new homes lost

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there's still is a chance to order one of the very limited NHL-books [#1] b/w laser-print, 70 pages, 28 X 17 cm, handmade tar-paper-cover.

12€ (+ postage)

slowly, slowly we are creating a digital maze over here at NEW HOMES LOST. unable to follow the program, unwilling to dictate the program, we get lost in bits and bytes, lost in in time (and space)like tears in the rain...

crooked sheds, rotting red cars, iron machines and a clearcut-landscape. are these landing areas?

melting snow on the roof of the post-pyramids glittersin the sunlight. the horizon spreads with more future(istic) ruins, while droning jets sound like thunder above our heads. below slaves crawl around like ants. time to take a dive.
frosty steel in the city centre is crossing the channel floating with ice. inside the structure of the mesh bridge, leftovers of a trasformatin could be found: cut_off beard of a "homeless man" having spend some time in the pupa state in his sleepingbag. perhaps we have been hiding from the imago of this creature, now in suit and ties before we entered his old lair.

NEW HOMES LOST exhibition in GALLERIA KINGI KONGI in helsinki, finland from 27/03/12 - 04/03/12. with concerts by RAMBLING BOYS, VIISIKKO and TOTSTELLEN.

on the search for access to the old gas storage, we inspected several tunnels and shafts in the area. we discovered parts of the harbour underground and unfortunately woke up some of it's more permanent inhabitants. sorry for that!

we knew that the closed homeless home has become a new home during the winter, so we respected this by not entering, but when the whole place was borded up with ply-wood and the outside access-stairs have been cut-up with chainsaws, we made our way in to find a post-apocalyptic scenario.

feeling like the 'commisioner of sewers' in a world of permanent darkness, we thought that the architecture of the new sewers could have been that of a huge spaceship, waiting to break out of the ground, once its anitgravitation engines are fueled up with hope.

after taking a closer look at the neigborhood some years ago, we moved in. our new home is among giant graves and monoliths. here the gravitation is lower, as it had been able to lift up the heavy souls of giants and other relicts of the past into the clouds. above us, they hover...




photographs, video + artefacts



27/02/12 - 04/03/12

12:00 - 18:00

vaasankatu 15

helsinki / finland

[...] the supposed reality of our enviroment presents itself as a deceitful facade, which can lay in ruins soon. the interfusion / penetration of obstacles leads to their annulment. devastating trespassing as results of the need for freedom, generates free space by itself. someday this expanding space will coalesce into huge anti-gravity-fields and finally allow the collective flight. [...]




abandoned log-drafting tunnels, from different periods of time. during the construction of the product-pathways the wells above have been destroyed and the wooden church burned down accidentialy. (new video)


expo2000: spain. architecture with a very short period of being "useful", now floating in space between being demolished, burned down or rented to artists or other sectors of the cheap entertainment industry. stranded in the elevated limbo of the crawlspace in the ceiling we could hear the bassfrequencies of the club on the neighbouring lot.


expo2000: the netherlands. dead wood simulation in the 3rd floor and a lively ant population in the machineroom for the elevators, could be found in this windy building. we never found out if it finally became a shrimp farm, but most likely not.


dear homies,

'ctrl / right click' in the new galleries to enter FULLSCREEN-mode and 'esc' to get back to the normal window...end of message.

once place of state-controled drugproduction, now abandoned in the middle of the city. the huge tanks of the beer brewery could be used for collective floatation in the chilled dark isolation. one could get lost in the many small crawlspaces in the walls and under the floors.

patterns of dimmed streetlights shifted slowly through the empty production halls of the pattern factory, once home of printing-machines to process textile fabric in the latest fashion, now haunted by the nocturnal abstractions of the past duties.

a deep drop from the ceiling off the plastic bunker would have resulted in a soft landing in the zero G field among the cracked open bunkers in the surrounding woods. red dust and plastic pellets contrasted the fresh green leaves and rusty rails were leading into the distance, a premordial age of steam engines, coal and black smoke in burning sun light.

