četvrtak, 8. prosinca 2016.

Heinz Emigholz - Schindlers Häuser (2007)

Image result for Schindlers Häuser (2007)Heinz Emigholz
Film kao apstraktna temporalna konstrukcija.
I kako arhitekturom izraziti ljubav, mržnju, brigu, gubitak.


Die Basis des Make-Up aka The Basis of Make-Up I-III (1974-83/1995-2000/1986-2004):


D'Annunzios Höhle (2005):

D’Annunzio’s CAVE shows fifteen rooms of the Villa Cargnacco in Gardone on Lake Garda, where Gabriele d’Annunzio moved in 1921 and lived until his death. The villa is part of the “Vittoriale”, a museum-like theme park honoring d’Annunzio that d’Annunzio himself and his personal architect Giancarlo Maroni spent almost two decades designing and furnishing. In 1997, Heinz Emigholz began documenting various rooms of the villa on 35mm film (some of this footage can now be seen in the film The Basis of Make-Up (III)), but he interrupted this project. In 2002, he took it up again in connection with the production of the film Goff in the Desert.
On June 24, 2002 a cinematographic jam session ensued in the Villa Cargnacco; four friends — camerapeople and filmmakers (Irene von Alberti, Elfi Mikesch, Klaus Wyborny, and Heinz Emigholz) — documented the villa’s rooms and inventory at the same time, but temporally staggered and in their respective very specific styles. The film D’Annunzio’s CAVE resulted from the wealth of material thus produced. A DVD edition of the film will show, along with the completed film, the footage of each cameraperson individually, to enable the viewer to study their quite disparate camerawork.
Heinz Emigholz sees his two films on Gabriele d'Annunzio and Bruce Goff in close relation to each other. To quote the project description: “Unlike GOFF IN THE DESERT, D'ANNUNZIO'S CAVE not only depicts its object, but also places it in the context of political monologues about lifestyle as an effort to police taste. The reason why the two films have such different forms is the difference between the phenomena shown.
Bruce Goff's architecture is clearly related to a recognizable use and a graspable logic of the material, which can be 'read' in the executed work without translation. His designing relates to the individual and promotes a free, human spirit. His buildings do not live from being impressing; they impress precisely with freedom. To allow them to be experienced, one merely has to present them as precisely as possible in their compositions and their relationships to their surroundings.
The world erected by Gabriele d'Annunzio, in contrast, consists primarily of nothing but projections and backdrops that, if no interpretations are provided, reveal their existence as hodgepodge. He designed a sequence of rooms to which he allotted feelings and activities by fiat. Interior architecture measures attempt to create the ideal surroundings for a writer. The concentration of ‘writing’ is thereby supposed to be objectified in a collection of books, objects, cult objects, and fetishes. Like little shocks, these objects are supposed to keep awake the constant flow of memories and the timeliness of culture. They become the plenipotentiaries of authorship. This representation of the human spirit is not conceived as 'private', but stands for a political offensive into the world of those who are to be enlightened. D'Annunzio's 'private sphere' becomes a political space and a vehicle of propaganda for a particular way of being. This way of being is derived from a sphere of political power — an unambiguous interpretation of reality born of and becoming violence.”
D'ANNUNZIO'S CAVE is structured according to the sequence of rooms in the Villa Cargnacco: vestibule, mask merchant's room, music room, globe room, Zambracca, Apollinian veranda, Leda's room, blue bath, leper’s room, reliquary room, Dalmata Oratorium, the maimed one’s writing room, workshop, room of the Cheli, kitchen.
“Gardone, June 24, 2002. An abyss of the state of the art. Considering this spectacle, my hate began to recede, covered by my satisfaction at the dust that had settled like acid on everything and the chatter of the guide who had taken over D'Annunzio's empire and had to present culture to astonished tourists. I felt as if I were on the inside of an embalmed corpse whose intestines and brain had been shunted away because they had begun to stink. Now the state has to take care of this empty husk, because the poet wants to communicate with us through it. What the collection shouts out is the recognition that museums are useless and only a method of doubly losing life. The fate of modern art, which begs for patronage, is inscribed in it. Every kind of aimless filth would be prettier than this treasurehold of loot owned by one who, in the name of art, robbed people of language and flushed it as lotion into his own mummy. The thousand-year empire of house dust; house dust mites and those in flakes of skin take command.”
From: Heinz Emigholz: Das weiße Schamquadrat (White Square of Shame — unpublished)
“Valletta, February 25, 2003, a Tuesday. I'm sitting on the stone tiles of my room, looking out over the cities of Senglea and Vittoriosa on the other side of Grand Harbour. Eleven days ago, the film Goff in the Desert had its world premiere in Berlin. A film about American design; I love every bit of it. D'ANNUNZIO'S CAVE will show one consequence of European design, a culture that isn’t one and only pretended to be one, the rummage of a storehouse of booty. The name of the collector and decorator of the displayed rooms is Rapagnetta, the turnip, also known as d'Annunzio, the announcer: “My name alone is an honorific for contemporaries and successors. For my whole life has proven the Providence that my Christian name announces. I can and must not wish anything. The government and the nation have the compelling duty to finally recognize me, independent of my own wishes or my wrath.” The Italian state confiscated the house, including an extensive library, from the art historian Heinrich Thode after the First World War and gave it to d'Annunzio. D'Annunzio designated his activity there as an act of “de-Teutonification. Having arrived at the zenith of his career as state artist, he makes constant designing efforts to remodel the immediate surroundings of his dwelling into a cult site. Interior decoration becomes an act of asserting Being. The stolen collection of every kind of art object, rearranged in layers, becomes an externalized “brain” revealing his thoughts and associations in the form of fetishes. Things are granted meanings like medals, sense becomes power, meaning becomes kitsch, dialogue a decree. D’Annunzio stages an intricately interlocking drug den whose branchings postulate virtual cultural achievements. With his furnishing aria and insistence on pomp, he becomes the precursor of a “lifestyle” movement in which fetishes, cultural theft, and staged squirreling-away function as a substitute for thought: The Fabulous World of d’Annunzio. Every generation has representatives of this species. Society recurrently banalizes itself into a playing field for the strategic goals of individuals. Its Olympus regenerates via self-appointment. One would like to be Lenin, of course not seriously, but a little bit of arbitrary rule ought to be allowed, at least on the playground of “art” and its markets. This then calls itself “political art”, but is really only the aestheticization of the political. Roles for various art stars as would-be dictators, a reasonable, post-facto “only joking” included. D’Annunzio is the archetype of this species, and our celebrities ought to blush in shame at the level on which he plotted out and executed his crimes, which are theirs as well."
From: Heinz Emigholz: Das weiße Schamquadrat (The White Square of Shame – unpublished)

