SOURCE&FLUENCE: Walking through the schloss, one is struck by the sheer volume and variety of books. They’re everywhere – in the rooms, the dorms, the bars, the halls, the basements, the attics, and all along the corridors… stacked in the bathrooms, found in the sauna, tucked in the kitchen, spilling into the courtyard… Art books celebrating recent movements, grand coffee table editions brimming with visuals, slim volumes of poetry, hefty academic treatises, faded journals chronicling forgotten eras, and obscure tomes that seem to trace back to the very dawn of the printing press... Mushrooming in every direction, where do these books come from? And more intriguingly – who actually reads them?

ANNA MEY: Books are Armin’s obsession, especially the old ones – tactile journeys through time, their covers worn and cracked, pages yellowed with age, exhaling a musty aroma. The titles, long enough to stretch across entire pages, could double as endurance tests for your patience, yet they hold within them stories that refuse to fade. Take his recent 1689 find by an anonymous author: The Jesuite Unmasqued, Or A Dialogue…

Armin is the one who reads them, always in parallel with other books, topically unrelated at first glance. It’s this interplay of diverse narratives, this constant cross-referencing of ideas, that keeps him awake at night – seeking connections, uncovering patterns, and chasing the thread that ties seemingly disparate worlds together.

I am both puzzled and intrigued by his reading habits, struggling to discern what connects the books of his choice. Indeed, what could possibly be the common denominator between this XVII-century polemical exposé laying bare Jesuit schemes and motives, and Thousands of Mirrors, a study of Rainer Werner Fassbinder that reads more like its author’s own memoir – a British journalist who, with the world on pause during COVID, found a sense of purpose in rewatching all 40+ films by the notorious German director, pen in hand.

I sense the common thread might lie in Armin’s interest in heterology, the study of the other or the different, examining marginalized, excluded, or non-normative identities and practices; his fascination with heretics, both past and present – individuals and collectives whose voices and actions challenge dominant paradigms, whether sacred or secular. He must be equally attuned to the various frameworks of control and suppression, the mechanisms underlying their operation; perhaps unnerved by how systems of dominance enforce uniformity, dictate norms and regulate deviance in society – echoing Foucault’s focus on power: the less explicit its influence, the more pervasive it is.

The 1689 book provides a chilling quote, speaking to the ruthless defense of power structures at any cost: “Can the heretics imagine that they are able to dissipate our enterprises by their obstinate resistance? Before they shall blast our designs, we will hurry all of Europe into a combustion: Fire, Faggot, and Poison are the means we will make use of for our preservation…”

While it remains unclear whether this 1689 text represents a genuine strategy against heretics or is merely an anti-Jesuit pamphlet fueled by and feeding into the major paranoia back then, Fassbinder was undoubtedly a deviant type in his time, subject to control if not overt suppression.

“They didn’t like him because he was out, loud, outspoken, clever, willful, paradoxical, explosive… a one-man revolution.” In the conservative postwar West German context, Fassbinder was seen as not just provocative, but as subversive. His picture of “post-war West German life was not far removed from the then-prevalent image of the nerveless, oppressive, eavesdropping and neighbour-snitching East German regime. A bit more garish, a bit more gaudy, to be sure – but just a different set of choices that aren’t really choices at all… The reason why his characters stick where they are in their awful dead-end lives. The propensity is to submit, to settle for second best, to let themselves be framed… because real freedom is absolutely terrifying.”

His works, particularly those tackling themes of authority, conformity (what he regarded as a plague), the repression of dissent, and rebellion, alongside his scandalous prominence in the cultural landscape, would have inevitably made him a target for surveillance by the state security apparatus – especially during a time when the government was intensely concerned with containing radical influences, including the activities of the RAF. After all, Fassbinder’s Action Theatre – a collective known for its boundary-pushing work – was a significant cultural and intellectual incubator for radical ideas, with none other than Andreas Baader among its members before he emerged as a leader of the Red Army Faction (also known as the Baader-Meinhof Group).

The authorities did not burn down his Action Theatre, poison the troupe, and subject the audience to public flogging, as they might have in centuries past. Instead, they used safety regulations to evict the troupe, although it was clearly their political stance that troubled them.

Fassbinder reinvented his group as Anti-Theater, taking refuge in the Büchner Theatre, though their tenancy there was short-lived as well. It ended with their rendition of Père Ubu by Alfred Jarry, a forerunner of the Dada, Surrealist, and Futurist movements. Already notorious for its savage humor, monstrous absurdity, and subversive chaos, this 1896 play was further twisted by Fassbinder, who introduced a scene where a middle-class family reunion spirals into an orgy. Horrified, the director of the theatre turned off the lights in mid-action to snuff out the madness.