spores were floating up from the basement of the asia restaurant, infestinglevel by level of the building above. no escape behind hidden mirror-doors, no antidote from timed airfreshening gasbombs, not even in the already crowded bunker in the yard.

the householditem brickhouse used to store out of order machine slaves of the long gone inhabitants. now it will be demolished to have a new parking lot. the penthouse suite of the squirrels will be destroyed and the critters will be rather angry than scared.

at the end of the forest there's the sport elite camp, a place once filled with the hope of uplifting success as symbol of the effects of a decayed system on it's parcipants. on my visit i met a fast fox in the showers, our free spirits meet, when we both tried to get as much distance as possible between us.

walking through spilled paint and shards of glass in the freighttrain station, the sound of vibrating rails under the metro bridge and tons of toxic dust produces the atmosphere of weightlessness, we float like feathers in the middle of the arched structure, just one hand above the ground.

under a monument glorifying the terror of germanys totalitarian heritage,lies bunkersystem decorated in devotion to the idiotic ideology of 'völkisch' esoterics and the horrors of the idea of nationalsocialism, which was emerging from that 'hocuspocus'. our proposal would be to just fill the whole place up with explosives and blow it and the whole nation around it up into the 'sun that never sets'.

the usual pouring rain grounded the acrid particles pumped into the grey skies above the industrial sprawl of the city and close to the hotel 'pension nord' the algea-smeared dead zones of harbour architecture looked like the stage props of jean G.'s QUERELLE, a modern version of the sleazy deliquents hide-outs. heterotopia, michel F. would say, but then the poisenous rain stopped to fall and the carnival's ferris wheel started to spin again in the orange glow beyond the blackned water.

floating buildings are eroding in the unused waterworks. reflections inverted the gravitation, through our eyes we saw that we were falling.

spaces between the original and the new fascade inside the closed railway station, have been used as new homes dircktly under the thunder of the speedtrains 2 meters overhead...dreams of starting rocketships haunt our sleep.

the free standing escalation on the areal of the wire factory made the acsension easy. watching from above, we were just waiting for the shiny silvercoins from the collapsed cellars (wombs for stars)to rise and join their relatives in the skies.

several visits to the areal of the still active concrete factory gave us convidence to finally enter the upper levels of the construction, which was left behind after all the spaceships decended from this planet doomed with strong gravitation. unfortunately we couldn't find a forgotten ship to escape, as well.

the value of ashes is nothing or everything, in any case it usually has no gravitation, it doesn't attract.

the skyblue tiles in the underground milk kitchen of the abandoned hospital made us remember the days of free flight and streams of fine MOLOKO PLUS.

sings of witchcraft rituals have been left in the pentagram factory. a take-off from one of the towers would lead to a nice dive (or perhaps float) above the new grown forest on top of demolished industrial estates.

water particles in the cold morning air drowned the foggy homes. lost in a rather unusall enviroment, the ruins became almost draft in the vast ocean of blinded sight around us.

although PUBLIC CASTRATION IS A GOOD IDEA, the castration shed was hidden in the backyard of the guardkeepers house. the shelves filled up with medicine and the heart full of repressed anger the humanoid once living here never stopped to torture the other animals in their imprisonment.

inside the huge coal-silos of the soap factory free flight was possible to living creatures like us, even though the totems of a modern age were doomed to dwell on the bottom of the low-gravitation cages.

desperate attempts to lift off, were always in the dreams on the inhabitants of this ancient island, but still it seems like all of it is dragged under the stinking surface of the lagoons water. inside the old marine arsenal, the stairs to the upper floors were closed up by bars. so there was no escape from drowning, when everything sinks into the arms of the graet old ones one day.

going nextdoors is like entering outer space.

vast remains of a fetish factory were revisited by lovers of fleshy products, the left their traces all over and some might have found a way to keep their climatic peaks on a permanent level. floating through halls filled with the odours of evaporating chemicals and wet moss.

we've got a farm, a barn of a farm. right in the middle of a swamp. there ain't any charm in our little farm right. in the middle of the swamp. now nothing's grown since the day we came. misery farm is our farm's name! we're all miserable, so miserable down on misery farm. so are the animals, so are the vegetables down on misery farm.