While I’m sort of a novice in regard to his life and work, decidedly decadent dago dandy and ‘proto-fascist’ poet Gabriele D'Annunzio (1863-1938) is certainly someone I can respect as a true Renaissance man who, not unlike Japanese novelist Yukio Mishima, was one of the few artists to be a true master of pen and sword. In other words, D'Annunzio was not merely a sedentary scribbler of flowery bullshit nor passive dreamer, but an active artist whose art far transcended the written word and real-life Übermensch who managed to go from being a mere literary figure to a national war hero whose style, aesthetic, and politics Benito Mussolini ripped off (indeed, among other things, D'Annunzio became the ‘Duce’ of the short-lived nation Italian Regency of Carnaro in Fiume between 1919 and 1920). After someone tried to assassinate him in 1922 via defenestration, D'Annunzio permanently relocated to the villa in Gardone Riviera overlooking Garda lake in the province of Brescia, Lombardy where he would create what was arguably the crowning achievement of his life. Indeed, with the help of his architect Giancarlo Maroni, D'Annunzio would spend the rest of his life (17 years!) meticulously pimping out his Villa Cargnacco and building a museum, ‘The Vittoriale degli italiani’ (aka The Shrine of Italian Victories), which he would donate to Italy and what would ultimately become an official Italian national monument (the poet’s birthplace in Pescara would also become a museum). Naturally, when I discovered that a German filmmaker directed a documentary about D'Annunzio’s Villa Cargnacco, I could not resist, even with a title so brazenly derogatory as D'Annunzios Höhle (2005) aka D'Annunzio's Cave. Directed by a seemingly stereotypical ethno-masochistic German intellectual named Heinz Emigholz (Schindler's Houses, Goff in the Desert) who specializes in experimental documentaries about architecture and who is a Professor of Experimental film at Berlin University of the Arts and at European Graduate School (in Saas-Fee, Switzerland), D'Annunzio's Cave is essentially a failed pseudo-avant-garde agitprop piece that juxtaposes cockeyed shots of the Villa Cargnacco with intentionally annoying and dissonant computer sound effects. In short, D'Annunzio's Cave makes for an unintentionally dichotomous work that demonstrates the stark contrast between D'Annunzio's exceedingly elegant architecture and priceless knickknacks and the unhinged ugliness of a particularly pompous left-wing filmmaker who would not know true beauty if it buggered him in the bum like a Red Army grunt in post-WWII Berlin. 

