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AGNES MARTIN (1912-2004)

KÜNSTLER BIO ANFORDERNPDF HERUNTERLADEN
 
Of the many modernist painters who imbued their geometries with a spiritual dimension, Agnes Martin is the one whose paintings resonate most deeply with a life of ascetic simplicity. In 1967, she left New York City and the art world, renounced worldly pursuits, and embarked on an eighteen-month odyssey across the untamed Western American landscape. It was the prelude to a life of seclusion, where on a remote mesa near Cuba, New Mexico, Martin built a sanctuary by hand, shaping adobe and timber into a unique domicile. Living without the conveniences of a telephone, electricity, or indoor plumbing, she practiced the art of life, not the life of a painter. That deeply devoted spiritual and moral quest separates Agnes Martin from the geometric visionaries such as Piet Mondrian or Ad Reinhardt, with whom she would otherwise be associated. After a seven-year hiatus, 62-year-old Martin reemerged in 1974 to renew her journey creating radiant minimalist paintings. <br><br>"No. 7" (1974) is among the earliest paintings from this second major phase of her career. Intent upon emphasizing a dramatic reorientation emphasizing color rather than the line or tabulated grids of her pre-1967 work, a distanced viewing of the pale, luminescent bands allows for an expansive appreciation of subtle, radiant shifts between the color zones. Numerous natural phenomena and elements embedded in the New Mexican desert experience may have inspired these new and expansive ideas. The sheer verticality of its mesas, cliffs, and ravines, or the shafts of light that dramatically stream through gaps in clouds to the desert floor, may have inspired the vertical orientation here. Yet the impact of "No. 7" (1974) is most assuredly delivered via her devotion to Buddhist and Daoist ideals that seek beauty from within, not from extraneous points of reference. Martin asks the viewer to think of her repetitive shafts or bands of pale color as a sort of mantra as much as a visual experience. She challenges the capacity of our imagination, encouraging it to run free and consider this work as an object of contemplation, knowing well that her paintings require a degree of commitment. And as if to admonish those without the patience to absorb the impact of the otherworldly mystical radiance inherent in the paintings or how they affect one's greater awareness of the potential for expressing the sublime, we have her comment, "There's nobody who can't stand all afternoon in front of a waterfall." Of the many modernist painters who imbued their geometries with a spiritual dimension, Agnes Martin is the one whose paintings resonate most deeply with a life of ascetic simplicity. In 1967, she left New York City and the art world, renounced worldly pursuits, and embarked on an eighteen-month odyssey across the untamed Western American landscape. It was the prelude to a life of seclusion, where on a remote mesa near Cuba, New Mexico, Martin built a sanctuary by hand, shaping adobe and timber into a unique domicile. Living without the conveniences of a telephone, electricity, or indoor plumbing, she practiced the art of life, not the life of a painter. That deeply devoted spiritual and moral quest separates Agnes Martin from the geometric visionaries such as Piet Mondrian or Ad Reinhardt, with whom she would otherwise be associated. After a seven-year hiatus, 62-year-old Martin reemerged in 1974 to renew her journey creating radiant minimalist paintings. <br><br>"No. 7" (1974) is among the earliest paintings from this second major phase of her career. Intent upon emphasizing a dramatic reorientation emphasizing color rather than the line or tabulated grids of her pre-1967 work, a distanced viewing of the pale, luminescent bands allows for an expansive appreciation of subtle, radiant shifts between the color zones. Numerous natural phenomena and elements embedded in the New Mexican desert experience may have inspired these new and expansive ideas. The sheer verticality of its mesas, cliffs, and ravines, or the shafts of light that dramatically stream through gaps in clouds to the desert floor, may have inspired the vertical orientation here. Yet the impact of "No. 7" (1974) is most assuredly delivered via her devotion to Buddhist and Daoist ideals that seek beauty from within, not from extraneous points of reference. Martin asks the viewer to think of her repetitive shafts or bands of pale color as a sort of mantra as much as a visual experience. She challenges the capacity of our imagination, encouraging it to run free and consider this work as an object of contemplation, knowing well that her paintings require a degree of commitment. And as if to admonish those without the patience to absorb the impact of the otherworldly mystical radiance inherent in the paintings or how they affect one's greater awareness of the potential for expressing the