Still Standing: The Dancing Queens of Denmark, 2023
Site specific installation at Artport, Tel Aviv, Israel
Kindly supported by Statens Kunstfond and Artport
80 hand sewn plastic coated inkjet prints and textile tape
45 X 35 X 1 cm (each)
Kindly supported by Statens Kunstfond and Artport
80 hand sewn plastic coated inkjet prints and textile tape
45 X 35 X 1 cm (each)
From the exhibition catalog:
Yinon Avior's photography distorts and alters the images he captures: he crops, cuts, sutures, and laminates his images to create a made–up, makeshift work of art, queer in its nature and its interpretations. In Still Standing: Dancing Queen Denmark, Avior has taken hundreds of images of bikers coming to a momentary halt, extending one foot to balance on the pavement. Pictured from ground level, behind the bikers, he focuses on this moment of tension, in which one seeks to find solid ground but is simultaneously preparing to depart—an allegory for the uncertainty of the migratory experience.
The sewn–together images create a quilt–like aesthetic in an immersive installation, whose goal is not to be contained by a single wall but to “spread”, with all its connotations related to virality and queer history. Avior creates a link between the experience of migration and queer aesthetics, commenting on the ambiguity that accompanies departure and the efforts required to put oneself together again after a traumatic event.
Dr. Yarden Stern
Yinon Avior's photography distorts and alters the images he captures: he crops, cuts, sutures, and laminates his images to create a made–up, makeshift work of art, queer in its nature and its interpretations. In Still Standing: Dancing Queen Denmark, Avior has taken hundreds of images of bikers coming to a momentary halt, extending one foot to balance on the pavement. Pictured from ground level, behind the bikers, he focuses on this moment of tension, in which one seeks to find solid ground but is simultaneously preparing to depart—an allegory for the uncertainty of the migratory experience.
The sewn–together images create a quilt–like aesthetic in an immersive installation, whose goal is not to be contained by a single wall but to “spread”, with all its connotations related to virality and queer history. Avior creates a link between the experience of migration and queer aesthetics, commenting on the ambiguity that accompanies departure and the efforts required to put oneself together again after a traumatic event.
Dr. Yarden Stern
Installation view
Installation view
Still Standing: Dancing Queen of Denmark, 2023
Hand sewn plastic coated inkjet prints and textile tape
45 X 35 X 1 cm
Installation view
Installation view
Skatepark 30: Champagne and Tattoos, 2021
Site-specific performance installation that took place at Henrettelsesskuret (the place in which Nazi Danes were executed by the Danish authorities) which is located in Copenhagen, Denmark.
The installation interrogates how territory can be marked and reclaimed through sound and movement. Staged on an unmarked execution site in central Copenhagen, the work functioned as an absurdly festive yet deeply political memorial, confronting Denmark’s uneasy relationship with its own suppressed history. The installation “celebrated” the execution of 30 out of 46 Nazi Danes after the second world war.
Initiated shortly after my relocation to Copenhagen in 2015, the project evolved over several years, culminating in the summer of 2021. As a queer non-native Dane Jew, I approached this history not from within a shared national identity, but as someone attuned to the tensions embedded in public spaces and collective memory.
Initiated shortly after my relocation to Copenhagen in 2015, the project evolved over several years, culminating in the summer of 2021. As a queer non-native Dane Jew, I approached this history not from within a shared national identity, but as someone attuned to the tensions embedded in public spaces and collective memory.
Origins and Influences
The project was shaped by three distinct events I encountered in Copenhagen:
March Music at the Station
One night, while wandering the city, I heard loud march music echoing from afar. Following the sound, I discovered it came from the back entrance of Copenhagen’s Central Station. Curious, I returned the next morning and asked the station manager about it. They explained that the music was played deliberately – a method borrowed from Germany – to deter drug users and homeless individuals from loitering in the area.
The project was shaped by three distinct events I encountered in Copenhagen:
March Music at the Station
One night, while wandering the city, I heard loud march music echoing from afar. Following the sound, I discovered it came from the back entrance of Copenhagen’s Central Station. Curious, I returned the next morning and asked the station manager about it. They explained that the music was played deliberately – a method borrowed from Germany – to deter drug users and homeless individuals from loitering in the area.
The Execution Site in the Park
While walking through a rather central park in Copenhagen, my partner pointed to a crumbling concrete block and remarked that Nazi Danes were executed there. I was stunned as there was no sign or plaque to acknowledge what had occurred at that site. Even today, this critical piece of history remains unmarked and largely unspoken.