 Part of Emigholz’s ‘Architecture as Autobiography’ series (the director has also made films on Bruce Goff, Adolf Loos, Robert Maillart, Rudolph Schindler, etc.), D'Annunzio's Cave is the seemingly aesthetically autistic result of what happens when a little man goes in a dead big man’s home and thrusts his impotent jealousy and scorn all over the place with the sort of inane irrationality one would expect from a kindergartner throwing a temper tantrum after not being allowed to watch their favorite TV show. On June 24, 2002, director Heinz Emigholz and three of his filmmakers buddies—Irene von Alberti (a xenophile filmmaker/producer who likes directing films about brown people, Elfi Mikesch (a lesbian cinematographer/filmmaker who is best known for shooting Werner Schroeter’s films), and Klaus Wyborny (an old school experimental filmmaker who Werner Herzog once paid tribute to by using some of his footage in The Enigma of Kaspar Hauser (1974))—go to the Villa Cargnacco and separately shoot footage in fifteen different rooms of D'Annunzio's singularly lavish and delectably decadent home. Despite utilizing four different cinematographers with handheld cameras (Emigholz only opted taking the four-camera ‘cinematographic jam session’ approach so he would not have to pay location fees for multiple days of shooting), the documentary seems like it was shot by a single seemingly stoned/spastic tourist who has yet to learn how to use their camera properly before going on vacation. Indeed, while it is impossible to tell which cameraman is which, virtually all of the footage in D'Annunzio's Cave was shot in an intentionally erratic and waywardly framed manner so as to induce abject disgust in the viewer. Fortunately, the glorious aesthetic majesty of D'Annunzio's fasci poet pleasuredome is too aesthetically pleasing to be completely molested by shoddy, limp-wristed left-wing camerawork. Ultimately, the most grating and equally redundant aspect of the documentary is asinine atonal sound effects and computer-generated voices, which quote the words of D'Annunzio, Mussolini, Joseph Conrad, kosher commie Joseph ‘Red Roth’ Roth and apparently some pissy film producer. Indeed, while Emigholz attempts to elicit cognitive dissonance and metaphysical horror in the viewer as if he was attempting to mimic the sound design of a David Lynch flick, the whole thing comes off as a patently pretentious, if not preposterously pathetic, joke as if he wants to conjure evil where evil does not reside. Overall, I do not think it would be an exaggeration to say that D'Annunzio's Cave makes an infinitely more interesting and captivating documentary with the sound turned off and some neofolk music playing in the background. 

 Among other strategically calculated tidbits, one learns while watching D'Annunzio's Cave that the decadent Duce indulged in degenerate jazz, especially songs sung by Josephine Baker. Of course, Emigholz attempts to establish a link between fascism and murder/evil by including the following D’Annunzio quote, “I have created this alcove in purple, beautiful color of blood.” Undoubtedly, my favorite quote included in the documentary is, “I imagine the dead feel no animosity against the living. They care nothing for them,” as it expresses what D'Annunzio would think about a loser like Emigholz, who is not even fit enough to shine the shoes on the poet's corpse. Of course, nothing is more intrinsically fascistic than mother nature, so I could not help but smile after hearing the following quote, “A hill so green with small meadows with plain trees—cypresses, laurelin chestnut oaks—while help the Latin race rediscover her past greatness.” In a scene shot in the most esoteric and religiously-themed room of D'Annunzio home, Emigholz demonstrates his respect for the dead by including a sound clip of some less than eloquent vulgarian yelling things like, “fuck you” and whatnot. The last five minutes or so of the documentary features the Brian Eno & David Byrne track “The Jezebel Spirit”, which features a sound clip of an actual exorcism. Indeed, leftist true believer Emigholz goes so far as to attempt a cinematic exorcism of atheist D'Annunzio, thus demonstrating the quasi-religious perspective he is taking in his rather corny crusade against the ‘demonic’ decadent poet. If nothing else, D'Annunzio's Cave proves that Francis Parker Yockey was right when he wrote, “A moment's reflection shows that Liberalism is entirely negative. It is not a formative force, but always and only a disintegrating force,” as left-wing choirboy Emigholz’s documentary only attempts to defile and negate that which is beautiful, yet it even fails in that regard, as the shitty camera work and calculatingly contrived sound effects of the documentary are no match for D'Annunzio’s classic aesthetic prowess. 

