A house is inspected, from the attic to the cellar: a mountain of piled-up suitcases, an Advent wreath with pine cones, a shopping bag hanging on a nail, bits and pieces, small pieces of furniture, plastic buckets. Room after room is scanned. Claudia Larcher's video animation, assembled from photos and moving images into a seemingly endless panoramic pan and underlaid with an uneasily droning soundtrack, brings to light the uncanny in the everyday.
The banality of an evil that, beyond sense and reason, manifests itself in ciphers and hints on the periphery of perception and conveys a sense of transcendental homelessness. Spaces are shifted in perspective and bizarrely assembled into one another. Time sequences feign a chronology and yet are only snapshots, flashes of experience without causal connection.
The work HEIM, which was shot in the artist's parents' house, is not only a subtle play with modes of perception and spatial architecture, but also tells of the psychological interior of those people who want to realise a life's dream in the midst of a conservative Catholic milieu. It links the comfort of a notion of being secure in the familiar to the horror of the same thing unfolding in the endless panoramic sweep of life.