sublime, we have her comment, "There's nobody who can't stand all afternoon in front of a waterfall." Of the many modernist painters who imbued their geometries with a spiritual dimension, Agnes Martin is the one whose paintings resonate most deeply with a life of ascetic simplicity. In 1967, she left New York City and the art world, renounced worldly pursuits, and embarked on an eighteen-month odyssey across the untamed Western American landscape. It was the prelude to a life of seclusion, where on a remote mesa near Cuba, New Mexico, Martin built a sanctuary by hand, shaping adobe and timber into a unique domicile. Living without the conveniences of a telephone, electricity, or indoor plumbing, she practiced the art of life, not the life of a painter. That deeply devoted spiritual and moral quest separates Agnes Martin from the geometric visionaries such as Piet Mondrian or Ad Reinhardt, with whom she would otherwise be associated. After a seven-year hiatus, 62-year-old Martin reemerged in 1974 to renew her journey creating radiant minimalist paintings. <br><br>"No. 7" (1974) is among the earliest paintings from this second major phase of her career. Intent upon emphasizing a dramatic reorientation emphasizing color rather than the line or tabulated grids of her pre-1967 work, a distanced viewing of the pale, luminescent bands allows for an expansive appreciation of subtle, radiant shifts between the color zones. Numerous natural phenomena and elements embedded in the New Mexican desert experience may have inspired these new and expansive ideas. The sheer verticality of its mesas, cliffs, and ravines, or the shafts of light that dramatically stream through gaps in clouds to the desert floor, may have inspired the vertical orientation here. Yet the impact of "No. 7" (1974) is most assuredly delivered via her devotion to Buddhist and Daoist ideals that seek beauty from within, not from extraneous points of reference. Martin asks the viewer to think of her repetitive shafts or bands of pale color as a sort of mantra as much as a visual experience. She challenges the capacity of our imagination, encouraging it to run free and consider this work as an object of contemplation, knowing well that her paintings require a degree of commitment. And as if to admonish those without the patience to absorb the impact of the otherworldly mystical radiance inherent in the paintings or how they affect one's greater awareness of the potential for expressing the sublime, we have her comment, "There's nobody who can't stand all afternoon in front of a waterfall." Of the many modernist painters who imbued their geometries with a spiritual dimension, Agnes Martin is the one whose paintings resonate most deeply with a life of ascetic simplicity. In 1967, she left New York City and the art world, renounced worldly pursuits, and embarked on an eighteen-month odyssey across the untamed Western American landscape. It was the prelude to a life of seclusion, where on a remote mesa near Cuba, New Mexico, Martin built a sanctuary by hand, shaping adobe and timber into a unique domicile. Living without the conveniences of a telephone, electricity, or indoor plumbing, she practiced the art of life, not the life of a painter. That deeply devoted spiritual and moral quest separates Agnes Martin from the geometric visionaries such as Piet Mondrian or Ad Reinhardt, with whom she would otherwise be associated. After a seven-year hiatus, 62-year-old Martin reemerged in 1974 to renew her journey creating radiant minimalist paintings. <br><br>"No. 7" (1974) is among the earliest paintings from this second major phase of her career. Intent upon emphasizing a dramatic reorientation emphasizing color rather than the line or tabulated grids of her pre-1967 work, a distanced viewing of the pale, luminescent bands allows for an expansive appreciation of subtle, radiant shifts between the color zones. Numerous natural phenomena and elements embedded in the New Mexican desert experience may have inspired these new and expansive ideas. The sheer verticality of its mesas, cliffs, and ravines, or the shafts of light that dramatically stream through gaps in clouds to the desert floor, may have inspired the vertical orientation here. Yet the impact of "No. 7" (1974) is most assuredly delivered via her devotion to Buddhist and Daoist ideals that seek beauty from within, not from extraneous points of reference. Martin asks the viewer to think of her repetitive shafts or bands of pale color as a sort of mantra as much as a visual experience. She challenges the capacity of our imagination, encouraging it to run free and consider this work as an object of contemplation, knowing well that her paintings require a degree of commitment. And as if to admonish those without the patience to absorb the impact of the otherworldly mystical radiance inherent in the paintings or how they affect one's greater awareness of the potential for expressing the sublime, we have her