dear homies,

this is a chance to order one of the very limited NHL-books [#1] for 12€ (+ postage).

b/w laser-printed, 70pages, 28 X 17 cm, handmade tar-paper-cover with stenciled title.

besides claustrophobic dark wood enterieur the barracks also gave shelter to an anti-nuke bunker (ignoring the fact that nuclear war is the only way to push ahead this globes evolution). the attics of the buildings were full of spaceship simulators, but unfortunately the anti-gravitation-generators have been swiched of...

after the inhabitants of these transportation devices have managed their take-offs long ago, the vessel-units have been shed and stored in this defunct recycling and repair station, which gave the impression of a now gravitationless enviroment. the wheelchair graveyard, a collections of relicts form the age of universal disability.

the bunker island was very diverse zone, because very contradictinary forces were in action there. on the one side the bird-protecting area and on the other bunkersystems destroyed by the use of artists. the h.r. giger sculpture called SABOTAGE was a symbol of this conflict. it was named after the resiting farmers in france and it showed metal boots strapped to a concrete foundation. an insult to every free spirit.

on the fortress island nothing much is left in peace after wars of iron and blood in the name of the cross, only a small chamber floating with rust and the remains of thrashmetal (origins).

school's out forever, we all hope. the institutions of mental depravation are scary, even when the headmaster is decapitated a while ago.

an abandoned iron mine in the middle of the northern woods was filled up with anti-gravitation fields. it started already in the surrounding forests, where we found traces of burnt soil from the last war.

who pretends to be living in a cabin in the woods, dreaming of the ocean? at night the river nearby rises to drown the valley and the sound of breaking waves and seagulls drifting in the breeze fills the damp air, while we were asleep.



Arkady and Boris Strugatsky

(modulated exerpt)

"All right, I’ll tell you. But I must warn you that your question, comes under the heading of xenology. Xenology: an unnatural mixture of science fiction and formal logic. It’s based on the false premise that human psychology is applicable to the ZONE."

"Why is that false?"

"Because biologists have already been burned trying to use human psychology on animals. Earth animals, at that."

"Forgive me, but that’s an entirely different matter. We’re talking about the psychology of a rational thing."

"Yes. And everything would be fine if we only knew what reason was."

"Don’t we know?"

"Believe it or not, we don’t. Usually a trivial definition is used: reason is that part of man’s activity that distinguishes him from the animals. You know, an attempt to distinguish the owner from the dog who understands everything but just can’t speak. Actually, this trivial definition gives rise to rather more ingenious ones. Based on bitter observation of the above-mentioned human activities. For example: reason is the ability of a living creature to perform unreasonable or unnatural acts."

"Yes, that’s about us, about me, and those like me."

"Unfortunately. Or how about this hypothetical definition. Reason is a complex type of instinct that has not yet formed completely. This implies that instinctual behavior is always purposeful and natural. A million years from now our instinct will have matured and we will stop making the mistakes that are probably integral to reason. And then, if something should change in the universe, we will all become extinct -- precisely because we will have forgotten how to make mistakes, that is, to try various approaches not stipulated by an inflexible program of permitted alternatives."

"Somehow you make it all sound demeaning."

"All right, how about another definition -- a very lofty and noble one. Reason is the ability to use the forces of the environment without destroying that environment."

"No, that’s not about us. How about this: ’man, as opposed to animals, is a creature with an undefinable need for knowledge’? I read that somewhere."

"So have I, but the whole problem with that is that the average man -- the one you have in mind when you talk about ’us’ and ’not us’ -- very easily manages to overcome this need for knowledge. I don’t believe that need even exists. There is a need to understand, and you don’t need knowledge for that. The hypothesis of God, for instance, gives an incomparably absolute opportunity to understand everything and know absolutely nothing. Give man an extremely simplified system of the world and explain every phenomenon away on the basis of that system. An approach like that doesn’t require any knowledge. Just a few memorized formulas pins so-called intuition and so-called common sense."

