Jenny Holzer | Süddeutches Zeitun

[Jenny Holzer]

Süddeutches Zeitung, No. 46 

Munich, Germany: Magazin Verlagsgesellschaft Süddeutsche Zetung mbH, 1993

94 pp., 29.5 x 22.5 cm., staple-bound

Edition size unknown

The Bosnian War, with an estimated 100,000 dead and over two-million displaced, is one of the most devastating conflicts in Europe since World War Two. In the time between April 1992 and December 1995 it is also estimated that between twelve and fifty thousand women were raped (exact figures are difficult, with estimates that for every reported instance of sexual assault there were fifteen to twenty unreported cases). 

Rape was a policy of systemic violence, perpetrated by Bosnian Serb forces of the Army of the Republika Srpska  and Serb paramilitary units as an instrument of terror, and as part of their program of ethnic cleansing.

Lustmord, which translates to “sexual murder,” is Jenny Holzer's response to the atrocities. Created between 1993 and 1994, the work consists of three poems that recount the sex crimes from the perspective of the victim, the perpetrator, and the witness of these rapes. Holzer confuses the perspectives, reordering their sequence in such a way the viewer is not certain who is speaking.

The work would later be presented in Holzer's signature medium, the LED light sign, and also as engraved silver bands around human bones (see below). But they first appeared here, in the November 1993 issue of Süddeutches Zeitung - a glossy magazine free with the Sunday edition of one of Germany's largest daily newspapers. 

Presented in German and English, the texts were written on human skin and photographed in close-up. Printed as full-bleed spreads the images are confrontational and deeply disturbing. The cover of the magazine features a folded card also designed by the artist with text from one of the poems that reads “I am awake in a place where women die,” 

"I wrote it from reading first-person accounts and also reports written by the United Nations, Amnesty International and news services. And I should also say, I wrote it about women at large; it wasn’t only about the situation in Bosnia. This sort of stuff goes on everywhere all of the time and I was able to draw on things that I know and have experienced and that other people have told me. It’s not an alien subject."

- Jenny Holzer

I SWIM IN HER AS SHE QUIETS. I SINK ON HER.

I SING HER A SONG ABOUT US. I STEP ON HER HANDS.

I SPLAY HER FINGERS.

SHE ROOTS WITH HER BLUNT FACE.

SHE HUNTS ME WITH HER MOUTH.

SHE HAS THREE COLORS IN HER EYES.

I BITE HER CLOSED AGAIN.

I AM NEAR HER MILK.

I TELL HER TO SOAP HERSELF.

SHE TIGHTENS AND I HIT HER.

I WASH HER OUT.

I WATCH HER WHILE SHE THINKS ABOUT ME.

HER SALIVA RUNS WHEN SHE SLEEPS.

I HOOK HER SPINE.

SHE HAS A URINE SMELL.

HER SWALLOW REFLEX IS GONE.

HER HEAD EXPLODES IN THE FIRE.

HER BREASTS ARE ALL NIPPLE.

SHE ACTS LIKE AN ANIMAL LEFT FOR COOKING.

I FIND HER SQUATTING ON HER HEELS AND THIS OPENS HER SO

I CAN GET HER FROM BELOW.

I TAKE HER FACE WITH ITS FINE HAIRS. I POSITION HER MOUTH.

I WANT TO FUCK HER WHERE SHE HAS TOO MUCH HAIR.

I HOOK MY CHIN OVER HER SHOULDER. NOW THAT SHE IS STILL I CAN CONCENTRATE.

SHE HAS NO TASTE LEFT TO HER AND THIS MAKES IT EASIER FOR ME.

THE COLOR OF HER WHERE SHE IS INSIDE OUT IS ENOUGH TO MAKE ME KILL HER.

I AM AWAKE IN THE PLACE WHERE WOMEN DIE.

THE BIRD TURNS ITS HEAD AND LOOKS WITH ONE EYE WHEN YOU ENTER.

MY BREASTS ARE SO SWOLLEN THAT I BITE THEM.

YOUR AWFUL LANGUAGE IS IN THE AIR BY MY HEAD.

I DO NOT LIKE TO WALK BECAUSE I FEEL IT BETWEEN MY LEGS.

HAIR IS STUCK INSIDE ME.

MY NOSE BROKE IN THE GRASS. MY EYES ARE SORE FROM MOVING AGAINST YOUR PALM.

I HAVE THE BLOOD JELLY.

WITH YOU INSIDE ME COMES THE KNOWLEDGE OF MY DEATH.

YOU HAVE SKIN IN YOUR MOUTH. YOU LICK ME STUPIDLY.

YOU CONFUSE ME WITH SOMETHING THAT IS IN YOU. I WILL NOT PREDICT HOW YOU WANT TO USE ME.

I FEEL YOUR SHOULDER BONE UNDER MY HAND AND I KNOW WHAT WILL COME TO YOU.

I KNOW WHO YOU ARE AND IT DOES ME NO GOOD AT ALL. I TRY TO EXCITE MYSELF SO I STAY CRAZY.

WHAT IS LEFT ON THE BLANKET IS CLEAR AND THE COLOR OF HELL.

I WANT TO LIE DOWN BESIDE HER. I HAVE NOT SINCE I WAS A CHILD. I WILL BE COVERED BY WHAT HAS COME FROM HER.

SHE BEGINS TO MAKE MISTAKES IN HER LANGUAGE AND I CORRECT HER THE WAY SHE TAUGHT ME.

I FIND HER TOWELS SHOVED IN TIGHT SPOTS. I TAKE THEM TO BURN ALTHOUGH I FEAR TOUCHING HER THINGS.

SHE ASKS ME TO SLEEP IN THE HOUSE BUT I WILL NOT WITH HER NEW BODY AND ITS NOISE.

SHE SMILES AT ME BECAUSE SHE IMAGINES I CAN HELP HER.

SHE COUGHS THE MOUTH STRINGS.

I WANT TO BRUSH HER HAIR BUT THE SMELL OF HER MAKES ME CROSS THE ROOM. I HELD MY BREATH AS LONG AS I COULD. I KNOW I DISAPPOINT HER.

SHE STARTED RUNNING WHEN EVERYTHING BEGAN POURING FROM HER BECAUSE SHE DID NOT WANT TO BE SEEN.

SHE FELL ON THE FLOOR IN MY ROOM. SHE TRIED TO BE CLEAN WHEN SHE DIED BUT SHE WAS NOT. I SEE HER TRAIL.

HER GORE IS IN A BALL OF CLEANING RAGS. I CARRY OUT THE DAMPNESS LEFT FROM MY MOTHER. I RETURN TO HIDE HER JEWELRY.

THE BLACK SPECKS INSIDE MY EYES FLOAT ON HER BODY. I WATCH THEM WHILE I THINK ABOUT HER.

I WANT TO SUCK ON HER TO MAKE HER RESPOND.

I WALK OUTSIDE TO THE PATH AND SEE THE PLANTS UNMARKED BY HER DYING.

SHE IS NARROW AND FLAT IN THE BLUE SACK AND I STAND WHEN THEY LIFT HER.