There is no single female gaze. When women look at women, the gazes are as varied as the personalities of the photographers and their models - anyone visiting Johanna Breede's gallery this summer can see this for themselves. We encounter tender glances and encouraging ones, those that look cautiously behind façades and those that are thrown at a person as if casually catching a glimpse. On the gallery walls in Berlin's Fasanenstraße, it is mainly silent glances from wome…

Autumn divides the minds - and the spirits. For some, late September marks the beginning of the uncomfortable, cold time of the year. The days become shorter, the world outside grayer. But for others, autumn is a season as underrated as it is inspiring, full of color, emotion and romance. A simultaneity that many poets have written about. In Hoffmann von Fallersleben, autumn comes with rich gifts and distributes them cheerfully. In Rilke, the last sweetness is chased into the heavy wine. In Ro…

Spring means promise. The last March storms have long since blown away the previous year. The days are green again. Nature is lavish once more. It shakes us out of our winter dormancy and points us towards cheer, light and love. Spring has also arrived on Fasanenstraße, as is evident in Johanna Breede’s luminous gallery. On one wall, a couple is kissing - it is 1955 and the Munich photographer Stefan Moses is walking through the world with observing eyes and an open camera lens.…

When the gallery doors open again after more than a year of Corona restrictions and lockdowns, the question arises: what have we missed the most? What have we suffered the most from? Under the most modest of all titles, Johanna Breede's UNTITLED invites us to a concert of wishes that holds a whole grab bag of answers. Here "untitled" does not mean without a concept, but rather elevates the greatest possible freedom, for which we have longed for so long. It is the freedom of choic…

It is the year 1969: In the French Church of St. Moritz, Herbert von Karajan, then Chief Conductor of the Berliner Philharmoniker, conducts Arthur Honegger's Symphony no. 2. The exact circumstances of the concert are not known. The only thing that remains is the silence. Robert Lebeck has sculpted them on a minimalist composition of light and shadow. But each before and after is cut off: only the genius and the great silence; the moment between two sentences, between two bars or two notes. …