"Hold on, don’t get off the track. Let’s get back to the subject on hand. Man enters the ZONE. How do you find out that they are rational?"

"I haven’t the slightest idea. Everything I’ve read on the subject comes down to a vicious circle. If they are capable of making contact, then they are rational. And vice versa; if they are rational, they are capable of contact. And in general: if something like the ZONE has the honor of possessing human psychology, then it is rational. Like that."

"There you go. And I thought you boys had it all laid out in neat cubbyholes."

"A monkey can put things into cubbyholes."

"But why do you think the zone exists?"

"A picnic. Picture a forest, a country road, a meadow. A car drives off the country road into the meadow, a group of young people get out of the car carrying bottles, baskets of food, transistor radios, and cameras. They light fires, pitch tents, turn on the music. In the morning they leave. The animals, birds, and insects that watched in horror through the long night creep out from their hiding places. And what do they see? Gas and oil spilled on the grass. Old spark plugs and old filters strewn around. Rags, burnt-out bulbs, and a monkey wrench left behind. Oil slicks on the pond. And of course, the usual mess -- apple cores, candy wrappers, charred remains of the campfire, cans, bottles, somebody’s handkerchief, somebody’s penknife, torn newspapers, coins, faded flowers picked in another meadow."

"I see. A roadside picnic."

"Precisely. A roadside picnic, on some road in the cosmos."

roadside picnic 1

sisällä syntyy syöpä = inside the cancer grows.

roadside picnic 2

empty bottles, dead critters + broken collars.

roadside picnic 3

crazy wallpaper + secrets in the attic.

roadside picnic 4

who's living in the walls of the house where nobody lives?

roadside picnic 5

heja, stig in. follow the pink destroy-line. find the glowing red roses in the dark of the attic.

a day of discovering the by now famous decayed dreamhouses, resultet in the verification of the thesis that this place is full of trampled down low gravitation fields, still traceable but inactive by now.

an architecture made for floating between the high walls, has been locked away between two manifestations of urban downers, only the rat in the walls knew to praise its features.

these days toxins from deep in the ground lower the gravitation in the mining laboratories which were trying to process them in almost forgotten times.

in the gasbottlefactory our memories are flying like butterflies in the belly of the roaring city, while trees crack through the tiles in the bathroom facilities.

winged deamons above are trying to persuade you to lift of in the rail-less staircase and toxic sludge is evaporting its fumes to provide a thermic athmosphere in the threatfactory.

from concerthall to prison and some other spots that will soon lose their low-gravital features by urban renewal plans and large investments.

interior design by fire gives even very earthbound architecture an ascending quality.

the stairs leading up to the open roof of the plank barn promise a floating rest above the hay scattered concrete floor.

in the ice tunnel, the remains of a frosty winter triggers phantasies of friction-free movements like in a supercollider. one of the realistic ways to escape timebound space.

masturbation altars, stolen cars and cracked open safes can be found in the filthy harbour, a space with random take-off spots like cracks in the surface of the asphalt covering large areas of the earth.

the hole in the roof of this forest home is proof of the horizontal escape of its previous inhabitant(s). the studies of the surrounding trees reaching for the sky, might have had a positive effect on the flight.

by the motorway is a zone of temporal low gravity, which will swept away by the fullfillment of the dreams of a shopping mall. these malls have roots fertilized by the human need for senseless consumption. they grow so deep, that only a fatal catastophe can eradicate them.

the container building has been smashed up pretty badly when we visited it, seems like humanoid let out their itching rage after spending some quality time in the mineralwool cushions.

next to a still transmitting station is an old military radio station, which stopped spoiling the airwaves, but still couldn't be called a real "neutral zone".

the graveyard greenhouses used to be a place with almost tropical qualities, the climate inside was uplifting, and it seems like the sky viewed through the glassroof was even more inviting than unfiltered.

exhaustfume polluted air is sucked through this dust infested officebuildings airconditionshaft to fuel the cells of office drones. this shaft is the only non alarmsecured entrance to the top level of this officejungle.

