Venice in the summer of 2005: Axel Anklam attended the 51th Biennale di Venezia. This year a 14th-century, 300 meters long Warehouse, Le Corderie, was curated by María de Corral and Rosa Martínez, who filled it almost completely with video projections and media boxes. The Berlin-based sculptor has little relation to this art form and these other media art pieces imposed themselves on the ‘silence’ needed when viewing sculptures. With rapid steps he is frustrated with this part of the exhibition, but then something extraordinary happens: The power cuts out! Eerie silence and contemplation spreads in the halls, where only a moment ago ruled the disembodied images of our media age, silence and meditation can now reign. The visitors are left helplessly in the dark, some angry about the disappearance of some works and their seemingly useless stay in the empty spaces. Others, however, and this includes Axel Anklam, are aware of the magic of this moment. In the absence of flickering images one can first see the beauty and clarity of the Renaissance architecture of Antonio Da Ponte. And in a further step, the viewer suddenly discovers themselves, both as a body and as a subject in the room. It is the art pieces that achieve its greatest effect in black cinema chambers in which the body has so extra aid except to purely look. Axel Anklam’s experience during the power outage reinforced the principles of his work. Surrounding the sculptures are us, the viewer, we are a mature entity that actively participates in dialogue with the works around us, we may also touch and we can enjoy with the whole body’s senses. And yet something fundamental to the Anklam’s sculptures was demonstrated in this moment of darkness, Anklam’s sculptures are resistant. They do not disappear when the power goes out or a projector is defective. They are not dependent on the technology, but ultimately rely only on themselves. What remains are the things.