comment, "There's nobody who can't stand all afternoon in front of a waterfall." Of the many modernist painters who imbued their geometries with a spiritual dimension, Agnes Martin is the one whose paintings resonate most deeply with a life of ascetic simplicity. In 1967, she left New York City and the art world, renounced worldly pursuits, and embarked on an eighteen-month odyssey across the untamed Western American landscape. It was the prelude to a life of seclusion, where on a remote mesa near Cuba, New Mexico, Martin built a sanctuary by hand, shaping adobe and timber into a unique domicile. Living without the conveniences of a telephone, electricity, or indoor plumbing, she practiced the art of life, not the life of a painter. That deeply devoted spiritual and moral quest separates Agnes Martin from the geometric visionaries such as Piet Mondrian or Ad Reinhardt, with whom she would otherwise be associated. After a seven-year hiatus, 62-year-old Martin reemerged in 1974 to renew her journey creating radiant minimalist paintings. <br><br>"No. 7" (1974) is among the earliest paintings from this second major phase of her career. Intent upon emphasizing a dramatic reorientation emphasizing color rather than the line or tabulated grids of her pre-1967 work, a distanced viewing of the pale, luminescent bands allows for an expansive appreciation of subtle, radiant shifts between the color zones. Numerous natural phenomena and elements embedded in the New Mexican desert experience may have inspired these new and expansive ideas. The sheer verticality of its mesas, cliffs, and ravines, or the shafts of light that dramatically stream through gaps in clouds to the desert floor, may have inspired the vertical orientation here. Yet the impact of "No. 7" (1974) is most assuredly delivered via her devotion to Buddhist and Daoist ideals that seek beauty from within, not from extraneous points of reference. Martin asks the viewer to think of her repetitive shafts or bands of pale color as a sort of mantra as much as a visual experience. She challenges the capacity of our imagination, encouraging it to run free and consider this work as an object of contemplation, knowing well that her paintings require a degree of commitment. And as if to admonish those without the patience to absorb the impact of the otherworldly mystical radiance inherent in the paintings or how they affect one's greater awareness of the potential for expressing the sublime, we have her comment, "There's nobody who can't stand all afternoon in front of a waterfall." Of the many modernist painters who imbued their geometries with a spiritual dimension, Agnes Martin is the one whose paintings resonate most deeply with a life of ascetic simplicity. In 1967, she left New York City and the art world, renounced worldly pursuits, and embarked on an eighteen-month odyssey across the untamed Western American landscape. It was the prelude to a life of seclusion, where on a remote mesa near Cuba, New Mexico, Martin built a sanctuary by hand, shaping adobe and timber into a unique domicile. Living without the conveniences of a telephone, electricity, or indoor plumbing, she practiced the art of life, not the life of a painter. That deeply devoted spiritual and moral quest separates Agnes Martin from the geometric visionaries such as Piet Mondrian or Ad Reinhardt, with whom she would otherwise be associated. After a seven-year hiatus, 62-year-old Martin reemerged in 1974 to renew her journey creating radiant minimalist paintings. <br><br>"No. 7" (1974) is among the earliest paintings from this second major phase of her career. Intent upon emphasizing a dramatic reorientation emphasizing color rather than the line or tabulated grids of her pre-1967 work, a distanced viewing of the pale, luminescent bands allows for an expansive appreciation of subtle, radiant shifts between the color zones. Numerous natural phenomena and elements embedded in the New Mexican desert experience may have inspired these new and expansive ideas. The sheer verticality of its mesas, cliffs, and ravines, or the shafts of light that dramatically stream through gaps in clouds to the desert floor, may have inspired the vertical orientation here. Yet the impact of "No. 7" (1974) is most assuredly delivered via her devotion to Buddhist and Daoist ideals that seek beauty from within, not from extraneous points of reference. Martin asks the viewer to think of her repetitive shafts or bands of pale color as a sort of mantra as much as a visual experience. She challenges the capacity of our imagination, encouraging it to run free and consider this work as an object of contemplation, knowing well that her paintings require a degree of commitment. And as if to admonish those without the patience to absorb the impact of the otherworldly mystical radiance inherent in the paintings or how they affect one's greater awareness of the potential for expressing the sublime, we have her comment, "There's nobody who can't