Fellows of the Cultural Foundation puplish true or fictional stories about their experiences and thoughts during their scholarship at Schloss Wiepersdorf.

Konrad H. Roenne | published on December 2, 2024

A short poem about those who are searching

For if you seek me with all your heart, I will let myself be found by you, says Jeremiah, chapter 29, verses 13 to 14, Luther Bible, and what can one say: of course, they’re right, those old prophets of the Tanakh, or Old Testament, they were, after all, called by God! And who knows, perhaps Satoru Iwata of Nintendo Co., Ltd., Tsunekazu Ishihara of The Pokémon Company, and Dennis Hwang of Niantic, Inc., sat down together one day and pored over the Book of Jeremiah, yes, perhaps they even read it – they’d definitely be capable of doing that –, or maybe each of them read it alone, considering Dennis Hwang was based in San Francisco, while Satoru Iwata worked in Kyoto and Tsunekazu Ishihara in Tokyo, at least on that July 13th in 2016, when Pokémon Go was released for tablets and smartphones running on the operating systems Android and iOS in Germany, Switzerland, the Netherlands, Austria, and Poland – one week after New Zealand, Australia and the United States of America, but nine days earlier than Japan, which didn’t get its turn until July 22nd.

And it is a boy who is wandering through the local castle grounds; not aimlessly, but searching and finding. With airy crocs on his feet, he strides along the paths, suddenly halting, shaking his head in frustration, muttering angrily: softly and unintelligibly; a gray cotton hoodie, a baseball cap pulled low over his face, on his black sweatpants, a large white “83” stands out, alongside the word “ORIGINAL” –what does it mean, the eighth and third letters of the alphabet: HC, HardCore, Original Hardcore?
And if you greet him, he’ll shoot you an annoyed look, and rightly so; he’s the Lord of Wiepersdorf. When night settles over the castle grounds and the world, the smartphone screen lights up his face: a faint blond fuzz on his chin and under his nose or above his lips.

The spirit of Romanticism – the late one though – peeks around the corner: everywhere, creatures of fantasy, Pokémons, that the boy must search for and then catch with his smartphone; there are over a thousand different kinds of these creatures across the world, but each in potency, from Arceus to Leafeon, Fearow, and Dusclops – the server places them randomly on the game’s virtual map. They have preferred habitats in different regions, like the Lower Fläming, and often appear in highly frequented spots – we have Bettina and Achim to thank for that, and the cultural foundation too, of course! Water Pokémon like to stay near water, naturally! That would explain their presence around the pond on the castle grounds. And then there are the nests: found in public gardens and parks, where a specific Pokémon stays regularly for about two weeks, a perfect target. Surely, that’s why the boy keeps coming here; maybe also because there’s a Pokéstop or a Gym near the castle, or perhaps the local Wi-Fi offers some advantage, or maybe he walks the paths of the castle park so eagerly to hatch Pokémon eggs by covering two, five, or seven kilometers, using the help of incubators? The app tracks the movement, but don’t rush! Only leisurely walking counts, and compared to the wild catches, the Pokémon that hatch from these eggs have pretty solid stats…
You’ll never know, though, because he won’t speak to you, he’s on a quest, and you’re not. Why bother him?

Once, he's out with his father, or his older brother, or an uncle, definitely a male relative, first, second, or third degree, with a striking resemblance. They have their tactical briefing on the go, both looking at their smartphones: This way or that? – This way – Hmm.
Fingers crossed. Go get them!

And sometimes there’s a cat, black and white spotted like a cow or a bovine; it hides in the flower beds, strolling provocatively casually through the twilight across the lawn in front of the castle’s main entrance, also on a quest: for the spirit of Romanticism, for the virtually hidden fantasy creatures of a Japanese video game company, or for God?
It has its sights set on mice and moles, on great tits and blue tits, robins, and occasionally a weakened pigeon, it tells you.
It says: And once I’ve found them, I’ll send them to the afterlife, meow.

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Konrad H. Roenne, born in 1979 in Rüdersdorf near Berlin, is a father of two daughters. After completing his civil service and studying in Berlin, he worked at Vice Magazine and in a facility for people with mental health issues. In 2022, he debuted with his novel Hoch Mittag. Roenne has received several awards, including the Alfred Döblin Fellowship.

Matthias Nawrat | published on October 24, 2024

The Teeth of Schloss Wiepersdorf

It was a normal evening at the Schloss. Roland expected nothing out of the ordinary as he opened the window after the day’s work and looked outside. The forest lay calm, the columns of smoke rose straight up into the Brandenburg sky, and the sculpture cleaners were busy cleaning the sculptures in the park. Only the porcini mushrooms had moved a little closer to the wishes and fears of the Schloss’ residents compared to the day before.