 Despite auteur Heinz Emigholz's metapolitical intentions with the film, D'Annunzio's Cave only made me respect Gabriele D'Annunzio and his irreplaceable legacy all the more. Had Emigholz actually constructed an artistically interesting film out of D'Annunzio's Cave with the same cliché anti-fascist message still intact, I would give credit where credit it due, but ultimately the documentary—with its contrived computer noise, pseudo-disturbing heavy breathing, and pathologically crooked camera angles—seems like an overextended power electronics music video gone awry. Another glaring flaw of D'Annunzio's Cave is that even Emigholz's hatred seems rather misguided and even contrived, as if he made the documentary to impress his academic buddies and wanted to prove that antifascist sentiments can still be ‘edgy’ and ‘provocative.’  Of course, Emigholz was not the first Teutonic filmmaker to direct an experimental documentary on the aesthetics of fascist architecture, as German auteur Alexander Kluge's first film Brutalität im Stein (1960) aka Brutality in Stone—a poetic 12-minute short co-directed by Peter Schamoni (No Shooting Time for Foxes, Hundertwasser's Rainy Day) that takes a sort of contra Riefenstahl approach and utilizes montage as a means to critique some of the neo-classical architecture of the Third Reich—predates D'Annunzio's Cave by nearly a century and is infinitely more effective. The only crumb of credit I can give to Emigholz is that he did not attempt to obscure his hatred nor complete and utter lack of objectivity regarding D'Annunzio, as an agitated little man who even went so far as posting the following words on the official site for D'Annunzio's Cave, “Gardone, June 24, 2002. An abyss of the state of the art. Considering this spectacle, my hate began to recede, covered by my satisfaction at the dust that had settled like acid on everything and the chatter of the guide who had taken over D'Annunzio's empire and had to present culture to astonished tourists. I felt as if I were on the inside of an embalmed corpse whose intestines and brain had been shunted away because they had begun to stink. Now the state has to take care of this empty husk, because the poet wants to communicate with us through it. What the collection shouts out is the recognition that museums are useless and only a method of doubly losing life. The fate of modern art, which begs for patronage, is inscribed in it. Every kind of aimless filth would be prettier than this treasurehold of loot owned by one who, in the name of art, robbed people of language and flushed it as lotion into his own mummy. The thousand-year empire of house dust; house dust mites and those in flakes of skin take command.” Indeed, D'Annunzio's villa might have a little dust, but D'Annunzio's Cave is infected with a metaphysical disease that glorifies grotesquery and slavishly mocks aesthetic majesty, as if the film was directed by a jealous lumpenprole who lacks the cultivation to take in what he sees, with his philistine brain overheating as a result. Ultimately, D'Annunzio's Cave is a piece of inverse fetishism where the director projects his irrational hostilities on D'Annunzio, though it is quite clear that the director is hopelessly infatuated with his subject, sort of like how Spielberg is obsessed with Nazis. As for D'Annunzio's villa, I think the Poet said it best when he stated regarding the legacy of his museum that it is “not a fat inheritance of lifeless riches, but a naked heritage of an immortal spirit.”  - Soiled Sinema

Heinz Emigholz

From the beginning to the middle of the seventies, I produced a series of films containing a complicated interplay between abstract temporal compositions–that is, film movements–and selected urban and rural landscapes.
The films–ARROWPLANE, TIDE, and three episodes of SCHENEC-TADY–range in time from 19 to 40 minutes and consist of thousands of photographs, taken frame-by-frame with a Bolex camera on 16mm film according to a previously established score. The camera’s position was precisely chosen. Markings on the tripod and on the camera’s zoom lens allowed me to determine all the possible shots from this position in a system of coordinates. Before shooting the films, scores were written into this system–compositions for images to be photographed individually, which would then create a particular film event when they were projected later. I take the following description of the score from a letter to Birgit Hein from January 31, 1977, which I wrote in preparation for an installation of my films at documenta 6:

