Fight or Flight

Becoming the Brace-Builder I remember seeing a young couple sitting beside me in public transport: a soft kiss on the palm, hands held in both hands of the partner. Though their shared moment had a playful quality, it made me think about the intentionality of touch – the “intention” behind it: to soothe, to reconnect, to reaffirm.  How is the touch of an object different from that of a human?  The corset brace is one of the central objects in Clara Lena Langenbach’s artistic practice. It is many things at once: an object to lean into, a promise, a prospect for the future. It aims to correct and support. At the same time, the orthotic object highlights the need for adjustment, signaling that something is amiss. The corset brace and the body form a new unit, an entangled agent, which does not pre-exist its interaction. Following Karen Barad’s notion of “intra-action”, it emerges through their entanglement, and can no longer be viewed as two divided entities.  What’s more: a corset brace is an object with intention, which is inscribed into it. The corset activates on contact with the body: it is nothing but a useless collection of material without the body, as much as the body is dependent on the support of it; the object itself needs the body to fulfill its function. To push this thought even further: orthosis does not only act upon the body as an external force, it co-produces it as a site of formation and discipline. The touch does not merely connect, it transforms: two become one.  In her exhibition Fight or Flight at Gastgarten, Langenbach introduces the visitors to the projected normative ideal of a medically improved body. Set within a scene evoking a physiotherapeutic institution – climbing frames, gymnastic ropes, wall bars – various scoliosis corsets populate the installation. Amorphic, rounded shapes contrasting with the rigidity of the material, clay not far removed from the hard plastic of their original object. Often connected to their devices through thin aluminum ropes, they remain tethered to the aid they once relied on.  While today, the shaping of a corset is handled by 3D printing, in Langenbach’s childhood it was still a manual procedure: a plaster cast was taken from the artist’s body to create a positive model, onto which the final support appliance was then formed. In its meticulously planned construction, pressure zones (meant to correct) and relief areas (meant to release) were deliberately sculpted. Consequently, the form of the brace is defined by notches and hollows and an overall asymmetrical basic shape – a landscape of tension and care.  What are entangled growing-pains? The relationship between body and corset is one of negotiation, cooperation and control. Though passive in appearance, the brace actively shapes. The body, too, is not entirely submissive. It wears, resists, adapts. As it tries to grow in one direction, the hard exterior shell redirects it. The energy this generates is not free-flowing – it is disciplinary, yet guided, and consequently, aimed at a better outcome. Still, it gives rise to a momentary paradox: the corset is designed to support future mobility, yet while worn, it limits movement so significantly that it holds the body in an upright posture, enforced by its rigid structure. It’s a calculated trade-off – a cost-benefit analysis of growth versus containment. In human relationships, push and pull might signal dysfunction. Here, it is essential. The corset exerts pressure, yes, but with a quiet sensuality: it wraps itself around the body, gently insisting on another form, softly demonstrating the desired state.  What does it mean to be held by an object?  The embrace of the brace covers the same zones as a tight human hug might. This idea of (being) touch(ed), central to Langenbach works, manifests once more in her installation Practice Makes Perfect at Künstlerhaus Lauenburg. Small, organic clay fragments dangle from elastic bands, suspended from a medical paravent and in various places in the room.  In one object, the shape of a foot can be recognised, balancing on its tip toes. The pressure of several fingers are spewn out on a slab of clay. It is still soft, the hand keeps pushing it onto the body, against the arm, the leg, around the foot. As the material dries, its hues shift from pale brown to fleshy rose, shadow catching in the ridges left by touch. Glazed on the inside, the outer shell preserves the impressions of the artist’s hands, fingers, palms. Here, Langenbach’s role shifts: from a body being shaped to a subject shaping others. From the one being disciplined to the builder of a supportive structure.  What is the medical gaze?  Following Italian-Australian philosopher Rosi Braidotti, the body is constantly shaped by external force toward a socially and medically “improved” future. Scoliosis is one such diagnosis. Per definition, it is a medical condition in which the spine curves sideways, often during growth spurts before puberty. Left untreated, it can result in chronic pain and visible asymmetry. To prevent this, medical interventions such as braces – coming in the form of upper body corsets – are required.  Langenbach’s work draws deeply from personal experience. Diagnosed with scoliosis at age twelve, she channels this history into material form. In line with Braidotti’s thinking, her work makes visible the forces – physical and social – that act upon the body, shaping it, marking it, disciplining it. Within these medically moulded shapes, taken from physiotherapy, lies a quiet Coming-of-Age story: instead of teenage troubles, the “abnormal” body takes centre stage and is seen through a medical gaze. Diagnostics reduce the body to data – grids, numbers, forms, making errors visualisable and controlling changes on a measurable scale. Visualisation techniques such as X-rays or posture analysis make visible what otherwise remains hidden: for instance, the small gap in the hip, which indicates whether the body is still growing (a hopeful sign, allowing for correction) or has already matured (a missed opportunity, beyond the window for intervention).  The grid, seen in Practice Makes Perfect, acts as a visual metaphor for this gaze. Printed onto a textile, stretched across a medical paravent, it evokes both control and concealment. To an outsider, a brace might indicate “better posture.” But for the wearer, it might cut off circulation, bruise, or isolate. Langenbach never shows the body directly – only its negative; its absence. Much like the clinical gaze, her work makes the (positive) body vanish, and instead replaced by (negative) surfaces. Her work circles, gently, around its true object.  Is the prosthetic god still sovereign? Langenbach’s sculptural work revolves around touch, form, and control – and around how bodies are shaped by external forces until they, in turn, begin to shape. The orthosis, in her hands, is never merely a medical device; it is an object carrying intention, memory, and projections of a possible future. In the echo of these reflections, Sigmund Freud’s notion of the Prothesengott resurfaces – the human who extends beyond biological limitations through technical additions. Like braces straightening teeth, the corset reshapes the spine to fit an ideal. Orthoses, in this sense, are not just aids, but tools of normalisation and perfection. Yet in Langenbach’s practice, another perspective becomes visible: the body as co-creator, not merely an object to be corrected.  Her sculptures hold the trace of what was pressed, held, touched – not only by the material, but by life itself. In these imprints lies more than function: they are poetic testimonies of resistance, collaboration, and transformation. Following her argumentation, the “Prosthetic God” is not only powered by technology, but by care. His extensions are dependent: on materials, on doctors, on parents – and on the invisible forces that produce the desire for a “proper” body in the first place. And so, Langenbach’s work does not only speak of discipline, but also of agency. Not only of rigid form, but of a body learning to grow with and beyond its support.