While walking through a rather central park in Copenhagen, my partner pointed to a crumbling concrete block and remarked that Nazi Danes were executed there. I was stunned as there was no sign or plaque to acknowledge what had occurred at that site. Even today, this critical piece of history remains unmarked and largely unspoken.
Historical Context: On May 5, 1945, exactly 75 years before the park opened, Denmark was liberated from German occupation. In the years following, from 1946 to 1950, the Danish government reinstated the death penalty to execute 46 Nazi Danes and 30 of them were executed in Copenhagen. While this chapter is significant, it has long been treated as a dark stain in Danish history, rarely discussed until the 21st century.
Living in Lymbye’s Apartment
Upon relocating to Denmark, I took up residence in the former home of composer Hans Christian Lumbye, best known for his composition “Champagnegaloppen”. As an immigrant and clear outsider to the category of pæredansker (ethnic Dane), inhabiting the very space where this iconic composition was written, and by an artist whose works feature most prominently in the Danish Culture Canon, felt very ironic.
Upon relocating to Denmark, I took up residence in the former home of composer Hans Christian Lumbye, best known for his composition “Champagnegaloppen”. As an immigrant and clear outsider to the category of pæredansker (ethnic Dane), inhabiting the very space where this iconic composition was written, and by an artist whose works feature most prominently in the Danish Culture Canon, felt very ironic.
Cultural Context: The Danish Culture Canon (Kulturkanonen) is an official list of Denmark’s most important cultural works, established in 2006 by the Ministry of Culture under Brian Mikkelsen, a member of the Danish right wing political party, The Conservative People’s Party.
ABOUT THE TITLE: “SKATE PARK 30: CHAMPAGNE AND TATTOOS”
While the first part of the title is very straightforward – naming a skate park by the number of people who were executed on that spot, the second part of the title, “Champagne and Tattoos”, refers to the musical elements within the installation.
ABOUT THE TITLE: “SKATE PARK 30: CHAMPAGNE AND TATTOOS”
While the first part of the title is very straightforward – naming a skate park by the number of people who were executed on that spot, the second part of the title, “Champagne and Tattoos”, refers to the musical elements within the installation.
“Champagne” alludes to Champagnegaloppen by Lumbye, while “tattoos” draws on the term’s military origins: the 17th-century Dutch phrase “doe den tap toe” (“turn off the tap”), which referred to the practice of cutting off beer service to soldiers at the end of the day. Over time, the phrase was condensed phonetically into “tattoo” and came to signify the bugle call marking the end of the day.
The dual meaning of “tattoo” was intentional. In addition to the musical reference, it evokes the tradition of skin tattoos and linked here in two ways: Denmark’s own rich history of tattooing (For instance, King Frederik IX, who reigned during the executions, was heavily tattooed), and the Holocaust, where prisoners were forcibly marked with identification numbers.
Image references
1. Picture of the original execution shed.
2. The 1st sketch for the skatepark, 2015.
3. The notes of H. C. Lumbye’s Champagnegaloppen welded to the balcony of The Tivoli Concert Hall. The opening note is a popping cork.
4. My door at Sankt Peders Stræde, Copenhagen, with the official plaque.
5. The sign at the entrance of The Free Town – Christiania.
6. A documentation from The Royal Edinburgh Military Tattoo.
7. The tattooed king of Denmark Frederick IX.
8. Tattooed numbers on Holocaust survivor's forearm.
9. Carlsberg's logo prior to the second world war.
10. Skateboard marks on a public walls.
The installation
The skatepark opened on September 3rd 2021. As it was set unfenced in public territory, the park was accessible 24/7. For the first three consecutive weekends the performance installation came to life every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday from 18:00 to 19:00: A curated “tattoo” composed of Lumbye’s galops and marches played from a single speaker, reframing his compositions within a militaristic and nationalistic context.
The skatepark opened on September 3rd 2021. As it was set unfenced in public territory, the park was accessible 24/7. For the first three consecutive weekends the performance installation came to life every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday from 18:00 to 19:00: A curated “tattoo” composed of Lumbye’s galops and marches played from a single speaker, reframing his compositions within a militaristic and nationalistic context.
At precisely 18:30, a pæredansker (ethnically Danish person) performed a skate routine on the 6 m² concrete square—previously an execution site—while Champagnegaloppen played in full (2 minutes and 44 seconds). This act of displacing urban skate culture into a natural setting intentionally sabotaged the performance—skateboards don’t function well in the woods.