Kreidler videos:

The Airstrip (2014): the no. 1 atomic bomb loading pit, now the Northfield Memorial, on Tinian, Northern Marianas

Heinz Emigholz: building in time
Over the past two decades Heinz Emigholz has made a remarkable series of filmic monuments to the Modern age through careful studies of the best of its architecture. With his new film The Airstrip, he drops the bomb on the whole thing…

“Film is an imaginary architecture in time,” says 66-year-old German filmmaker Heinz Emigholz. “Architecture is the most popular mode through which to express human life. With it you can show all possible breeds of human activity: love, hate, care, loss. You just have to look carefully.”
Emigholz is speaking about The Airstrip (2013), his most recent feature, the latest in a series of films devoted to architecture that took more than 20 years to make. The film begins with an offscreen female narrator (voiced by Natja Brunckhorst, once of Christiane F fame) suggesting the image of a bomb in flight and proposing an exploration of the time between its release and its landing. The viewer then takes an around-the-world trip, visiting architectural sites connected by the theme of how the human race keeps records of its past.
They include Western European structures preserved after the Second World War and buildings constructed in Latin American countries where Modernism migrated while Europe rebuilt itself, as well as depopulated former Pacific Theatre sites on the Northern Mariana Islands, where empty buildings stand alongside memorials commemorating the dropping of the atom bombs. 
read more here

