Already in spring, the author Christine Wunnicke regularly went to Haus der Kunst which led her to write down her observations of nature in the immediate surrounding of the museum. In this blog post, Christine Wunnicke once again lets us participate in her nocturnal walks. This time reporting on a wintry natural spectacle of foggy clouds, the beauty of a dissected toad, and an evil bunny on a glass door.
In early December, a common toad came out onto the parking area. When I looked at it, it did something that resembled dying. Toad season was over. It should have been in a hole in the earth, not in the cold parking area of Haus der Kunst.
Can you feel the heartbeat of a living toad? The breath? I couldn't remember. I took it home. It was truly dead. I studied it extensively. The beauty of the common toad.
Everything had suddenly died. Only the geese and ducks on the tea house pond started screaming from time to time. They imitated other animals' voices, especially donkeys, it seemed. Then they flapped their wings and went back to sleep.
There were different kinds of fog in different nights. Big billows from the pond. Swirling vapours from the Eisbach. Wispy mist only visible in front of the lights. Thin haze from above, diluted rain. Dense fog cloaking everything; rarely. Singular oblong shreds from the Englischer Garten floated over the parking space, tore apart, crept up the stairs to the terrace.
The Goldene Bar had spat vast amounts of ice cubes onto the lawn. On a glass door, there is an evil bunny face. The shrub under the very bright light is cankered.
In January, it snowed. They were here, and I can prove it!
The archive of winter.
Crow, pigeon, blackbird, duck, goose, people, dog, squirrel, rabbit, rat tracks. Terrace, lawn, parking area, driveway, stairs, roof of P1. I have to learn tracking. I bug a friend, who lives in the Alpine Foreland, and a friend, whose dad is a hunter. Artiodactyl tracks. A biped artiodactyl. A faun on the roof of P1? I'm not very good at this. The following night, I come back and lie in wait. After two hours, a marten appears and leaves artiodactyl track with his little close-set paws. I take photos until my battery dies.
Did you know that rat tracks are identified by the delicate drag mark of the tail between the paw marks? Did you know that animal traces are called "pugmarks"?
The LOVE-light in front of P1 went black. First the L, then the E. Perhaps the martens chewed the cables. Then only the O was left, and it started to thaw.
I'm waiting for spring.
Christine Wunnicke is an author and frequently works as a freelance translator for Haus der Kunst.