Not Only about Selecting Works from the Hoffmann Collection for Atlas Sztuki: A Conversation with Erika Hoffmann-Koenige

Jacek Michalak: Erika, we have not known one another for long. In April 2014 you visited Atlas Sztuki for the opening of Katarzyna Kozyra’s exhibition Looking for Jesus. Katarzyna introduced us then, and that is how our acquaintance began. I have never asked you this before: how did you meet Katarzyna Kozyra?

Erika Hoffmann-Koenige: It was in 2005. I was sitting in my office when the telephone rang. I answered and heard a woman’s voice at the other end. She introduced herself, but I did not know her and had never heard of her before. She spoke good German, although with a slight accent revealing that it was not her native language. She said that one of her works was being presented in Berlin and she would like to show it to me [in the exhibition Über Schönheit at the Haus der Kulturen der Welt, 18 March–15 May 2005—J.M.’s note]. I was somewhat surprised; nothing like that had ever happened to me before. Nevertheless, I arranged to meet her at ten o’clock the following Sunday morning. When making the appointment, neither of us had checked the venue’s opening hours. I arrived by bicycle; Katarzyna was already waiting for me, and we both then discovered that the exhibition would not open for another hour. So we sat down in a café and began talking. Katarzyna told me what she did and what her plans were; we also discussed the work we were about to see. We then viewed the exhibition together.

At the time, Katarzyna as a person, what she told me about her work generally and about the piece presented at the Haus der Kulturen der Welt—namely The Rite of Spring—seemed far more interesting to me than the work itself. It was shown as a sculptural installation, which I found too monumental, and it displayed a fantastic sequence of images from The Rite of Spring on monitors that were too small for my taste. I thanked her for proposing the meeting, and we said goodbye.

J.M.: What happened next?
E.H.-K.: After our first meeting, I began thinking about The Rite of Spring. I liked the work’s conception and was drawn to the themes it addressed, such as old age contrasted with youth, gender reversal and the transgender aspect. It also fascinated me as an original example of stop-motion animation. In addition, The Rite of Spring refers to the history of twentieth-century culture, in which both Igor Stravinsky and Vaslav Nijinsky occupy important places. But before deciding to add a new work to the collection, I usually need time—sometimes quite a lot—to reflect.
Several months later, Katarzyna invited me to dinner at her home. At the time, she lived in a cosy flat near Künstlerhaus Bethanien, inspiring in its artistic disorder. Her partner prepared excellent Italian food, and we had a pleasant time.
During dinner, Fabio Cavallucci asked me what she should do to become successful in Berlin, in Germany. It was amusing that an Italian man and a Polish woman asked me, a German woman, and I could offer no advice. But I told Katarzyna how strongly The Rite of Spring had affected me and asked whether a smaller version existed. She said it did. That is how the first, modest version of Katarzyna’s work entered the Hoffmann Collection.
Some time later, I had an accident. I fell from my bicycle onto an icy road and broke my leg at the knee. After leaving hospital, I could move only in a wheelchair or on crutches. It was a difficult time for me; even daily tasks became a problem. Katarzyna, who was still in Berlin, visited often, bought biodynamic produce and cooked it at my home while I moved around the kitchen in my wheelchair, showing her where the pots, knives, glasses and so forth were kept. Katarzyna continued to visit frequently afterwards, and we cooked meals together. Our relationship grew closer. On her laptop, she showed me other works of hers that I did not yet know. I later saw some at exhibitions, including Pyramid of Animals, Women’s Bathhouse and Men’s Bathhouse.
J.M.: Which works by Katarzyna Kozyra do you have in your collection?
E.H.-K.: Besides the already mentioned Rite of Spring, I own the large installation Punishment and Crime, three photographs from the Olympia series and the video Diva: Reincarnation. I feel fortunate to own such brilliant works. Now I am looking forward to Looking for Jesus.

