In the granite landscape around Groß Gerungs, I began searching for orbiculites—those rare, concentric stone formations I'd first encountered in the Krahuletz Museum. A geologist, Reinhard Roetzel, I work with had half-joked: "It would be something to find a new site." That was enough for me to start walking.

But instead of orbiculites, I found something else: isolated, oval fragments embedded in the coarse Weinsberger granite—some dark, fine-grained, others slightly larger, more textured, or layered with biotite. I crawled under moss-covered boulders, traced shapes, followed surfaces. Some fragments lay loose. Others were locked inside the rock. The geologist called them xenoliths—likely remnants of paragneiss, caught in the melt, carried in from surrounding formations.

Intrigued by the distribution, I began to map them. Slowly, I taught myself QGIS—plotting each find, layering data, turning the body’s movement through terrain into a kind of geological notation.

Eventually, I carried a selection of samples—including a large, spherical stone—into the city, to GeoSphere Austria. There, with the help of Reinhard´s collegue Manfred Linner, we sliced them open: fine-grained granites, one potential paragneiss, and one inside the sphere—mostly quartz. Resistant, opaque, unexplainable. Why a quartz ball, here? The question stayed unanswered.

What remained: not just the stones, but the gesture. A dance of noticing. A choreography of crawling, touching, tracking. A dialogue between body and ground.
A granite field becomes a moving archive—of time, transformation, and the persistence of curiosity.

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-> Blogpost Cutting Stones

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