In a medie­val water gate, bells from mel­ted war muni­ti­ons ring out.

In many socie­ties, clocks have an impor­tant alarm, reli­gious or musi­cal func­ti­on. Throughout his­to­ry, bells have often been tar­ge­ted by inva­ding armies. During the World Wars, for instan­ce, it is esti­ma­ted that more than 150,000 bells were mel­ted to beco­me muni­ti­ons of war. In his instal­la­ti­on Zvon, Slovakian artist Jonáš Gruska pays a per­so­nal tri­bu­te to the bell. The bottom lay­er con­tains hand­ma­de bells by a shep­herd, made from metal rem­nants of gas cylin­ders. The midd­le lay­er con­sists of a shi­ny brass bell from mel­ted war ammu­ni­ti­on, which is a sym­bo­lic tri­bu­te to all the bells that went through the rever­se pro­cess. Finally, at the top of the sculp­tu­re hangs a lar­ger bell that appe­ars to have been has­ti­ly made from impu­re cast iron, per­haps a tem­po­ra­ry bell repla­cing a sto­len one. Each bell is brought to sound by trans­du­cers, motors or coils cre­a­ting a new musi­cal narrative.

At the time, the Justus Lipsius Tower and its coun­ter­part, the Jansenius Tower, on the other bank of the Dijle, were two towers rein­for­cing a water gate on Leuven’s first, twelfth-cen­tu­ry city walls. At the water gate, inco­ming ships had to pay tolls. Today, the Jansenius tower belongs to the Paridaens Institute, the Justus Lipsius tower to KU Leuven. The uni­ver­si­ty recent­ly had the lat­ter tower, named after the near­by Justus Lipsius College, restored.

Text: Liesbet Nys (KU Leuven)