Trinity: Benedikt Partenheimer

Benedikt Partenheimer – An Artist Observes the World
Benedikt Partenheimer’s works are deceptively beautiful. Like a mirage. Or like a dream from which we inevitably awaken

author: Ilina Koralova

In 1818, the artist Caspar David Friedrich (1774–1840) created an iconic work—Wanderer above the Sea of Fog (Der Wanderer über dem Nebelmeer), which became one of the symbols of German Romanticism. The lone figure of the wanderer, seen from behind, stands atop a mountain peak, gazing at an endless sea of clouds and mist in pale, fantastical colors. Sharp peaks and rocks pierce through the fog, reaching toward the infinite sky… This relatively small painting, striking in its monumentality, expresses the Romantics’ desire to free their spirit, merge with nature, and heal the wounds of their alienation from the surrounding world.
Nearly 200 years later, an artist sets up his photographic tripod on a hill near a metropolis—or perhaps before the panoramic windows of a skyscraper dominating the urban landscape—creating breathtaking compositions. A milky-gray mist blankets distant mountain ranges or reluctantly reveals the pale silhouettes of tall buildings and factory chimneys. The horizon blends with the sky, drawing the gaze ever deeper into space with the deceptive promise that beyond it, the clear outlines of a new world will emerge. But the world of German photographer Benedikt Partenheimer is not new. It is our 21st-century world, one that has not only severed its connection with nature even more drastically but systematically claims the last untouched remnants of it. Because the seemingly poetic photographs of Partenheimer are, in reality, images of the polluted industrial cities of modern civilization—cities where the air is saturated with fine particles that slowly but relentlessly kill. Air Quality Index 300, Air Quality Index 350, Air Quality Index 440… The individual photographs from his series Particular Matter, shot in China, are titled after different air pollution levels. For reference: according to the World Health Organization, an index exceeding 300 is considered extremely hazardous. In this way, Benedikt Partenheimer mercilessly pulls us out of romantic contemplation and throws us into the dramatic reality that we ourselves create, day after day. In this reality, there are ecological disasters, wars, humanitarian crises, and waves of migration.
Benedikt Partenheimer’s photographs and video works are deceptively beautiful because, in truth, they capture potential danger: in the seemingly tranquil sea, where young Africans gaze longingly, separated—perhaps insurmountably—from their dream of a better life in Europe; in the majestic landscapes that double as national borders, often dividing hostile nations; or in the bustling intersections of a thriving city in a country overshadowed by the memory of nuclear catastrophe. And among all these images, perhaps the strongest, most striking, and at the same time, the most chilling—is that of the first nuclear test, Trinity, conducted in New Mexico, USA, in 1945, less than a month before the inferno of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
Like his 19th-century predecessors, Benedikt Partenheimer is a wanderer—traveling, observing, and sharing his impressions of the world. The difference is that his photographs transport us to places far from romantic, far from “cozy,” and certainly not safe. And another difference: while the positioning of his camera—and by extension, the artist himself—often seems distanced from the subject being captured, Partenheimer’s art is ultimately driven by and expresses his active civic stance. In artistic circles, the debate over whether socially engaged art can also have aesthetic value has been ongoing for a long time. If we entertain, even for a moment, the notion that such a debate is worth having at all, we can confidently say that Benedikt Partenheimer’s works achieve both to the highest degree.