The painting of Gila Stolzenfuß is in motion. It moves openly and only sleep-deprived magic is able to capture stone-cast the shaped formlessness. The hardships are opened like a timetable for the mountains in Tyrol, for a fallen table can be turned into a pink backward movement, rotating to green, by an unperceived line. And only the five thumbs on the outer error close the circle around the square. We retreat from the viewer, we initiate proceedings in the current version because the head of a saint stands firmly on the paper.
And bitterly sublime, the enticed and powerful monosyllabities make themselves available, because, to say it again, lightning in the cemetery chapel will be beautiful in those old days, and the gaping vegetable stock dies in the memory on closer consideration. This results, then, in the funny stories, chased into the heaven of the gods, and the tear duct that is passed around will collapse in the paintings in their blind gusty emphasis, in which a turnabout turns away from the blue.
Gila Stolzenfuß’ paintings use the traditional means of lines, surfaces, color and form to draw the observer into a space where time is overcome. Dynamic confrontation is inherent to her art in such a manner that it displaces axises, questions our horizon and conveys a sense of freedom. We encounter the aesthetics of experience, and the simultaneous occurrence of ferocity and calm grant us a revelation of intense beauty.
Gila Stolzenfuß’ performances are purposefully theatrical and absurd, they reflect our oftentimes shattered human existence in language and gestures. Her talent as an actor manifests itself in its sincerity, through her wit and her use of language that, ultimately, and clearly spoken, is unambiguous.