Tina Sauerländer, about “DREAM”, 2017

In Dream (2016), the artist Anuk Miladinović collages and cross-fades sequences of video material that shows cultural uses of water: a swimming pool in which people draw their paths in clear water or a watergate filled with filthy water and ships that float through and disappear again. Water is reminiscent of a clean sport or wellness center as well as a polluted, global transport route with almost endless container ships. The film does not follow a clear narration. Unlogical or unrealistic connections revert to a different dream world in which real conditions reflect the subconscious.

Mira Sacher, about “PARTING, dedicated to RM”, 2016

First there is nothing. A fine mist that dissipates slowly. The dark grey, the shiny grey, the bright grey of a bridge. A bridge, which was cut out from its surrounding is the setting of a recurring act.

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Stefanie Böttcher, If it were not for time, I could live forever. If it were not for space, I could be everywhere. (excerpt), 2014

The phenomena of space and time also represent the main subject matter of Anuk Miladinović in her work Ordinance, but on a more abstract level. Her video starts and ends in a crypt – the place where secrets are hiding, and where people meet at eye-level – with a young woman vacuuming the carpet.

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Lotte Lindner & Till Steinbrenner, Questions on Regarding the Behavior of Architecture, 2013

What would happen if gravity suddenly decided to work in a different direction?
Even if an elevator were not there, could you still look through its open doors, through the exposed shaft into another space, and what would you see happening there?
Is the niche a mold of its contents, or the thing that shapes it?

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Greta Hoheisel, 2013

The elevator doors open up like a curtain. Behind them is neither an opulent show nor a grand narrative. Instead, behind them are other, open elevator doors. When the doors slide open yet another time, they reveal a view of a curved staircase, an escalator, or an ordinary elevator setting: the interior of a strictly structured, rhythmic, aestheticized world. Yet, an exterior—and thus, possibly, an exit—cannot be seen in Anuk Miladinovićs video, access (2012).

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Daniel Door, Inner Cleanliness, 2012

It’s been raining for days, light but persistent. The clouds turn red, turn light, turn gray, turn darker, turn red. Night comes, and with it, a deep and distant hum.
In the meantime, I get up and get myself ready. Stop by the flower shop. Buy something at the little kiosk at the train station. Wait for the train. Allow myself to be transported by it, along with all the others. Take the elevator, go about my day, and do my work.
I perform the rituals: take the stroll in the city, stare at something in the shop window, sit in the train and let it take me home, lay myself back down, then awaken once again. I am but a knot.

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Thomas D. Trummer, Cinematic Cryptography, 2012

Cleaning and Registering
A metal elevator door is visible. Clicking and creaking, the steel doors roll open. We see inside. Surprisingly, there is no elevator cab, but a stairwell, where a woman is mopping the floor. Her hair is tied back in a small plait. She wears a white blouse, and over that, a blue smock. The woman goes down the steps backwards. The stairs wind downward, bounded by a curving bannister. She keeps working, silently and sedately. She does not register our gaze, the presence of viewers. The atmosphere is cool, uncomfortable, and emotionless. The door closes again. Again we hear the noise of interlocking metal pieces.

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David Wohnlich, The Caretaker of Space, 2012

The aesthetic precision of Anuk Miladinović’s works does not allow for the cheap notion that anyone could explain it as he wishes within the context of his own world of experience.

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Hans Op de Beeck, Out of the Ordinary, 2012

A few years before taking up the post of visiting professor at the Academy of Fine Arts in Munich last semester, I was there to deliver a lecture about my visual art. On that occasion I met Anuk Miladinović and had the opportunity to talk to her at length about her work, art and life. Hearing her story, I recognized some of my own thoughts and preoccupations. During my recent visiting professorship we continued our dialogue. As multi-disciplinary artists we have some formal similarities: both of us create installations, sculptural pieces, photographic work and videos. But we have some thematic common ground too in a similarly reflexive, mildly ironic take on life as it is: nothing more or less than a tragicomic setting, at once sublime and ridiculous, beautiful and ugly, elegant and awkward. While we may employ entirely different idioms and our oeuvres have distinct objectives, we both start from our perception of the everyday, the ordinary, and go on to make it extra-ordinary, to question and interpret it. We look for ways of using the image to both enchant and disillusion. This produces a relentless tension between optimism and playfulness on the one hand and the realization of our powerlessness as human beings and ensuing melancholy on the other. The banal here functions as a discreet metaphor for a bigger, social narrative.

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