J.M.: The Hoffmann Collection also includes works by other Polish artists.
E.H.-K.: Yes, I have one of Katarzyna Kobro’s sculptures, which we managed to acquire in the 1980s after searching for many years. Among works by Polish artists no longer living today, I also own pieces by Henryk Stażewski, which my husband and I bought in 1995 or 1996 during one of our first journeys to Poland.
J.M.: How did you know Katarzyna Kobro’s work, and why did you acquire one of her pieces?
E.H.-K.: My husband and I first saw one of her works at the Guggenheim Museum in New York in an exhibition organised by Margit Rowell [The Planar Dimension: Europe, 1912–1932, Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York, 9 March–6 May 1979; Margit Rowell, art historian and independent curator, worked on the Guggenheim Museum’s curatorial team from 1969 to 1983—J.M.’s note]. My husband and I were both so impressed that we began searching for works by the artist.
J.M.: In one of the earlier interviews you so rarely give, I read about your acquaintance with Teresa Murak. When and how did you meet?
E.H.-K.: I met her in the 1980s, when we were still living in Mönchengladbach. If I remember correctly, Teresa first visited us there in 1981. We were introduced by Szymon Bojko, whom I had previously met in Los Angeles, where in 1980 I presented an exhibition of Constructivist clothing inspired by the Russian avant-garde of the 1920s [The Avant-Garde in Russia, 1910–1930, County Museum of Los Angeles, May 1980—J.M.’s note]. I had created the clothes a year earlier, in 1979, and shown them at Galerie Gmurzynska in Cologne in the exhibition Women Artists of the Russian Avant-Garde: 1910–1930. I was interested in what was happening in Polish art and asked Szymon Bojko to introduce me to the subject. For many years afterwards, he sent me letters containing information about the Polish art scene. At first, in the 1980s, during the Solidarity period, they were heavily censored. Teresa Murak often visited us and performed for an audience of our friends in our lush garden. She gave us several of her photographs and drawings. Her Sculpture for the Earth, which we commissioned, stands in the green courtyard of Sophie-Gips-Höfe.
J.M.: Your selection of works from the Hoffmann Collection for Atlas Sztuki includes a work by one Polish artist—Zuzanna Janin. Why this choice?
E.H.-K.: Her video Fight interests me because it reflects on Zuzanna Janin’s struggle for her position in contemporary art, which is also a struggle for the picture plane, regarded for decades as a male domain. I value the work greatly as a visual metaphor for a problem shared by all women artists. I met Zuzanna Janin in 1995 or 1996 during our visit to Poland. My husband and I visited the Foksal Gallery Foundation, where we saw her beautiful installation Corners, which I was able to add to our collection several years later.
J.M.: As a collector, do you prefer to acquire works from artists you know personally and with whom you share a history, or do you prefer to buy works by artists you have never met?

E.H.-K.: That has changed over the years. When my husband and I became interested in contemporary art in the 1960s, we met artists at openings. In conversations with them and during our Sunday visits to exhibitions, we hoped to find new ideas and inspiration for our professional activity and our lives. There were many opportunities for this at the Städtisches Museum in Mönchengladbach, close to Düsseldorf and its artistic life. We often discussed art throughout the night; a possible purchase of a work came later. It crowned a long process of conversations with artists and lengthy discussions between Rolf and me. It was also important to us to support artists financially. At the beginning, our purchases were constrained above all by our financial means. Today things are different. Most importantly, I have become more critical. To be honest, today I often prefer not to know the maker of a work that fascinates me. I do not want to be influenced by their personal impact. I do not buy immediately or spontaneously, but I do make purchase decisions decidedly more quickly than I once did. At an art fair lasting three or four days, I am virtually forced to respond immediately, although I hate doing so.

J.M.: In other words, at a fair you respond and make a purchase more quickly?
E.H.-K.: Only when necessary. As I mentioned, I like the luxury of time and make purchase decisions slowly. At a fair, however, if I see a work by an artist whose practice I know, if I also know the gallery representing the artist and like the work, then the decision is easier.
J.M.: I understand that you do not like art fairs.
E.H.-K.: Yes, I decidedly dislike them. I do, however, like certain cities where art fairs take place. I like Madrid and the city’s hospitality; I enjoy visiting its many excellent cultural institutions and am always impressed by the exhibitions at the Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofía. Visits to the museum become more intriguing from year to year. What the institution’s director, Manuel Borja-Villel, offers visitors is extraordinary. I usually visit ARCO in Madrid and Art Basel, and sometimes other cities as well.
J.M.: We have not yet discussed the beginnings of the Hoffmann Collection. You trained as an art historian.
E.H.-K.: I did study art history, but I did not complete a doctorate. In my student days, studies continued for many years before one wrote a doctoral dissertation. I began at the University of Freiburg, where my father came from and my grandmother lived. My mother came from the Rhineland, where I was born. From Freiburg, I moved to Vienna to study art history, and then to Bonn. I chose Vienna because of its important museums and magnificent art collections. I selected my next stop, Bonn, because of particular university teachers. In those days, Bonn was a medium-sized city, the capital of the Federal Republic of Germany, and a rather idyllic place.
J.M.: Your husband Rolf was neither an art historian nor an artist.
E.H.-K.: Yes, Rolf took over the clothing business from his father.
J.M.: Why did you begin collecting art?
E.H.-K.: Although developing our business was important to us, we also wanted to do other things. Visiting galleries and museums and taking an interest in art had been natural to me since I was a teenager. My husband was happy to join me. In Germany at the time, when the need to rebuild the economy and earn money consumed all our energy, we lacked ideas that would ignite us inwardly and extend beyond work and family. Of course, we went to the theatre and concerts, and somewhat less often to the cinema, but we were searching for something more, an emotional and intellectual ferment. Fortunately, we found it in contemporary art.

