CV Moritz Ebinger



Previously I exhibited among others in: Museum Valkhof Nijmegen, National Art Gallery or Senegal, Teylers Museum Haarlem, Kunsthalle Bern, Kunsthal KAdE Amersfoort, the Museum Prinsenhof Delft, Maassluis Museum, Van Abbe Museum Eindhoven, Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam, Museum of Modern Art, New York, Victoria & Albert Museum, Londen


Previously I exhibited among others in: De Balie Amsterdam, Cemeti Art House Yogyakarta, Gallery’s Maurits van de Laar Moritz Küng, Bob van Orsouw, Galerie Onrust.



Previously among others in: Club up, Amsterdam, Van Abbemuseum, Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam, Melkweg, Paradiso, Mazzo, Schouwburg Amsterdam, Utrecht and Rotterdam



Previously among others: Rabobank Culture Prize, J.C. Ruigrokfonds, VSB Price, Clayere Grant, Swiss government, Sculpture prize Touche.


Founder of the artist space Artistique Boutique, Aruba
Curator de Nieuwe Vide, Haarlem

Selection of work in museum collections

Moritz Ebinger On the cover of "Woods Without Mercy" by Moritz Ebinger Someone stands with a paper bag over his head. On the bag is a drawing of a landscape, or a face. At a wine bar at Art Rotterdam I see Moritz for the first time. Design eyeglasses, kitschy shag coat, a rocker's belt. Our next meeting is in the Diana bar in Katendrecht, a dance club where he has built an installation. We're looking for someone to design our announcement for the new theatre production of The Waste Land Theatre. He is the only candidate we can agree on. I think it's because his drawings break the rules. You can imagine the lines flowing off the edges of the paper. While the actors are reading their text and talking about the production, Moritz contines to draw. The ship from Heart of Darkness, refugees, the chicken from the show Fragments from Nijinsky's Diary, the airplanes the dancer loved, the ghost of Dostojevski's man from the underground. No, not that literal: a world full of creatures and shapes spring from Moritz' head. I have the feeling that it's not hair growing out of it, but invisible tentacles, curlicued feelers, cosmic antennas. Some years later, Moritz is drawing with chalk on the walls of the City Theater in Utrecht. The actors are performing Endgame by Samuel Beckett, while Moritz is pounding on a creaking stepladder. Later on he's dancing the wood off of my wooden floor. At dawn, we take a walk on the marsh at Nieuwkoop. Squishing footsteps. I write a poem. Moritz records the gurgling sounds for his pirate radio show and he tells me about Greet, ghost from the chambers of his youth. I haven't seen him for a while but I still get fantastic e-mails about his forever chalking on the sidewalk, photographing underwater sculptures on Aruba, ("I'm driving a gigantic Toyota jeep, the kind you always see on the news from Afghanistan), and about ancient diving helmets of the Hydra sculpture in a Nesselande pond. When I think of Moritz, I never think of him as having a bag over his head. His work is never about limitation. Moritz comes from a country without harbors, but he always strives to extend the shoreline. Maybe he lives here so he can someday sail away. There he goes, into the distance. I wave, two fingers in the air sending him the V-sign. Sanneke van Hassel