Free, unsponsored Carlsberg beer and informational brochures were distributed to visitors.
The use of Carlsberg beer did not only refer to the beers that were served to soldiers in the 17th century, but also to the fact that Carlsberg brewery used swastikas in its branding until the Nazi Party’s rise in Germany.
The location of the execution spot in Copenhagen
Music Fluidity in Yinon Avior’s Skatepark
When we examine music history, there has always been fluidity within musical genres. Past composers often wrote pieces that were regarded as something different than what they were intended to be, and there are various reasons for that. While composers sometimes were not thinking about strictly fitting their compositions into specific categories or were purposefully trying to bend/break rules for dramatic affect, in many cases the terminology was simply inconsistent.
Music theory and musicology attempt to clarify issues such as terminology in order to give us a better understanding of music and the circumstances surrounding its composition, but these studies cannot entirely eliminate inevitable musical gray zones which sometimes are a result of the evolution and changing nature of musical terms throughout history.
The musical term “tattoo” is applied to military displays or presentations to which the public is admitted, a definition that leaves a wide-open door for several types of music to fall into this classification. Following that fact, marches played at military bands’ concerts to which the public is admitted can rightfully be classified as tattoos.
But what happens when such pieces are performed for non-military functions? This question should be asked, as it is common for many types of music intended for a practical, non-concert function—from chamber music originally meant to be played privately for a small group of friends to waltzes intended to be danced to—to make their way into the concert hall. And what about genres that share the same, or similar, elements with other genres, and are not performed for the original purpose tied to them? For example, even though the galop was a popular nineteenth-century ballroom dance, many examples, such as Hans Christian Lymbye’s famous Champagnegaloppen, are rather march-like due to their duple 2/4 meter, repetitive rhythms, and lively tempo also associated with several types of marches.
Although classification of music into categories is intended to help from a learning standpoint, music can, and is often, forced into less conventional categories depending on the context. Therefore, while forcing a setlist of marches and galops composed by H.C. Lumbye into the “tattoo” category might seem extreme, it technically isn’t incorrect.
Dr. Justin Bland
When we examine music history, there has always been fluidity within musical genres. Past composers often wrote pieces that were regarded as something different than what they were intended to be, and there are various reasons for that. While composers sometimes were not thinking about strictly fitting their compositions into specific categories or were purposefully trying to bend/break rules for dramatic affect, in many cases the terminology was simply inconsistent.
Music theory and musicology attempt to clarify issues such as terminology in order to give us a better understanding of music and the circumstances surrounding its composition, but these studies cannot entirely eliminate inevitable musical gray zones which sometimes are a result of the evolution and changing nature of musical terms throughout history.
The musical term “tattoo” is applied to military displays or presentations to which the public is admitted, a definition that leaves a wide-open door for several types of music to fall into this classification. Following that fact, marches played at military bands’ concerts to which the public is admitted can rightfully be classified as tattoos.
But what happens when such pieces are performed for non-military functions? This question should be asked, as it is common for many types of music intended for a practical, non-concert function—from chamber music originally meant to be played privately for a small group of friends to waltzes intended to be danced to—to make their way into the concert hall. And what about genres that share the same, or similar, elements with other genres, and are not performed for the original purpose tied to them? For example, even though the galop was a popular nineteenth-century ballroom dance, many examples, such as Hans Christian Lymbye’s famous Champagnegaloppen, are rather march-like due to their duple 2/4 meter, repetitive rhythms, and lively tempo also associated with several types of marches.
Although classification of music into categories is intended to help from a learning standpoint, music can, and is often, forced into less conventional categories depending on the context. Therefore, while forcing a setlist of marches and galops composed by H.C. Lumbye into the “tattoo” category might seem extreme, it technically isn’t incorrect.
Dr. Justin Bland
Metal sign placed by the execution spot
Costume made metal rail surrounding the execution spot
On the left: the sheltered speaker that played the marching melodies.
On the right: brochures with information about the installation and free Carlsberg beers and a black trash bag.