J.M.: Who made the first work you purchased?
E.H.-K.: It was a work by Vassilakis Takis entitled Signal TS 1 (1966–1968).
J.M.: Did you know the artist? Why did you buy his work?
E.H.-K.: We did not know him, and we never met him later either. He lived in Paris. We bought his Signal—a multiple, incidentally—for a boutique I opened in 1968 so that, as a beginning fashion stylist at my husband’s clothing company, I could study our clients’ tastes and the art of selling. Displayed outside above the entrance, in the place of a missing statue of a saint, the small Signal lit up blue at intervals and was naturally intended to attract attention. I still have the work today. It later entered our home, where it was joined by other works from the artist’s series. That purchase effectively marked the beginning of our collecting, although at the time we did not yet think in terms of a collection.
J.M.: Which works did you purchase next?
E.H.-K.: Works by Heinz Mack and Günther Uecker [together with Otto Piene, these artists formed the ZERO Group—J.M.’s note]. We bought works from them at around the same time and knew both personally. Günther Uecker’s work was made to my commission. In order to surprise my husband for his birthday, I invited the artist to our home while Rolf was away. I showed him the wall where the work should be placed and explained that I could spend 10,000 German marks on it; that was what I earned in a year from my designs. We agreed on its dimensions—at the time, the price of a work was calculated according to its size. A year later, Günther Uecker telephoned and asked me to send someone to collect the work. His picture composed of nails, entitled Phantom, was delivered—and it was twice the size of the one I had ordered! I was terrified and helpless because I did not know how to explain to the artist that I had no more than those 10,000 German marks. In the end, I telephoned him to say that I had only the previously agreed sum. He told me not to worry, because he had decided on that size himself: a larger work would look better on the wall I had chosen. I still have the work today, as I do all the others we ever acquired.
J.M.: What happened next?
E.H.-K.: Heinz Mack persuaded us to travel to the Venice Biennale. There we fell in love with his Gitter-Rotor, created for the German Pavilion. A little later, we acquired works by Otto Piene. Like Günther Uecker, those two artists lived and worked in Düsseldorf.
J.M.: Which artists made the greatest impression on you when you met them?
E.H.-K.: Marcel Broodthaers, François Morellet, Frank Stella, Isa Genzken and Andy Warhol. Warhol liked listening to people; everything fascinated him.
J.M.: In 1985, you sold van Laack, the clothing company you had developed together. You were young people then; your husband Rolf was fifty-one. What prompted the decision?

E.H.-K.: We had developed our business and established factories in Switzerland, Tunisia, Hong Kong and New Jersey in the United States; we travelled extensively on business. For years, we worked hard so that we could sell the company well and then lead a good life ourselves—that was my husband’s plan. At nineteen, he had travelled to the United States in search of his own path in life, away from the family business. His father became ill, however, and Rolf returned to look after the company. He felt responsible for the family and his younger sisters. Rolf had therefore planned the company’s sale for a long time. He also cherished plans that he had been unable to realise in his youth—he wanted to study medicine. But when we suddenly became free, he realised that it was already too late for those studies. Once we had helped the company’s new owners settle into the work, in 1988 we moved to Cologne, where we established ourselves in a small former factory building with more room for art than our bungalow in Mönchengladbach had offered. In truth, we began thinking about our group of artworks as a collection only after selling van Laack. After the fall of the Berlin Wall, in that new situation, we realised that we wanted to participate actively in the transformation by sharing our most important experience—that of contemporary art—with people who until then had been on the other side of the wall.

In 1994, we bought a former factory complex in what had been East Berlin, renovated it and named it Sophie-Gips-Höfe. Since 1997, we have presented the collection here in our residential and office spaces. Today I live alone among the artworks and open them to the public on Saturdays.

J.M.: Erika, how many works does the Hoffmann Collection contain today?
E.H.-K.: I never answer that question.
J.M.: How many people besides you work at the collection’s premises?
E.H.-K.: Apart from me, my assistant Ellinor Kuhn is the only employee. She looks after the archive, organises visits to the exhibition, handles loans, correspondence and many other ongoing matters. We also collaborate with ten to twelve freelancers who come when we need them. They include a conservator, a storage manager and guides who show visitors around on Saturdays. Because I display artworks in my own home, I too try to be present and available to speak with visitors. Visits are organised so that a guided tour for another group begins every thirty minutes and lasts ninety minutes. After leading one group, the guide has a thirty-minute break. Everything has been designed so that the individual groups do not meet or disturb one another.

