaces where queer people can exist, nurture and protect their communities together. These spaces are sacred. And these spaces must be protected. Because they’re crucial in order for queer people to survive, basically”. I nod my head silently. Something inside of me shifts and I feel a sensation of empathy warming my body. Still looking at me, Connie Cox dabs her finger on the post-it again. “And B”, she begins, “that’s a bit of a different story. His behaviour and outspokenness about his extremely questionable opinions indeed make him problematic. I’ve heard him say deeply racist things, such as calling the students of Arab ethnicity “lazy and useless””. I shiver. “Was that really racist, though?”, I ask carefully, and a baffled shadow falls on Connie Cox’ otherwise cool, calm and collected face, “Eh, yes, excuse me, but were you even listening?”, she asks. I remember the moment Connie Cox is referring to. And I was listening. It happened at a General Assembly about a month ago. It’s a meeting in which students and staff enter into dialogue about certain issues concerning our university, or at least that’s the idea. At the specific Assembly Connie Cox is referring to, the subject was a pro-Palestine activist group that occupied the centre of the university building for a few months after the 7th of October 2023, and it’s following administrative cancelation. I was sure B would be at that assembly, and I was sure he’d say something outrageous that would freak everyone out. At the time, I hadn’t spoken to him in a while. But it was right at the beginning of The Project, and I was on the lookout for potential allies of stirring things up at the Academy. “I think B might be mentally distorted though, and that’s what makes him such a difficult person”, Connie Cox reflects. “That’s true. I know B very well. We have a history”, I tell her. The baffled shadow reaches a point of totality, “Wow, really? That’s new to me”, she says, and I smile. After two years of a rather dramatic on-and-of relationship with B, it still amuses me to see the reactions of people who know of both B and I, and therefor just cannot fathom the connection between the two of us at all. Connie Cox looks through the window of her office. A few sunbeams dances on her thick, shiny hair. She turns her head and looks at me again, the calm look has returned to her gaze. “Here’s the thing: If you work with B and Theis Tooty, you will be creating problems for yourself”, she says in a serious, yet non-judgemental tone. “But here’s also the thing”, I begin, "both Theis Tooty and B already have good ideas for artworks they want to create for The Unsafe Event. That’s what counts”, I say, “I don’t care what they might have said in the past, or which memes they might have liked two years ago and whether they’ve apologised for whatever might have made someone feel uncomfortable. I don’t like this cancel-madness. I want to break with it, not reenforce it. So as long as people have good ideas and are agreeing with the programme I’ve set, they can participate. Neither B nor Theis are actual predators or criminals. They’re just two dudes who happen to have stepped out of line, somehow. I don’t want to condemn them for their actions, cause I don’t think they truly deserve that. And on top of that, both of them have already been punished for their actions. And in regards to what B said at the General Assembly last time, I agree that his tone was way too harsh and that his attitude can be extremely off-putting sometimes. But I don’t think what he was saying was pointed directly at the students of Arab ethnicity. I think he meant what he said more generally”. 

“You can say that. But you can’t deny that both B and Theis Tooty represent people who are very stubborn and unable to think critically about themselves”, Connie Cox says, “And if you’re not able to represent the other side of this spectrum, call it “the woke side”, as a part of The Unsafe Event, cause they don’t want to take part alongside Theis Tooty and B, then you have a problem with your vision. Then you’re not succeeding in what it is you want to do. If you invite Theis Tooty and B to take part in The Unsafe Event, you are in fact creating a space that will be very, very unsafe for queer people and other minorities. You can’t just unsee the fact that some of the people whom you’ve invited have very clear political positions. You can’t just ignore this”. I feel something drop inside my brain. Good argument. Damn. “And while it’s good that you also have Normal Slavic Girl and Quirky Cool Boy to balance things out, I see a heavy load of problematic people on your list. And quite frankly, based on what I’ve seen from Horror House up until now, I don’t understand what they’re about at all, and I don’t understand why you’re interested in them. I haven’t been able to find any actual works of theirs on their website or Youtube channel. To me, it all just looks like parties and provocative, self-promotional reels. If you could get them to send me a portfolio with actual presentation of their art, we could start from there”, Connie Cox says and sends me out her door. 