stand all afternoon in front of a waterfall." Of the many modernist painters who imbued their geometries with a spiritual dimension, Agnes Martin is the one whose paintings resonate most deeply with a life of ascetic simplicity. In 1967, she left New York City and the art world, renounced worldly pursuits, and embarked on an eighteen-month odyssey across the untamed Western American landscape. It was the prelude to a life of seclusion, where on a remote mesa near Cuba, New Mexico, Martin built a sanctuary by hand, shaping adobe and timber into a unique domicile. Living without the conveniences of a telephone, electricity, or indoor plumbing, she practiced the art of life, not the life of a painter. That deeply devoted spiritual and moral quest separates Agnes Martin from the geometric visionaries such as Piet Mondrian or Ad Reinhardt, with whom she would otherwise be associated. After a seven-year hiatus, 62-year-old Martin reemerged in 1974 to renew her journey creating radiant minimalist paintings. <br><br>"No. 7" (1974) is among the earliest paintings from this second major phase of her career. Intent upon emphasizing a dramatic reorientation emphasizing color rather than the line or tabulated grids of her pre-1967 work, a distanced viewing of the pale, luminescent bands allows for an expansive appreciation of subtle, radiant shifts between the color zones. Numerous natural phenomena and elements embedded in the New Mexican desert experience may have inspired these new and expansive ideas. The sheer verticality of its mesas, cliffs, and ravines, or the shafts of light that dramatically stream through gaps in clouds to the desert floor, may have inspired the vertical orientation here. Yet the impact of "No. 7" (1974) is most assuredly delivered via her devotion to Buddhist and Daoist ideals that seek beauty from within, not from extraneous points of reference. Martin asks the viewer to think of her repetitive shafts or bands of pale color as a sort of mantra as much as a visual experience. She challenges the capacity of our imagination, encouraging it to run free and consider this work as an object of contemplation, knowing well that her paintings require a degree of commitment. And as if to admonish those without the patience to absorb the impact of the otherworldly mystical radiance inherent in the paintings or how they affect one's greater awareness of the potential for expressing the sublime, we have her comment, "There's nobody who can't stand all afternoon in front of a waterfall." Of the many modernist painters who imbued their geometries with a spiritual dimension, Agnes Martin is the one whose paintings resonate most deeply with a life of ascetic simplicity. In 1967, she left New York City and the art world, renounced worldly pursuits, and embarked on an eighteen-month odyssey across the untamed Western American landscape. It was the prelude to a life of seclusion, where on a remote mesa near Cuba, New Mexico, Martin built a sanctuary by hand, shaping adobe and timber into a unique domicile. Living without the conveniences of a telephone, electricity, or indoor plumbing, she practiced the art of life, not the life of a painter. That deeply devoted spiritual and moral quest separates Agnes Martin from the geometric visionaries such as Piet Mondrian or Ad Reinhardt, with whom she would otherwise be associated. After a seven-year hiatus, 62-year-old Martin reemerged in 1974 to renew her journey creating radiant minimalist paintings. <br><br>"No. 7" (1974) is among the earliest paintings from this second major phase of her career. Intent upon emphasizing a dramatic reorientation emphasizing color rather than the line or tabulated grids of her pre-1967 work, a distanced viewing of the pale, luminescent bands allows for an expansive appreciation of subtle, radiant shifts between the color zones. Numerous natural phenomena and elements embedded in the New Mexican desert experience may have inspired these new and expansive ideas. The sheer verticality of its mesas, cliffs, and ravines, or the shafts of light that dramatically stream through gaps in clouds to the desert floor, may have inspired the vertical orientation here. Yet the impact of "No. 7" (1974) is most assuredly delivered via her devotion to Buddhist and Daoist ideals that seek beauty from within, not from extraneous points of reference. Martin asks the viewer to think of her repetitive shafts or bands of pale color as a sort of mantra as much as a visual experience. She challenges the capacity of our imagination, encouraging it to run free and consider this work as an object of contemplation, knowing well that her paintings require a degree of commitment. And as if to admonish those without the patience to absorb the impact of the otherworldly mystical radiance inherent in the paintings or how they affect one's greater awareness of the potential for expressing the sublime, we have her comment, "There's nobody who can't stand all afternoon in