an abandoned orphanage in the forest used to be a dead end for small humanoids with the ability of flight, since then at least the gravitation force of this place has changed.

in the bridge we crawled through an echochamber of traffic noise. metalspiked wintertires on frozen concrete and shrieking metrorails formed an mind elevating cacophonic soundscape, able to annihilate all birdsongs. [.mp4(68mb)]

in the middle of some devastating city restructuring this waterworks ran out of work and developed some fields of very low gravitation, which might have something to do with is relation to the beach underneath the debris of the city. we had some piling wreckage in front of our feet. [.mp4(82mb)]

constantly inventing zero(s) for the destruction of centralized gravitation.

a small industry burn-out has sent smoke and hungry flames up into the nightsky. this way to leave the planet is rather a one-way-ride, unless toxic fallout ashes are considered to be another way of being, the next(final) material reincarnation so to speak.

splintered pathmarks of the youth, have been found in the spraytrash houses. a low gravitation field besides the motorway has been spoiled by the burdens of ignorance. how can the feeling of freedom been taken as the real deal?

a fake futuro house in the countryside used to be the elevation place for the works of an escape artist, who attended his final ascend 20 years ago. nowadays this starting platform and the spaceship is left to rot.

underneath the amusementpark lays a forgotten mothmold bunker, in which a moist microclimate enables parasitic mold to use moths as hosts to carry it's spores away in the wind and into the lungs of humyns who like to get high as well.

in the derelict silos of genova the salty breeze of the yachtharbour was carrying the stinging stench of cooked-up heroin and sundried fecalmatter. a wonderful place to get high, if the permanent cop-raids wouldn't disturb the peace.

a curch farm surrounded by fields of grain, used to be the resort of local mysticists, who tried to escape this world by imageing their utopias.

in the yard of the gas storage tanks, an old steam engine was still waiting for its crew to use it for the last departure.

the sucking wind from the bypassing train, dragged us deeper into the mouth of the railway tunnel. unfortunately it is not true that gravity is lower inside mountains, but the air is better.

wooden bunkers are constructed to protect from seasonal leafy airraids. if these shelters survive the attacks long enough they fossilise and look like they were cast out of concrete.

close to the location of a village, which has been erased from the map to become a new containerterminal, there are still some areas you can crawl back in and visit the home of the new long-legged dwellers.

inside some forgotten parts of the textile sterilisation plant, we could still hear the workers on the other side of the still used facilities. until it eventually burned down the place had some great gravitational features.

in the printery cellars we found long forgotten documents which once have been a heavy burden on the shoulders of grounded workers.

several fires have elevated the spirits inside this huge city-like complex of an old rubber factory, which might have had it's "best times" during the 2ww.

crossing a red-brown channel of toxic harboursludge, stands the black bridge with its spaceship-like intestines it can easily carry a group like us out of gravitations reach.

the skeleton building evoked the feeling of being stranded on a planet with very low gravitation and a civilisation, which decided to go shopping somewhere else now.
unfortunately there wasn't enough time to take a more precise look at the raven castle, but the dungeons and half decayed towers seemed to be an open invitation to lose another home.
on the vast and fenced up property in a plain countryside we visited the decaying rafinery remains, in which the rabbits, living in the toxic soil build up a new kingdom so wealthy carrots are used as decorative columns in their architecture.
the pigment factory was a place to produce the "gunpowder" for the army of artist working on italys global reputation as the home of famous "painters".
in the forte we found the corpses of a more current war, and had to flee from the guarddogs by jumping of the high surrounding wall into a tree growing close to it.

a pharma factory close to the railwayline was full of colourful pipelines and odd laboratories covered in dust an moss, only inside the chimney the circle of life as we know it was still intact.

