A tent, an image, a memory: Confronting history and perception with Tim Ross at Melkweg Expo's "Arty Party"

KABK Graduate Tim Ross was nominated by Der Greif Community Manager and Program Curator Francesca Hummler for Melkweg Expo's Arty Party

Tim Ross, a German visual artist and researcher, uses his grandfather’s WWII archive as a starting point to examine the politics of perception, the ethics of looking, and the uneasy intersections between personal history and collective memory. His large-scale installation Hermann, laser-engraves a reprinted wartime negative onto OD-shelter canvas, an object and image at once, inviting viewers to linger in the tension between truth, fabrication, and mediated experience. In parallel, his process publication “On Politics of Perception” expands this inquiry, weaving over seventy references into a layered meditation on violent imagery, media consumption, and the entanglement of memory with power.

The ways Ross’s work confronts historical memory while questioning contemporary image culture is particularly compelling. The decision to nominate him was informed by our initial conversation, which touched on the importance of language, particularly the act of naming and how linguistic choices shape narratives in both private and public spheres. Ross’s sculptural approach to a lens-based medium, the responses of his family to his work, and the continued resonance of German history’s legacy in current political events were also central to this consideration.

Arty Party: Photography Graduates 2025 opens at Melkweg Expo on 12 September and runs until 12 October 2025. The opening reception will take place between 5:30 and 8:30 pm.

Francesca Hummler: Your work, “Hermann,” is both sculptural and photographic. How do you see these disciplines intersecting in your practice, and why was this hybrid approach important for this project?

Tim Ross: My main experience, education and practice is based on photography. Over the years, I have learned to view photography critically and see it in a different light. In art and poetry, it still holds immense beauty for me, but in my own work, I found photography to be limiting. I use it as a starting point, or as a research tool, as it is still the medium with which I identify most. Throughout the year, I’ve experimented with different printing techniques to find something that would complicate photography and the act of viewing. I was also looking for a surface to print on that conveyed more memory and meaning than a sheet of paper. All these open questions somehow led me to create something more sculptural. I wanted the medium and the print to merge into one, and when I came across laser engraving, I knew that this was the method I needed to use for the work. I am very inspired by Gerhard Richter and several of his works – one that particularly inspired me for this work is “September,” a work he created about 9/11. Instead of a palette knife, he used a knife to spread and scratch the paint – this inspired me to use a method that is violent in itself when printing and duplicating an image.

FH: “Hermann” and “On Politics of Perception” are rooted in deeply personal family material. How did your family respond when they saw the work, and has their perspective influenced your understanding of it?

TR: My family has been very supportive of me and my work. My father and aunt were deeply moved by my interest in their father’s life, and over the past two years, my father and I have had many conversations while I worked on the archive. It began when I asked to see a wooden box I’d known since childhood, filled with traces of my grandfather’s past. His history has always subtly shaped our family, just as my mother’s parents’ past shaped her, and, in many ways, it continues to shape all German children born after WWII.

I’ve always seen “Hermann” as a bridge to understanding this shared history rather than simply a story about my grandfather. After the final exhibition in July, a tense family discussion arose when I referred to my grandfather as a Nazi. My father argued he would have been upset by the label, seeing it as too generalizing for someone forced into the system. I understand their perspective, yet I believe there is power in naming the past for what it was. It’s a complicated, ongoing conversation, one that continues to raise questions and open new paths of understanding.

FH: When we spoke at KABK, we discussed the importance of language, especially naming things from the past, as part of historical and cultural memory. How do you think naming shapes our relationship to history, and what role does it play in your work?