It’s noteworthy in this particular instance that the lights – symbolic of visibility, exposure and awareness – are extinguished, mirroring Foucault’s notion of how power operates today in restoring the order that authority seeks to maintain. Unlike earlier forms of direct violence, modern power operates by controlling what can be seen and known. Its methods are discreet, yet just as effective in normalizing behavior and suppressing dissent – if not more so than ever before. Foucault would see this as a quintessential example of modern power – subtle, invisible, and aimed at containing the disruptive potential of resistance before it can fully manifest itself.

In a similar vein, Fassbinder’s Preparadise Sorry Now, a play that explores the insidious nature of fascism in everyday life, exposing the vague structures of control, submission, and complicity that shape societal interactions, was halted by the police at the Avignon festival on grounds of indecency. His Eight Hours Don’t Make a Day, a television miniseries commissioned by Westdeutscher Rundfunk, with its story following a group of working-class people, was aborted because it became politically more aggressive in the episodes that never aired. In 1972, the Anti-Radical Degree was enacted, barring radicals from civil service and making it difficult to secure public funding for works perceived to endorse a far-left worldview.

Fassbinder films just as often delved into taboo topics, embracing a punk-like, create-and-disrupt ethos. His prolific output – 40+ films in 13 years – was itself a challenge to artistic norms. While breaking mainstream cinematic conventions, he questioned the moral values of capitalism that poisons all relationships with people treating each other like desirable then disposable commodities, spared no authority figures, exposed the docility of ordinary citizens, laid bare the oppressive dynamics within institutions, challenging their role as pillars of society and including the family unit itself – a seedbed for all the thorns and prickles of microfascism: “No escape possible. It won’t let you speak your piece. It clamps down on your true desires, impossible to breathe in here, sitting silent and stifled at the sullen dinner table, scrape cut scrape glare…”

In his interviews, Fassbinder revealed how the excuse of art becomes a bluff, wielded by talentless egomaniacs and the terminally indulged. He exposed the hollow pretensions to artistry, framing them as a veneer for narcissism and degeneration. By satirizing the figure of the “great artist,” he dismantled the notion of art as inherently redemptive or meaningful, showing instead how it serves to camouflage dubious motives. Their so-called creativity is less a pursuit of truth and more a mechanism for sustaining illusions of power and control. And speaking of love: “I am more convinced than ever that love is the most insidious, most effective instrument of social repression.”

All this made him an uncomfortable figure for many. One of the reasons Fassbinder felt less annoying or frustrating if ever back then: if you didn’t like his current film another one would be along in a few weeks.

He lived as controversially as he directed – his tempestuous relationships, substance abuse, and disregard for conventional decorum made him both revered and reviled. He was a heretic of conformity, preaching dissonance in an era that yearned for and marched to the beat of stability…


SOURCE&FLUENCE: Heretics, heterology… What type of person would take an interest in such a topic?

ANNA MEY: I can only speculate. Perhaps it reflects his own inclination for pushing boundaries. Armin fits this mold in many respects – stepping off the beaten path, confronting prevailing assumptions, refusing to follow the script, exploring the margins where dissent and disruption thrive, and embracing uncomfortable narratives.

This attitude tends to have a polarizing effect on his relationships with others. His penchant for delving into difficult topics and dissenting ideas often creates tension, misunderstandings, and clashes, alienating those who prefer the comfort of conformity. On the other hand, his authenticity, intellectual honesty, and courage to engage with the complexities others shy away from quite naturally attract like-minded individuals. Like-minded, not in the sense of agreeing with his views, but in their shared skepticism of all ideas, including his own. Though his social network might be smaller, it is built on a stronger foundation – that of a mutual respect for autonomy and critical thinking.

The notion of like-mindedness, commonly understood as the virtue of being on the same page with someone on everything, is an odd concept – negative in its positivity, as it were. Not a virtue at all. It presumes a kind of perfect alignment where everyone thinks the same way, effectively negating the need for dialogue or exchange beyond the unthinking small-talk repertoire. If we’re already in agreement on everything, what is there to discuss? Pedaled by those who champion uniformity and consensus, this ideal of perfect accord overlooks the fact that true communication thrives in spaces of difference and disagreement. It’s the divergence of thoughts, the challenge of contrasting perspectives, that sparks real engagement and understanding. In a way, the pursuit of like-mindedness can be seen as a barrier to deeper, more dynamic conversations – it turns communication into a mere confirmation of shared beliefs rather than an exploration of new ones, a stale unanalyzed repetition.