The fact that I suffer from flights of fancy has been well established since my film NORMALSATZ in 1981. After all, they were analyzed in the film. The film also documented my attempts to work against them by using memorization and recording techniques. Later, forgetting was added in, which also extended to the artifacts that I had collected by using these techniques. There was no time to scour through them, especially since a certain obsession with production got in the way of any kind of reflection. If you look back, society will take revenge on you, so just look forward as long as you can. Always be a few blocks further along and always where you’re not expected, and don’t let the spectators get ahead of you on your way. Who or what falls by the wayside is clear.
In the context of Living Archive – Archive Work as a Contemporary Artistic and Curatorial Practice, a project by Arsenal – Institute for Film and Video Art I wondered where and at what point in time I might have been able to change courses, or even should have. The first change of course was a good one: The filmmaker Larry Gottheim had seen my film SCHENEC-TADY in 1973 at the Hamburger Filmschau and invited me to the US, where I lived in NYC starting in the middle of 1974. The core of my circle of friends consisted of students and ex-students of Larry Gottheim and Ken Jacobs, who had founded the Collective for Living Cinema there in 1973. This was to become a crystallization point for artistic work with film over the next ten years, at various locations. Even back then, Anthology Film Archives had become something of a fossil under Jonas Mekas, primarily concentrated on protecting and maintaining the heroic status of the stale New American Cinema. There was very little living to be expected there.
Second change of course, 1977: For me, the film DEMON designates the end of a fundamental, experimental engagement with the energetic possibilities of film form and the transition to very open, even documentary, quasi-narrative constructs, in which I wanted to thematize my own existence and its garbled conditions and entanglements. The film NORMALSATZ, produced from 1978 to 1981 in Manhattan and Hamburg, was such a film. The fact that I would continue the epistemological cinematic interests that I had begun in previous films holds for me to this day.
NORMALSATZ would not have come to be at all without the interaction with American friends. The filmmaker and actress Sheila McLaughlin and the writer Lynne Tillman acted in it, as did Marcia Bronstein, Peter Blegvad, Carla Liss, David Marc, John Erdman, Martha Wilson, and others. One sequence of the film is based on Lynne Tillman’s text The Interpretation of Facts, another sequence, the one on soaps and sitcoms, is based on the text Specimen of Table-Model Talk which David Marc und Daniel Czitrom had written especially for the film. The poet Hannes Hatje, the film’s main actor, later translated Lynne Tillman’s first novel Haunted Houses for the same German publisher for which I had translated Art Spiegelman’s Breakdowns.
The loose, free production form of NORMALSATZ also inspired the beginnings of COMMITTED by Lynne Tillman and Sheila McLaughlin and the ensemble film MACUMBA by Elfi Mikesch. NORMALSATZ and MACUMBA were both premiered in 1982 at the 12th International Forum of New Cinema. The bourgeois press, which had fallen in love with impact films to the point of idiocy, criticized us as “bourgeois flâneurs.” Sheila McLaughlin then also acted in films by Elfi Mikesch. Elfi in turn took over for me at the camera in COMMITTED during the scenes where I was acting. I had dismounted the quartz from a blimped Bolex Pro camera that I’d brought from Hamburg, which added to the period look that Jim Hoberman praised so much. For Sheila McLaughlin, the film, which premiered at the Berlinale Forum in 1984, got her contacts at the Kleines Fernsehspiel, which at the time was not yet suffering from its self-inflicted provincialism. And the American Independent Film was not yet the idolized scene that it later degenerated into, with the aid of West German production support.
Third change of course, 1985: Lynne Tillman had written a script after Jane Bowles’s novel Two Serious Ladies, which she wanted to shoot with Carola Regnier and Magdalena Montezuma in the lead roles. I was supposed to do the camerawork and I would have liked to. Unfortunately the project fell through, despite Paul Bowles’s support with the rights, because a German production company had in the meantime raised funds for a film by Sara Driver based on the same novel. The film was never realized. Lizzie Borden, who had acted in Sheila McLaughlin’s INSIDE OUT, was planning the film WORKING GIRLS with Miramax, after the success of her 1983 film BORN IN FLAMES, in which Sheila McLaughlin and Kathryn Bigelow had participated, and I was supposed to be director of photography. “Going pro” was being talked about. At this point I had to make a decision. The laws of the division of labor and the reigning practice in the US, as opposed to West Germany, of a strict division between “professional” and “experimental” cinema, meant that deciding for a career as a cameraman in the US would have impeded any possibility of me making my own films there. The experience of John Erdman, who had been refused a role in a feature film by the “industry” because he’d worked in films by Yvonne Rainer, was warning enough for me. So I declined and worked in Germany on DIE BASIS DES MAKE-UP (with John Erdman in the lead role) and on DIE WIESE DER SACHEN. Then I took on doing the camerawork for the “film in a film” in Sheila McLaughlin’s 1987 film SHE MUST BE SEEINGS THINGS, in which Kyle deCamp plays “Catalina.” Kyle, in turn, acted with John Erdman in my film THE HOLY BUNCH in 1990.
Petra and Uwe Nettelbeck published a text about working on SHE MUST BE SEEING THINGS in September 1986 in Die Republik Nr. 76–78 that begins: “Camera, on May 16, 1986. Woke up in the afternoon in a windowless room. The night before I had almost continuously had the hand-held camera in front of my right eye, while the left one was blocked by a patch. And now I couldn’t get my head around the furniture in the room. The work from the day before seemed to me like a state of trance, a cavern of dreams, in which I only existed as a person in the function of the eye in the geometrical space that it projected into the landscape. Communication with the film team, based more or less on descriptions of images, had broken down because of the hand-held camera, which shut everyone else out from seeing. The team no longer knew what I was doing. The production floated in darkness. The images on the retina shot their invisible rays of construction into the artificially lit shooting location. This process cannot be conveyed in the moment when it is emerging. Usually this fact is hidden by the production lie that images are something that you can securely store away in the camera. Everyone knows those images where nothing is reflected but the desk of the one who thought them up…” It was the scene where Catalina duels with a man in the night.
My original idea for Living Archive was to bring out the films COMMITTED and NORMALSATZ on a double DVD as an example of a 30-year-old, transatlantic cooperation. Now it seems more pertinent to provide access to the three films by Sheila McLaughlin and Lynne Tillman, together with the video interview that Stefanie Schulte Strathaus and I recorded with Sheila McLaughlin at the Arsenal on December 21, 2012, and the interview that I carried out by email with Lynne Tillman in January 2013. In our project, the films stand for a development of experimental film that took place in the seventies and eighties–away from a radical, material-oriented, self-reflexive film form and towards a narrative strategy of Independent Film, in which new forms of film representation and documentation were worked out. My Trilogy of the Seventies, which includes NORMALSATZ and appeared due to a similar impetus, will appear with Filmgalerie 451 shortly thereafter.
April 2013
Biography of Heinz Emigholz

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