J.M.: How do you remember the first exhibition in Berlin in 1997?
E.H.-K.: It was a joint exhibition by my husband and me, but neither he nor I was satisfied with it. We simply still felt uncertain.
J.M.: Since 1997, each summer you have presented a new exhibition, another view of part of the Hoffmann Collection, at the collection’s premises in your flat on Sophienstrasse in Berlin. Now, for only the second time in its history, an exhibition of works from the collection will be presented away from its premises at Atlas Sztuki—the first was in Dresden in 2009. Why are off-site exhibitions so rare?
E.H.-K.: My objective is not to show the works outside the collection’s premises. These artworks have personal significance for me and powerful relationships with one another, so the privacy of a home is their best context.
J.M.: I imagine many institutions offer to show the Hoffmann Collection.
E.H.-K.: Not exactly. These are chiefly requests to borrow individual works or entire groups. Unless doing so might pose a danger of any kind to the work itself, I am happy to fulfil such requests, particularly when I agree with the exhibition’s conception. Generally, however, I try to protect the works. I would like to say a few more words about the exhibition in Dresden. It followed our long and painful relationship with the city. After the fall of the Berlin Wall, Rolf and I wanted to create a venue for international art exhibitions through a public-private partnership in Dresden, a city that had suffered greatly and been substantially destroyed during the war, while housing collections important to art history. Only contemporary art was missing from them, which was connected with the GDR’s cultural isolation. Unfortunately, despite our efforts, nothing came of it. It was probably too early for such a project. I wanted, however, to give this disappointing story a positive conclusion. I therefore decided to accept the request of Martin Roth, then director-general of the Staatliche Kunstsammlungen Dresden, and show selected works from the Hoffmann Collection at the Dresden Kunsthalle in the exhibition Mit dem Fahrrad zur Milchstrasse, which I curated.

J.M.: Let us speak for a moment about public-private partnerships.
E.H.-K.: There is one problem with public-private partnerships: many people—too many—believe that wealthy people want to become even wealthier through them. People cannot understand that one may derive genuine pleasure from spending part of what one owns on an activity that is interesting and joyful, and that also happens to be socially necessary.
J.M.: A great deal is said today about investing in art. Do you know many collectors who invest in art in order to make money?
E.H.-K.: Yes, that is true; a great deal is said about it now. I do not know any woman collector who invests in art for profit, but I know several men who do.
J.M.: Why did you choose Łódź as the exhibition venue?
E.H.-K.: Łódź is an exceptional city. One of the first museums of contemporary art was established here. Katarzyna Kobro, who was connected with Łódź and remains powerfully present here, is one of my heroines. When visiting Łódź, I feel a particular nostalgia as I look at the monumental brick textile-factory buildings. They remind me of a place close to me, where I spent most of my life—Mönchengladbach, where my mother’s ancestors helped establish the clothing industry. Looking at Łódź, I perceive many similarities between the two cities. Another highly significant element is the exceptional nature of Atlas Sztuki—a private exhibition space created and operated through an entrepreneur’s generosity. It reminds me of our own project for Dresden.
J.M.: Erika, let us speak for a moment about you as a curator. You mentioned the exhibition of Constructivist clothing inspired by the Russian avant-garde of the 1920s, shown in Los Angeles in 1980 and earlier at Galerie Gmurzynska in Cologne; the 2005 exhibition in Dresden; and more than a dozen exhibitions you have organised at the collection’s Berlin premises from 1997 until today—initially together with your husband and later independently. In addition, you curated several other exhibitions, including at the Von der Heydt Museum in Wuppertal in 1991 and the Rijksakademie in Amsterdam in 2008. What will the exhibition in Łódź be like?

E.H.-K.: For the Łódź exhibition, I chose works that affect me with particular power and are significant to me, but are not overly conceptual. Beginning with works by Basquiat, which I had never lent to other exhibitions despite being asked many times. The Łódź exhibition at Atlas Sztuki is different, however. It is the fruit of collaboration and mutual understanding between two private cultural institutions. Jean-Michel Basquiat lived a short life [1960–1988—J.M.’s note]. Rolf and I met the young genius only once, at Galerie Hans Mayer in Düsseldorf [Galerie Hans Mayer began operating in 1965 with an exhibition of Josef Albers and presents European and American art made after 1945; it has worked, or continues to work, with such outstanding artists as Frank Stella, Robert Rauschenberg, Roy Lichtenstein, Nam June Paik and Jean-Michel Basquiat, among others—J.M.’s note]. Basquiat worked briefly with Andy Warhol, whose two works I shall also show in the exhibition. The other artists I selected for the exhibition at Atlas Sztuki are Vanessa Beecroft, Monica Bonvicini, Dan Flavin, Günther Förg, Isa Genzken, Nan Goldin, Felix Gonzalez-Torres and Christopher Wool, Katharina Grosse, Zuzanna Janin, Steve McQueen, Pipilotti Rist and Frank Stella.

Berlin, 17 December 2015

[The conversation was conducted in English]