Armin is a heretic in his view that this whole concept is naïve, if not downright idiotic. Language exists in a constant state of flux, where something that must be put into words cannot yet be. In this void, the tension between silence and expression – the pain of not being able to communicate and the pleasure found in inventing new ways to convey meaning – underscores the fallacy of perfect alignment. As Lyotard suggests, language itself resists such simplistic harmony, revealing that true communication arises from this very tension, not from preordained agreement.

SOURCE&FLUENCE: Books aside, what about all other artifacts and oddities in the schloss? How did it all come together to create an interior that’s as eclectic as it is timeless? It’s like someone raided an antique store while blindfolded – and ended up with a masterpiece.

ANNA MEY: It’s all part of our effort to restore the original ambiance of the place and, just as much, to highlight how time has imprinted itself on its historic identity – through changing styles, radical shifts in politics, economic fluctuations, cultural revolutions… all the layers of transformation over the past century.

When the schloss was abandoned by its original owners, it was gradually looted over years, down to the door knobs. Then, after WWII, the place was completely repurposed as a communist party school, which involved stripping away all the remaining structural traces of high bourgeois culture, antithetical to the new ideological regime. The walls were painted over with drab, uniform colors; the stucco ceilings, adorned with intricate floral patterns, were nailed up with plywood; the grand chandeliers were taken down, replaced with harsh fluorescent lights – their cold, sterile glow casting a fittingly austere institutional pall in line with the new ideals of practicality over opulence; the beautiful parquet floors, with their detailed patterns, were buried beneath dull linoleum, masking all the craftsmanship that once defined the space and wiping away all the former charm of the place built largely as a clubhouse.

When Armin acquired the estate some 30 years ago, it was little more than a hollow shell – bare walls, empty spaces, and a sense of desolation hanging in the air, echoing with the ghosts of a forgotten past, thick with spider webs in every crevice, and the damp, suffocating presence of mildew filling the space. And then, tucked away in what could barely pass for a library, a handful of stray books – none more notable than the complete works of Stalin, as though the place wasn’t haunted enough already.

Sensing a flicker of new life in the building, confined to a single room that Armin had set up as a living space for the time being, the first step toward a larger restoration project, villagers began to appear at the gates, bringing objects they claimed might have once belonged to the schloss.

The true replenishment of the estate, however, stemmed from the depopulation of Beesenstedt and nearby towns in the wake of the shift from socialist to capitalist modus operandi. No longer subject to the planned economy and the central vision of a communist paradise, the younger generations fled in search of better opportunities in urban centers, selling their houses to the highest bidders, leaving behind furniture, household items, and relics of a bygone era – ready to be claimed by anyone willing to salvage them. The older generations lingered, but not for long either, for reasons etched in the wrinkles of their faces – time closing in on them, as it does on all, with life slowly slipping away.

Before the schloss received its high-end makeover in the style of Ritz Carlton some five or so years ago, it served as a kind of second chance sanctuary for things from around the area, left behind to wither and fade, only to be reimagined and revived within its walls – each telling a tale of life, loss and unexpected revival through their inclusion in the scenarios of quality good times, with the schloss itself reclaiming its status as a clubhouse and weekender retreat.

All kinds of furniture, lighting fixtures, and dinnerware; worn-out curtains, tablecloths, and faded tapestries; books, art pieces, vinyl records and music instruments; household devices, tools and gadgets, most languishing in silent disrepair, yet still catching the eye with their nostalgic appeal; wooden dolls, tin toys, and old board games, holding the spirit of a time when play was simple, and joy was found in the smallest things; postcards, family photo albums, personal letters, and handwritten diaries, holding echoes of lives once lived and stories long forgotten…

SOURCE & FLUENCE: The reference to Fassbinder above brings to mind the film festivals that once took place at Schloss Beesenstedt, earning the place the reputation of a sanctuary for similarly avant-garde ethos and radical narratives.

ANNA MEY: Indeed. Beyond the festivals that honored radical cinema, its haunting elegance and atmospheric charm – but also its relative seclusion, uniquely eclectic interiors, and ample space – have made the castle a coveted setting for film productions, including iconic music videos for artists such as Rammstein.