I leave the university building feeling equally inspired and defeated. My confidence has been disturbed and disrupted, which is a part of the Connie Cox experience for me. I’ve had several consultations with her in the past about my work. No matter how convinced I’ve been by my own ideas and abilities before meeting Connie Cox, she always manages to subvert my entire belief system with her deep knowledge, strong articulation skills and high moral standards, and I leave feeling dumb, overwhelmed, exhausted and totally enriched at the same time. And this time is no exception. 

Outside on the street, I unlock my bike while the friendly spring-sun kisses my winter-pale face. I have a long day ahead of me, lots to do, but my energy has left me in the confrontation with the fundamental issue in the realisation of my vision for The Unsafe Event. I feel demotivated and the only desire that’s left in me is the one telling me to go home and barricade myself inside of my apartment until I’ve slept off this harsh reality check with my own short-sightedness. Right when I’m about to get on my bike, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I fetch it out. It’s my newly self-appointed mentor on The Project, Sinon, calling me from Berlin. “Hey cookie, how did the meeting with the curator go?”, he asks. “It was brutally interesting”, I say. “Talk to me.”, and I do. “I don’t want to create a space that’s hostile towards queer people”, I tell him, "I want The Unsafe Event to intersect and align, to disrupt our tedious consensus culture by creating a platform where everyone feels welcome, even though we might not understand each other personally or politically. Art brings everyone together! Am I a disillusioned hippy for thinking this possible? What do I do when certain artists don’t want to participate alongside the “problematic” artists? Ugh I just want to sleep for a hundred years now, I feel like I’ve gotten myself trapped inside of a Gordian knot with this project”. Sinon snorts on the other end of the line, “Seems you were being way too honest in there, Ronja. Next time you have a meeting with Connie Cox, you turn up wearing a keffiyeh, waving the LGBTQ-flag and introducing yourself as non-binary”, I can’t help but giggle at the image Sinon has created in my mind. “And don’t call the exhibition The Unsafe Event just yet”, he continues, “call it The Super Safe Event and talk about privileges and gender politics. We just need to get the space. Then we can do whatever we want in there”. I sigh, “I think I gotta talk to Mephisto and Beth, Sinon. Can you tell them to call me when they have time? They haven’t answered to my last messages and I feel like it’s very hard to sell them when I don’t really know what it is that I’m selling”, “Sure, they’re still hungover from the weekend, but I’ll tell them to call you when they’re up and running again”, Sinon assures, “Why hungover, did they have some kind of celebration or do they just go on random benders now and then?” I ask, curious about Mephisto and Beth’s activities. Apart from their online content and a few recent phone calls, I don’t know these people at all. “Yes, it was Beth’s 30th Birthday a few days ago, they’ve been partying all weekend”, Sinon tells. “I can’t believe Beth and I are the same age. Do you think we can be sisters?”, I ask, “Yes, I predict future sisterhood!”, Sinon enthusiastically confirms before we say goodbye and hang up. I get on my bike. On my way through the city I think about the ambiguity Mephisto and Beth’s relationship embodies: a seemingly very odd combination of people, yet so very clichéd. She’s this young, slim, beautiful woman who looks like sunshine. He’s this broad, hairy, coarse older man who sounds like a bulldozer when he speaks. He’s this notorious, rebellious male artist, she’s the crucial sidekick that makes him look more human. I’ve seen this kind of art world hetero-coupling a thousand times before, though never up close. I’m now thinking that might be another reason why I’m so intrigued by Beth and Mephisto: Those two could be a chance for me to investigate that very cliché of a relationship, inside-out: The beauty and the beast.