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Why is it that we are again longing for the "Glorious Fifties", when distinct haircuts styled with brillantine, rakish and sleek suits, cars in rounded shape with affluent forms and the trust in the future set the tone? World War II had just ended; the US was engaged in a hot war in Korea and – endowed with the moral authority of a victory force – in a cold war everywhere else. Europe, also Austria, was removing its waste and ashes, dams and hotels were being constructed, the identity of a country that for two generations had not believed in itself and had followed the Nazis' Pied Pipers, was being created.

But it was also the time of the artistic period that, nowadays, we call "modernism", either in depreciation or admiration: It was a call promising people a better future. Those who save and invest today will lead a better life tomorrow. All the children that before had been fed old bread, would now be given fresh bread rolls every day, and a boiled egg, and a car that the family would use to go on holiday – to the mountains, where nature was still pure.

For modernism also brought about industry, traffic and environmental destruction. The huge catastrophes of the 1970s (oil crisis) and the 1980s (Chernobyl) rocked people's self-assurance that they could subordinate planet Earth. Communism failed both due to this new generation of people and because of their relationship to the environment, social-democratic capitalism failed due to the latter, at least.

All this yearning can also be perceived in Marko Zink's poetic narration about the health resort in Schruns. We can sense the luxury that was placed into nature for reasons of recovery so that modern tourists could devote themselves to alpine distractions. The lucid colours of the house, but also the photos symbolize the clarity of a time when there was only little doubt. If it were not for the continuously placed human impulses, irritating, reviving and mischievously challenging the morbid, we could be tempted to cherish the illusion that this was in fact a report. Toes, butt cheeks, a penis, a breast, a hand and long legs in ladies shoes, people originating from an Alfred Hitchcock movie.

It is those warm gestures of life that break the form of salon photography: "They playfully convey a sense of eroticism and creepiness that is beyond embarrassment."

Marko Zink achieves this sinister effect by entering the emotions and memories of observers that are outside political and academic conventions and rules of language. It is not mouldy – neither at the health resort, nor in the artist's head. He lures us with memories of an uncanny time, the clarity of which we are lacking today.

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