The interplay of its historic architecture and evocative spaces lends itself so perfectly to visual storytelling, providing a stage for the avant-garde to thrive not only in screenings but in creations forged on-site.

It’s fascinating how Schloss Beesenstedt has consistently served as both a canvas and a crucible for boundary-pushing narratives. One of the most prominent manifestations of this creative energy was Filmschlossfest, a brainchild of filmmaker Cyril Tuschi, curated and administered for years by Monika Anna Wojtyllo and Hennink Stöve. The festival became a platform for films that defied conventional storytelling and solidified Schloss Beesenstedt as a hub for radical, groundbreaking cinema. Showcasing films and experimental works that could not be seen elsewhere, the programs offered audiences the opportunity to experience cinema in its most unorthodox and intimate form.

The setting itself – a cinema housed in an old barn – cultivated a distinctive atmosphere, perfectly aligning with the festival’s unconventional spirit. But Filmschlossfest was more than just a weekend of films; it was an immersive three-day journey where guests stayed for the entire experience. This unique feature of the festival fostered meaningful, informal exchanges among filmmakers, artists, and audiences. In addition to the films, the festival offered a diverse range of events, including workshops, concerts, readings, and parties, all culminating in a gala dinner and the legendary costume ball. It was a celebration of cinema, culture, and community, an experience that extended far beyond the screen.

SOURCE&FLUENCE: Despite its location in the middle of nowhere and certain hurdles of getting there, the schloss has been also a magnet for music festival culture, with its pull growing ever stronger. What’s the secret behind its magnetism?

ANNA MEY: I would say it’s precisely because of its relative remoteness and certain challenges of reaching the destination that accounts for much of its allure. For one thing, distance implies a journey, which only enriches the overall experience with all the excitement of hitting the road. For many, it’s a journey into the unknown, venturing off the beaten path, which gives it an extra thrill stirring anticipation of what lies ahead. The festivals themselves are often described in terms of adventure, given the diverse and engaging content of their programs, spanning the entire weekend. So the perceived challenges of getting there are very much part and parcel of the whole scenario, a boon rather than a burden. The out-of-the-way nature of the events is what makes them truly special.

Besides, we are talking about boutique festivals – compact and intimate gatherings involving self-regulating collectives, friends inviting friends, tightly-knit social groups of up to 600 persons, or tribes, as they call themselves. Their programs are tailored to specific in-group interests and sensibilities. There are very few, if any, venues in urban areas which can accommodate their full-weekend rituals while providing the level of privacy, comfort, freedom of action, style, and security enjoyed at Schloss Beesenstedt. In colder seasons, when open-air outings are out of the question, it becomes the ultimate playground for such occasions. Given its ample space and facilities, the schloss is one of a kind on the map of festival culture.

Speaking of its magnetism, it must also be due to its affordability, streamlined logistics in the key operations that makes life easier for organizers, and our openness to their ideas when it comes to setting up and designing spaces according to the organizers’ vision, granting them full creative freedom. The B31 is not exactly a commercial project. Neither are the festivals held on its premises. Festivals such as various Burning Man’s decompressions, curated Per Anhalter and Un/familiar retreats, and others with similar ethos, are not profit-oriented, but micro-communal projects offering a platform for their members to reunite, while the B31 is mainly a historic sustainability project. All the proceeds go to cover the cost of their programs and the energy, maintenance and renovation of Schloss Beesenstedt.

SOURCE&FLUENCE: It’s been 30 years since the inception of the B31 project. As someone deeply involved while maintaining a reflective distance, how do you envision its future trajectory?

ANNA MEY: It’s never been smooth sailing, and especially so in the past few years since the pandemic. But our resolve has only grown stronger, driving us forward with even greater purpose. Against all odds, we remain more determined than ever to fulfill our original mission: Heritage belongs to all and our calling is to recover, preserve, invigorate and to pass it on.
Schloss Beesenstedt was built in the 1890s as a clubhouse to host socio-cultural events – in large part. Our mission reflects the ancient belief that the future doesn’t just move forward in a linear fashion. It is cyclical, looping back to the past, drawing strength from what came before. It’s what you find in Hesiod’s Works and Days – the myth of the Golden Age, a time of peace and prosperity. The future isn’t all about invention; it’s also about rediscovering the lost virtues and harmony of the past. We’re not reinventing the wheel; we’re carrying forward what has always been at the heart of this place: a space for people to gather, to create, and to preserve the spirit of culture.

Futurum per memoriam!

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