front of a waterfall." Of the many modernist painters who imbued their geometries with a spiritual dimension, Agnes Martin is the one whose paintings resonate most deeply with a life of ascetic simplicity. In 1967, she left New York City and the art world, renounced worldly pursuits, and embarked on an eighteen-month odyssey across the untamed Western American landscape. It was the prelude to a life of seclusion, where on a remote mesa near Cuba, New Mexico, Martin built a sanctuary by hand, shaping adobe and timber into a unique domicile. Living without the conveniences of a telephone, electricity, or indoor plumbing, she practiced the art of life, not the life of a painter. That deeply devoted spiritual and moral quest separates Agnes Martin from the geometric visionaries such as Piet Mondrian or Ad Reinhardt, with whom she would otherwise be associated. After a seven-year hiatus, 62-year-old Martin reemerged in 1974 to renew her journey creating radiant minimalist paintings. <br><br>"No. 7" (1974) is among the earliest paintings from this second major phase of her career. Intent upon emphasizing a dramatic reorientation emphasizing color rather than the line or tabulated grids of her pre-1967 work, a distanced viewing of the pale, luminescent bands allows for an expansive appreciation of subtle, radiant shifts between the color zones. Numerous natural phenomena and elements embedded in the New Mexican desert experience may have inspired these new and expansive ideas. The sheer verticality of its mesas, cliffs, and ravines, or the shafts of light that dramatically stream through gaps in clouds to the desert floor, may have inspired the vertical orientation here. Yet the impact of "No. 7" (1974) is most assuredly delivered via her devotion to Buddhist and Daoist ideals that seek beauty from within, not from extraneous points of reference. Martin asks the viewer to think of her repetitive shafts or bands of pale color as a sort of mantra as much as a visual experience. She challenges the capacity of our imagination, encouraging it to run free and consider this work as an object of contemplation, knowing well that her paintings require a degree of commitment. And as if to admonish those without the patience to absorb the impact of the otherworldly mystical radiance inherent in the paintings or how they affect one's greater awareness of the potential for expressing the sublime, we have her comment, "There's nobody who can't stand all afternoon in front of a waterfall." Of the many modernist painters who imbued their geometries with a spiritual dimension, Agnes Martin is the one whose paintings resonate most deeply with a life of ascetic simplicity. In 1967, she left New York City and the art world, renounced worldly pursuits, and embarked on an eighteen-month odyssey across the untamed Western American landscape. It was the prelude to a life of seclusion, where on a remote mesa near Cuba, New Mexico, Martin built a sanctuary by hand, shaping adobe and timber into a unique domicile. Living without the conveniences of a telephone, electricity, or indoor plumbing, she practiced the art of life, not the life of a painter. That deeply devoted spiritual and moral quest separates Agnes Martin from the geometric visionaries such as Piet Mondrian or Ad Reinhardt, with whom she would otherwise be associated. After a seven-year hiatus, 62-year-old Martin reemerged in 1974 to renew her journey creating radiant minimalist paintings. <br><br>"No. 7" (1974) is among the earliest paintings from this second major phase of her career. Intent upon emphasizing a dramatic reorientation emphasizing color rather than the line or tabulated grids of her pre-1967 work, a distanced viewing of the pale, luminescent bands allows for an expansive appreciation of subtle, radiant shifts between the color zones. Numerous natural phenomena and elements embedded in the New Mexican desert experience may have inspired these new and expansive ideas. The sheer verticality of its mesas, cliffs, and ravines, or the shafts of light that dramatically stream through gaps in clouds to the desert floor, may have inspired the vertical orientation here. Yet the impact of "No. 7" (1974) is most assuredly delivered via her devotion to Buddhist and Daoist ideals that seek beauty from within, not from extraneous points of reference. Martin asks the viewer to think of her repetitive shafts or bands of pale color as a sort of mantra as much as a visual experience. She challenges the capacity of our imagination, encouraging it to run free and consider this work as an object of contemplation, knowing well that her paintings require a degree of commitment. And as if to admonish those without the patience to absorb the impact of the otherworldly mystical radiance inherent in the paintings or how they affect one's greater awareness of the potential for expressing the sublime, we have her comment, "There's nobody who can't stand all afternoon in front of a waterfall."