TR: I first realized the power of language through Bertolt Brecht and his writing style. In my book, I explore his War Primer and how subtly he combines images and words to reveal their strength. My family’s reaction to my own use of language sparked an ongoing internal conflict. In Germany, our historical and cultural memory has long been shaped by the term ‘Erinnerungskultur’ – “culture of remembrance.” I used to believe Germany had done an excellent job preserving this culture to prevent history from repeating itself. It now feels abstract to refer to this culture. This project and publication were, above all, a way for me to educate myself. In the book, I also use language subtly; for example, the names of Donald Trump and Elon Musk are intentionally misspelled so they appear as typos. The debate about how to name my grandfather is still unresolved. I believe we come closer to understanding history when we name it – and our family members – for what they were. But shame and guilt run deep in my generation, making it difficult to call my own grandfather a Nazi. When I first discovered the archive, my focus was on understanding the immense pressures people like him faced and how they were forced into the military without a choice.

FH: As a German artist working with a WWII archive, your work inevitably engages with the legacy of German history. How do you see these historical narratives resonating with or complicating current political events in Germany and beyond?

TR: My impulse to work with a World War II archive is inseparable from current political shifts in Germany and beyond. As politics worldwide move further to the right, I find myself grappling with fear, doubt, and frustration that so many support these changes. The project and publication grew out of these feelings. I’ve often questioned whether I’m the right person to address these themes. A conversation with my father helped me realize that doubt, rather than paralyzing me, drives my work. It pushes me to keep questioning, seeking, and expanding my understanding. By sharing this uncertainty, I create space for vulnerability and build a consistent body of work grounded in honesty. This connects to the importance of calling things by their names. Politics – and human nature – often resist clarity, preferring narratives that avoid complexity. Yet clarity matters. Around the world, protests for Palestine are being violently suppressed, which speaks volumes about how power reacts when confronted with uncomfortable truths.

FH: Your process publication, “On Politics of Perception,” incorporates over 70 artistic and contextual references. Can you tell me more about the process of making the book and how collaboration with other artists or thinkers shaped the final work?

TR: I find it easier to talk about the publication than the work itself, as the book feels like a separate entity. While much of the work is reflected in it, some parts have taken on a life of their own and are harder to put into words. The book was born out of conviction. After seeing designer Anna Silva Zeller’s previous publication, I knew I needed someone who could handle the complexity of information and offer design solutions I couldn’t envision myself. She became the project’s most important collaborator – challenging me, supporting my vision, and helping shape the publication in fundamental ways. Beyond her contribution, I worked fairly autonomously, with input from friends, tutors, and colleagues. Although most of the people featured in the book are not active contributors, they have deeply influenced my understanding of photojournalism, art about violence and conflict, and my own approach. Through this publication, I wanted to introduce my audience to the thinkers and makers who inspire me.

FH: Both Hermann and your publication slow down the act of looking, resisting the rapid consumption of digital imagery. What do you hope viewers carry with them after spending time with your work?

TR: I think what I would like to impart to them above all is the impulse to take time to look and ask questions when they look at the news. I struggle with it myself. I talk so much about slowing down and taking time, but in reality, I hardly manage to do that at all. The question of who you want to address and how these people should interact with your work is difficult to answer. One of my main goals is that the viewer has no choice but to slow down in a certain way. That's hard to put into words, because when you're interested in a work of art, you naturally spend time with it. They all work in different ways. My ideal is a deeper self-reflection on one's own engagement in politics, (social) media, political participation, and awareness of what one might be unknowingly contributing to.

FH: You’ve just graduated, what’s next for you in terms of projects, exhibitions, or research directions?

TR: Yes! I have a few exciting things coming up. First is the Melkweg exhibition, my first month-long group show, which I’m really looking forward to. In October, I’ll begin an online masterclass with Adam Broomberg at PH Museum to help shape my next project, as well as start Fotodok’s Lighthouse program to find support within the Dutch photography and art scene. The new project is still taking shape. I plan to continue the research I began with “Hermann,” which I see not as a final work but as an introduction– a question rather than an answer. I want to revisit parts of the book, especially the complexity of labeling my grandfather a Nazi, and explore how naming our past shapes our present. This will likely become the central theme of my upcoming work.