Geographical placement of the various instruments
For three consecutive weekends at 18:30 - the exact middle point of the tattoo - a pæredansker (ethnically Danish person) performed a skate routine on the 6 m² concrete square
The skater left the execution spot once the skate routine was over
David's Sling, 2015
Site-specific installation at Hamekarer, Tel Aviv, Israel
Cage
Plastic straps, cotter pins, wood, and metal
280 X 250 X 220 cm
Installation view
Crisco gallon
Plastic gallon, vinyl, synthetic liquid
27 x 40 x 23 cm
Ø 10 cm stainless steel balls
Installation view
Suicidal Cough, 2017
Video camera, projector and smoke machine
A camera documents its own footage projected through smoke in complete darkness. The footage is the projector’s light beam which becomes visible as a result of the smoke in the space. Due to the smoke’s movement, the projection which is also the photographed subject, moves constantly and therefore un-documentable. The impossible visual cross, which puts both camera’s and projector’s sensors in shock, creates an ecstatic noisy projection that is trapped in itself.
Installation view
Installation view
00, 2013
Various interventions in and out of a public toilet restroom
Merging blue restroom lighting with the brightly painted bands marking public bomb shelters, the installation brings together two architectural strategies that regulate behavior. The work examines how color operates as a spatial tool, directing, discouraging, and governing the bodies architecture anticipates.
A belt of red paint marked the space as a safe zone
All the lights inside were replaced with blue neon lights
The windows were blocked with wood
The neon lights was blue both in and out of the toilet stalls
Installation view
BLU, 2012
Empty metal lottery poster holders
80 X 50 X 4 cm each
80 X 50 X 4 cm each
BLU is an installation consisting of an empty room surrounded by blue-painted lottery boards taken from kiosks. Before each major lottery draw, large posters announcing the potential jackpot are placed inside these frames. To avoid wasting paint on a surface that will soon be covered, the lottery company leaves the center of each board unpainted. This practical economic decision produces an accidental abstract composition: a blue frame surrounding an empty center.
Installation view
Installation view
Installation view
Installation view
Ashes and Dust, 2013
From the exhibition catalog:
Yinon Avior has been concerned with dust since childhood. He attributes this preoccupation to a cleanliness anxiety, and has used his art on occasion as a means of coping with the presence of dirt and disorder. The series of works exhibited here was created while he was studying at the Düsseldorf Academy of Art: He carefully arranged on sheets of paper a mixture of dust and cigarette ash he picked up in the academy's halls, affixing it with transparent sticky tape. This repetitive act of constrained staining, as well as the tension between the pristine background and the pieces of dirt, project onto the white paper the ambivalence of attraction and repulsion, chaos and control. Like a scientist observing cells through a microscope or a child entranced by the dust motes dancing in a light beam, he contemplates with a sense of wonder this capsule encompassing leftovers of artistic activity and human existence. In his words, it is composed of "memory-bearing particles which, like DNA, carry within them the hereditary freight of life and death." Avior's family has its roots in Berlin, and the dust he collected on German soil has a special personal significance for him: in "Ashes and Dust" he hints at his family's history and at the culture that nurtured a regime of cleanliness which culminated so chillingly in the doctrine of "ethnic purity."
Dr. Tami Manor-Friedman
Yinon Avior has been concerned with dust since childhood. He attributes this preoccupation to a cleanliness anxiety, and has used his art on occasion as a means of coping with the presence of dirt and disorder. The series of works exhibited here was created while he was studying at the Düsseldorf Academy of Art: He carefully arranged on sheets of paper a mixture of dust and cigarette ash he picked up in the academy's halls, affixing it with transparent sticky tape. This repetitive act of constrained staining, as well as the tension between the pristine background and the pieces of dirt, project onto the white paper the ambivalence of attraction and repulsion, chaos and control. Like a scientist observing cells through a microscope or a child entranced by the dust motes dancing in a light beam, he contemplates with a sense of wonder this capsule encompassing leftovers of artistic activity and human existence. In his words, it is composed of "memory-bearing particles which, like DNA, carry within them the hereditary freight of life and death." Avior's family has its roots in Berlin, and the dust he collected on German soil has a special personal significance for him: in "Ashes and Dust" he hints at his family's history and at the culture that nurtured a regime of cleanliness which culminated so chillingly in the doctrine of "ethnic purity."
Dr. Tami Manor-Friedman
Ashes and Dust, 2013 – Installation view from Israel Museum of Art, Jerusalem
Ashes and Dust, 2013 – Installation view from Israel Museum of Art, Jerusalem
Ashes and Dust, 2011
Ashes, dust and clear tape on paper
29.7 X 21 cm
Ashes and Dust, 2011
Ashes, dust and clear tape on paper
29.7 X 21 cm