The residents came down punctually at seven o’clock for dinner. Some more subtly, others a bit more explicitly – they announced their arrival as they walked down the hallway on the first floor, leaving no doubt. Some wore the same clothes they had arrived in, while others had dressed up – knowing they’d be staying longer, they made an effort to start a real, new life at the Schloss. A collar was not an uncommon sight. From one or two items of clothing, Roland could even catch the scent of detergent from the laundry room in the next building – a reminder of the world of supermarkets and life choices waiting out there for everyone eventually, though thankfully not just yet.

What's on the menu today?, asked Jonatan Kunz, who was always the first to sit downstairs and, as usual, showed up wearing only socks.
Probably spinach, said Maria Roxana Espinoza Laikanen, also known as “The Saint,” because she knew the most beautiful curses in her native Finnish and was always ready to use them when needed.
The following conversation unfolded among the residents of the Schloss as they gradually entered the dining room:
No, we had spinach yesterday.
No, yesterday was pumpkin.
No, we had pumpkin a week ago.
No, pumpkin was two weeks ago.
Spinach. It was spinach two weeks ago.
No, two weeks ago was parsnip.
No, we had parsnip yesterday and three weeks ago, not two weeks ago.
Wait, those were parsnips yesterday? I thought that was fennel.
No, we've never had fennel.
Yes, we did – during my very first week here.
Really? When was that?
That was a long time ago.

And so it went on for a while, back and forth. The Schloss residents loved to guess what would be served for dinner. Whether it would be spinach, pumpkin, parsnip, or maybe fennel. Or something completely different – it really made no difference, thought Roland. It was always something different, and yet always the same.

Would anything truly new ever happen at the Schloss?, he wondered, as the residents soon began spooning up porcini risotto.
The usual conversations began. There was speculation about whether they were secretly being watched by cameras in their rooms. Someone suggested that the bicycles, which residents could use to ride through the woods to the Schloss’ outpost “Flugplatz,” were equipped with hidden GPS trackers. Espinoza Laikanen started telling a story about how, on her honeymoon in the Alps more than ten years ago – immediately clarifying that, thank God, she was now divorced – they had been attacked by a brown bear and she saved her worthless (now ex-)husband by scaring the bear off with a wooden paddle.
The park rangers and local TV had never been able to explain how a wooden paddle ended up in the middle of the mountains, the group at the table chimed in to finish the story.
Exactly, that’s right, said Maria Roxana, somewhat surprised.
Did you check for ticks afterwards? Jonatan Kunz asked.
Of course, Maria Roxana assured him.
Raya, who was a famous sculptor in Peru, mentioned that she was a famous sculptor in Peru – I get still frequently invited to events, she said, but all I want is to be left alone so I can work.
Last year you were even invited to the International Sculptors’ Congress, the ISC, in Acapulco, the table group added.
Yes, that’s true, said Raya. How did you know?
Roland also considered telling a story. Something he had never shared at the Schloss before.
But before he could speak, Hagen spoke up, the young caretaker who sometimes posed as a model for art therapy in the studios behind the horse meadow, though his real task was to keep an eye on the painting residents.
I experienced something interesting recently, he said.
The table collectively held its breath. Roland could feel his heart beat faster.
And then Hagen told a wildly absurd story. A stolen avocado, a bike chase in his Berlin neighbourhood, and a love story, though not his own, that had completely changed his life.
Things like that don’t usually happen to me, Hagen said shyly.

Dinner was over. Hagen said his goodbyes – he wasn’t allowed to get too close to the residents, per the Schloss management’s rules. He climbed the stairs to the staff floor.
Those left behind now had something to ponder. Wine was brought from the kitchen, and everyone poured themselves a glass. Thus began a very long evening, one that lasted at least until 7:30 PM. Hagen’s story from his Berlin neighbourhood was analysed from various angles. The next day, it would be further explored in the artistic therapies – and even before that, in their dreams. The Schloss, thought Roland, is like a prism through which the world outside, one that you long suspect might not even exist, suddenly returns to existence in an entirely unexpected way. Roland didn’t want to leave anymore.
Hagen’s love story reminds me of the time I almost died during an emergency landing, said Jonatan Kunz.
It was on your flight to visit your sister in Lower Austria, the table replied.
Yes, that’s right!, said Jonatan.
Before heading up to his room, Roland stepped out onto the terrace once more and gazed out over the castle grounds. From the darkness, two rows of brilliantly white sculptures seemed to stare back at him. As if the Schloss were smiling at him after a trip to the dentist in Jüterbog.

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Matthias Nawrat was born in Opole/Poland in 1979 and emigrated with his family to Bamberg in Upper Franconia at the beginning of 1989. He studied biology in Heidelberg and Freiburg im Breisgau, then literary writing at the Swiss Literature Institute in Biel. He worked as a freelance science journalist. He has lived as a freelance writer in Berlin since 2012. His books have earned him the European Union Prize for Literature and the Fontane Literature Prize from the city of Neuruppin and the state of Brandenburg, among others.