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<\/a><\/p>\nMore than 300 people came through on one of the hottest days of the week, and the crowd was a mix of local Parisians, alongside art directors, creative directors, fashion photographers, designers, and writers. Alongside the photographs is a video work by visual artist Tilius Sodeika, accompanied by a David Lynch soundtrack drawn from one of Marquardt\u2019s own playlists, giving the exhibition a mystical, otherworldly atmosphere.<\/p>\n
Curated by Ameesia Marold at Espace Parallele, the exhibition brought together two bodies of work created almost three decades apart: Eastside Girls, photographed in East Berlin during the 1980s, and Rudel, a series made nearly thirty years later.<\/p>\n
Despite the decades separating them, both are rooted in proximity. As Marquardt repeatedly points out throughout our conversation he has always photographed people closest to him. Times and environments change, but one thing has remained constant in his practice: is closeness, sustained by one thing: \u201cTrust. Everything begins with trust,\u201d says Marquardt. \u201cThe same is true for friendships, families, and communities. Without trust, none of these relationships can exist.\u201d<\/p>\n
The 1980s were a paradoxical era for Berlin. The city remained divided by the Wall, the East and the West One where underground scenes, artistic experimentation, and a sense of freedom flourished amid political tension. It was a time of contradiction. It was divided yet hedonistic, becoming a fertile environment for an alternative culture. Looking back, Marquardt remembers a space shaped by the requisite of self-expression. \u201cEveryone was creating their own style, their own fashion, their own identity,\u201d he recalls. \u201cIt didn\u2019t matter where you came from or whether you fit into society\u2019s expectations. The important thing was being different. There was also the excitement of creating an alternative culture, something that existed outside the official structures around us.\u201d<\/p>\n
There was something that drew Marquardt in: the idea that creativity could become a form of resistance. \u201cCreativity and resistance are inseparable. Sometimes what people create becomes political simply because it refuses to conform.\u201d In East Berlin, resistance was not always explicit. Creating their own culture and refusing to fit into the image society wanted for them was their own way of challenging the system. He continues, \u201cMaybe, from a broader point of view, it\u2019s still political \u2013 not by handing out pamphlets or flyers, but by showing, \u201cWe don\u2019t agree. We are not going to conform to your idea of society.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe improvised everything,\u201d he says, adding, \u201ctoday, people may not understand what it meant to cut a pair of trousers into shorts in East Germany. You didn\u2019t have many clothes. Getting a new pair of trousers was difficult.\u201d Because resources were so scarce, even altering what little you owned\u00a0 could feel like an act of protest.<\/p>\n As the decade drew to a close, that underground world began to change. \u201cAround 1986 and 1987 things started to become sadder. Many people left East Germany. Friends disappeared. Relationships ended because people emigrated or were forced out,\u201d Marquardt says. \u201cYou could feel that the state was beginning to collapse. There was increasing tension and violence. Some people were imprisoned. Some were killed trying to leave the country.\u201d<\/p>\n In that same period, he experienced something that would stay with him for life. He was granted permission to travel abroad for a photography festival in Japan, but instead found himself in West Berlin for the first time.<\/p>\n \u201cStanding on the western side of the Berlin Wall and looking back towards the East was an unforgettable experience,\u201d he says. \u201cYou could physically touch the Wall from the West. You could climb a ladder and look over it. On the other side, you saw a system designed to control and punish its own citizens. On the other side, freedom.\u201d<\/p>\n The end of East Germany brought particular collapse. \u201cReunification changed everything,\u201d Marquardt says. \u201cA few years after the Wall came down, I stopped taking photographs altogether. Looking back, I think that was connected to losing a sense of identity. The changes were sudden and total. Overnight, the system around us changed completely. The place where you lived remained the same, but everything else changed. Your money became worthless. Your profession often becomes irrelevant. Institutions disappeared.\u201d<\/p>\n He describes reunification as a form of displacement, almost like becoming an immigrant in one\u2019s own country. Still, he is careful in recognising its significance. \u201cOf course, reunification was still the best thing that could have happened. It happened peacefully, and many countries facing similar situations ended up in war. But even positive transformations come with loss and disorientation. For many East Germans, rebuilding a sense of identity took years.\u201d<\/p>\n Photography only returned years later, after a period of distance. \u201cI didn\u2019t miss photography at first,\u201d he says. \u201cI became deeply involved in Berlin\u2019s club culture. I started getting tattooed, spent more time in nightlife, and focused on other aspects of my life.\u201d<\/p>\n It was the closure of a club in the early 2000s that brought him back to photography. \u201cThat moment became a turning point. Together with a friend who was also affected by the closure, I began taking photographs again.\u201d<\/p>\n Photography has always been Marquardt\u2019s way of capturing a particular moment in time, even if he never imagined those\u00a0 images would eventually take on the status of historical documents, \u201cOf course, the photographs became documents over time, but that wasn\u2019t my primary intention. I was trying to capture emotions, relationships, and the energy of a moment.\u201d<\/p>\n Today, in an era of constant documentation and visibility we ask Marquardt whether the underground can still exist. He believes it absolutely does. \u201cAnd it\u2019s important that it does. Every society needs spaces that exist outside the mainstream. They create friction. They generate new ideas. They challenge dominant narratives. Underground culture is necessary.\u201d<\/p>\n He is still drawn to those kinds of spaces today. \u201cI\u2019m always searching for places that retain their character. Not necessarily for parties anymore, but for photography. I love spaces with history, patina, and traces of previous lives. Sometimes a building is renovated beautifully because its spirit remains intact. I\u2019m interested in places that still tell stories.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n