Impressions from Falkensee by Oliver
- Annett Schneeweiss‘ Garden
On Monday, 15th July 2024, I was a guest in Annett Schneeweiss’ gallery in Falkensee. I had arrived the day before.
Falkensee appeared to me as a place made up of houses and gardens. A long walk to my accommodation took me past endless gardens and homes. Lost in thought about the question of participation in local social contexts, a question crystallized in my mind: Are there even any spaces for such things here? Or is Falkensee purely a residential and dormitory town near prominent Berlin? A satellite town without its social core? My impressions of Falkensee are of course very superficial. However, they nevertheless shaped the mood before the day began at Galerie Schneeweiss, and they are briefly outlined here.
On the morning of July 15, I walked through Falkensee again. It was a 30-minute walk, as public transportation seemed very sparse to me; a bus ride would have involved long, meandering journeys through the entire town. During this walk, I had the same impression: people only live privately in single-family homes here; there are no places for community.
Then, at Falkensee Station: a few cafés, and shops. But somehow, still a dead space of consumption. Then, suddenly, a run-down storefront. What was that? I discovered numerous articles and photos stuck to the glass: references to actions against xenophobia call for solidarity and engagement. A fascinating contrast to my previous perception of a completely private and apolitical town. I thought: Here is a powerful social place. And I wondered: Do the people behind this “place,” behind this activism, have dementia on their radar? Would they be interested in a conversation with us?
But then the biggest surprise: the Schneeweiss Gallery itself. In the immediate vicinity of the dauntingly dead station square, a curved wooden sign above a garden gate read Galerie Schneeweiss. And as I passed through the gate, it felt as though I were entering an entirely different world.
A large garden surrounded an old, two-story house. Countless flowers, plants, pots, even a pond, and numerous inviting spots with chairs and benches appeared in loose succession. There were also many sculptures and art objects. Suddenly the monotony of the station square and this residential and dormitory town in general had been replaced by an unbelievable wealth of interesting, beautiful, playful, and crazy details. Everywhere you could sit, linger, and simply be.
After Annett arrived with three guests from the dementia group, we sat together at a table richly adorned with porcelain and paints. I sat with two ladies at the “porcelain table.” We easily got into conversation, and under the friendly guidance of Annett Schneeweiss, we began to paint. It was my first time encountering porcelain as a material for my creative attempts. I thought: Porcelain, practically a metaphor for fragility; here now used as a material for working with people with dementia. And I wondered: How fragile is this work?
Later, I noticed that more guests had arrived in the garden. Curious, I eventually made my way to the back of the garden, which turned out to be very large. Here, I spent some time sitting with a small group of three guests along with a caregiver from the day care center. Under her guidance, a sculpture was being created from a construction piece, plants, and plastic parts.
Everything was wonderfully and kindly prepared, with beautiful opportunities everywhere to sit together, spend time, and be creative. Yet, I never had the impression of a meticulously planned or designed “event.”
One moment stands out, particularly in my memory: After finishing the tree sculpture, the ladies noticed that their hands were quite dirty from working with the soil. They stood there, somewhat perplexed. “Would you like to wash your hands?” asked Annett Schneeweiss, leading the ladies over the slightly uneven garden ground to a basin filled with rainwater. Both knelt to wash their hands and—I believe—dried them on their clothes. A simple, unremarkable situation. But I thought: How many safety regulations and hygiene rules that invisibly surround and restrict an institutional event of this kind are being overlooked here without a second thought, and thus rendered irrelevant. It can be simple. Or perhaps: It must be simple above all.
The entire morning was filled with a sense of relaxation and hospitality, making this place feel entirely different from any institutionally organized creative offering. Annett Schneeweiss and her husband were undoubtedly the key figures behind this unique “magic,” which felt even more powerful because it contrasted so starkly with the orderly and somewhat anonymous atmosphere of Falkensee.
When I finally stepped out of the garden and back onto the bare, concrete station square, it felt like a harsh awakening—a sudden return to reality. Yet, I left with the comforting knowledge that just behind this fence lay a very special place, created by very special people.