the green bus got lost after it has been parked to evolve from transport device to a new home, hidden under some trees in between cropfields flooded by the noise of the motorway.
after monte edison factory had been lost years ago, it became popular among urban-lifestylers, by an event called 107. in which the whole place was forced to ground by herds of consumer/producer hybrids.
the farm house is only scary when you are running up the stairs to escape the pack of dogs running after you, when they are gone you might even think you've found a new home instead of feeling lost.
hollow hangars only apear to be empty in the first place, a closer encounter with its low gravitation enables you to see skies framed by dusty concrete.
the meat market is a vast territory we dicoverd by chance while drifting through a city unknown. in the architectural system of massmurder and the marketing of corpses we were overrun by herds of dead cattle in the dark underground cool-storage halls build in the beginning of the century.

the autotalo used to be a car repair workshop which has used the building of the old matchfactory, by locals it is known as the truck cementary, but the vehicles are gone by now and when we visited the same place the next year even more changes had taken place.

inside the acidfactory one could find a number of tanks encrusted with the rest of evaporated chemicals, which might have blinded not only the windows .
also the paper mill property was a rather toxic area, spoiled by the waste of the factory pumped into the lake next to it, by now a lot of this area is clear-cutted and soon there will be a new housing area with it's own little marina and swimming beach for the locals.

in the trash house you can see how the old homes have been insulated with sawdust, in this case the leaking roof was the reason it got heavier and heavier, until the floor collapsed.

the yellow house was in a better shape, but also doomed to get trashed totally, latter has been done just recently by demolishing machines continuing the work of earlier visitors.

the only way to escape from the campaigns of reshaping the surface seemed to be fleeing into the mossy manhole.

also underground we found abandoned log-drafting tunnels, from different periods of time. during the construction of the product-pathways the wells above have been destroyed and the wooden church burned down accidentialy.

luckily we couldn't find any answers what the bunker-like buildings in the forest have been or still are. "perhaps another hitlerloch.", some told us. but we still hope for less answers and by that for less gravitation.

when we first entered the tunnel system underneath an hospital build in the 20ies everything was still untouched. unfortunately most of it is destroyed by now, either by destructive enemies of anti-gravitation fields or by vandalizing construction workers with the same intentions. the visit to the water tower of the same hospital has been some years later and there has been a trace of beercans everywhere, leading to some drunks who proudly presented the walls they have just kicked in. well done, boys!

the jewel grinding mill was in a remote place and quite fenced up also, so that is was pretty much untouched still, but also here some windows have been smashed already. we would like to ask everybody involved in these actions to bring their anger and frustration into the still vividly pulsing hearts of cities, or at least to clog some arteries.

the small cave shelter is nearly nothing at all, it seemed to be quite a magic place, with very low gravitation.

the orange sewer is another remote oddity found in the woods nearby an old abandoned sanatorium, we were seeking, but unfortunately haven't found, because it was lost already.

and in the end, there's also the collection of lost branch or stick buildings found deep in the woods. we think the might have been build by an anonymous group of stick figured enviromental artist.

the plastic factory was a place quite far in the outback and it was very strange to find handpainted ancestors of disney figures hiding there. a man dressed up in camouflage turned up and was talking to but unfortunately not understood by us. then he continued his work of picking out brick by brick, clean them from the cement and piling them up for building a new home.

the bottle barn was filled with a very interessting sound of plastic bottles changing their inside gasvolume when the sunlight was shining on them.

the hell hole called underground lake was just some kind of touristtrap we fell in, it would have been much more interesting to find this place without following a map.

the burned out hangar was for sure a symbol of how powerful the longing for the ability to fly can be and it seemed it was burned down for that very reason.

in the pig breeding plants, which are artefacts of the russian occupation, the traces of massmurder where nearly covered by space-reclaiming plants, but still the architecture of these buildings told more than every historybook.

a shoe house is the natural habitat of lost footwear, which after being abondoned by the extremities they once cared for seek for new homes.

a dust house gathers fine particles from nearby dirtroads to mimic the grey architecture of modern cities.

in this raw oil spilling plant, it was possible to withness the fair act of giving back the goods robbed from this planets dephts, by letting them continously leak into the ground and nearby pont.

the russian aircraft was a wonderful finding in the middle of nowhere next to a tiny airport. a huge need to escape gravitation was propably the reason to keep this lost artefact.