Ohne Titel Nr. 7197472 x 72 in.(182,88 x 182,88 cm) Acryl, Bleistift und Gesso auf Leinwand
Provenienz
Pace Galerie, New York
Helen W. Benjamin, New York
Sotheby's New York, 8. Mai 1996, Los 50
Privatsammlung, Vereinigte Staaten
Ace Galerie, Los Angeles
Privatsammlung, erworben von der oben genannten Person, Mai 1998
Ausstellung
New York, Pace Gallery, Agnes Martin: Neue Gemälde, 1975
Literaturhinweise
Beeren, W.A.L., Bloem, M. (1991), Agnes Martin: Gemälde und Zeichnungen 1974-1990, Stedelijk Museum. S. 62 (illustriert)
Bell, T., Agnes Martin Katalog Raisonné : Gemälde [Online], Cahier's d'Art Institute
Gruen, J. (September 1976), "...Mehr.....Agnes Martin: 'Alles, jedes Ding hat mit Gefühl zu tun...Gefühl und Anerkennung'" Artnews, S. 91, illustriert in Farbe
Gula, K. (Mai - Juni 1975), "Rückblick auf Ausstellungen: Agnes Martin at Pace", Art in America 63, S. 85, farbig illustriert
...WENIGER.....
Von den vielen Malern der Moderne, die ihren Geometrien eine spirituelle Dimension verliehen, ist Agnes Martin diejenige, deren Bilder am stärksten von einem Leben in asketischer Einfachheit geprägt sind. Im Jahr 1967 verließ sie New York City und die Kunstwelt, verzichtete auf weltliche Ziele und begab sich auf eine achtzehnmonatige Odyssee durch die ungezähmte Landschaft des amerikanischen Westens. Es war der Auftakt zu einem Leben in der Abgeschiedenheit, wo Martin auf einem abgelegenen Tafelberg in der Nähe von Cuba, New Mexico, in Handarbeit ein Heiligtum aus Lehm und Holz zu einem einzigartigen Domizil baute. Sie lebte ohne die Annehmlichkeiten eines Telefons, ohne Elektrizität und ohne Sanitäranlagen im Haus und übte sich in der Kunst des Lebens, nicht im Leben einer Malerin. Diese zutiefst hingebungsvolle spirituelle und moralische Suche unterscheidet Agnes Martin von den geometrischen Visionären wie Piet Mondrian oder Ad Reinhardt, mit denen sie sonst in Verbindung gebracht wird. Nach einer siebenjährigen Pause tauchte die 62-jährige Martin 1974 wieder auf, um ihre Reise fortzusetzen und strahlende minimalistische Gemälde zu schaffen.

"No. 7" (1974) ist eines der frühesten Gemälde dieser zweiten großen Phase ihrer Karriere. Mit der Absicht, eine dramatische Neuausrichtung zu betonen, die die Farbe anstelle der Linien oder tabellarischen Raster ihres Werks von vor 1967 in den Vordergrund stellt, ermöglicht eine distanzierte Betrachtung der blassen, leuchtenden Bänder eine umfassende Würdigung der subtilen, strahlenden Verschiebungen zwischen den Farbzonen. Zahlreiche Naturphänomene und Elemente, die in der neumexikanischen Wüste zu finden sind, mögen diese neuen und weitreichenden Ideen inspiriert haben. Die schiere Vertikalität der Tafelberge, Klippen und Schluchten oder die Lichtschächte, die durch Wolkenlücken auf den Wüstenboden fallen, könnten die vertikale Ausrichtung inspiriert haben. Doch die Wirkung von "No. 7" (1974) kommt ganz sicher durch ihre Hingabe an buddhistische und daoistische Ideale zustande, die Schönheit von innen heraus suchen, nicht von äußeren Bezugspunkten. Martin fordert den Betrachter auf, ihre sich wiederholenden Wellen oder Bänder aus blassen Farben als eine Art Mantra zu betrachten, ebenso wie als eine visuelle Erfahrung. Sie fordert unsere Vorstellungskraft heraus, indem sie sie ermutigt, ihrer Fantasie freien Lauf zu lassen und dieses Werk als Gegenstand der Betrachtung zu betrachten, wohl wissend, dass ihre Bilder ein gewisses Maß an Engagement erfordern. Und als wolle sie diejenigen ermahnen, die nicht die Geduld haben, die Wirkung der jenseitigen mystischen Ausstrahlung, die den Bildern innewohnt, zu absorbieren, oder wie sie das eigene Bewusstsein für das Potenzial, das Erhabene auszudrücken, beeinflussen, sagt sie: "Es gibt niemanden, der nicht den ganzen Nachmittag vor einem Wasserfall stehen kann."
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