| Catherine Y. Hsieh: Your installation The Killing Machine (2007) consists of moving robotic arms, an electric dental chair, and old televisions, exuding icy eeriness and a sense of detachment. You said on your Web site that the inspiration was Franz Kafka’s In the Penal Colony and the American system of capital punishment as well as the current political situation. As a reaction to people’s numbness toward killing and torture, The Killing Machine (2007) succeeded in materializing such desensitization. What was the artistic process of this piece? Janet Cardiff: Like most of our works, Killing Machine started as a much more complex piece with about ten robots originally planned and more kinetic and sculptural elements, almost in ways like a complex torture museum. |
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Catherine Y. Hsieh talks to Janet Cardiff, an artist living and working with her partner, George Bures Miller. Cardiff and Bures Miller’s solo exhibition takes place at Modern Art Oxford, Oxford, U.K., from October 14 to December 24.
Janet Cardiff & George Bures Miller, The Killing Machine, 2007. Photo credit: Seber Ugarte & Lorena Lopez. Courtesy of the artist and Luhring Augustine, New York.Catherine Y. Hsieh: Your installation The Killing Machine (2007) consists of moving robotic arms, an electric dental chair, and old televisions, exuding icy eeriness and a sense of detachment. You said on your Web site that the inspiration was Franz Kafka’s In the Penal Colony and the American system of capital punishment as well as the current political situation. As a reaction to people’s numbness toward killing and torture, The Killing Machine (2007) succeeded in materializing such desensitization. What was the artistic process of this piece?
Janet Cardiff: Like most of our works, Killing Machine started as a much more complex piece with about ten robots originally planned and more kinetic and sculptural elements, almost in ways like a complex torture museum. Also we wrote a script that was written for an executioner figure whose voice was supposed to come out of the revolving horn. During the process everything got pared down. Now there are only two robots and most of the shelves are empty. We got rid of the script and changed the music to a piece we felt matched the electronic quality of the robots. We wanted the effect to be as if everyone has left the building and the machine was just working away on its own. There is a kind of pathetic beauty in this lost machine left to its own devices.
CH: The Walks projects are a very interesting collection, where you lead the audience through different journeys, whether it is on a rural landscape or in a theater from the beginning of the 20th century, either through audio or video guide. The first walk was Forest Walk (1991). The latest one was Jena Walk (Memory Field) (2006). When you look back, what are the differences in your approach to create a walk then and now?
JC: In the early days, we were much more disorganized, which led to walks that maybe were a bit looser. In the later walks, the mechanics of editing changed because we were much more experienced at it and we were able to get more precise and complex. Even though the later walks became more complex, I think that they got pared down in terms of narrative because we realized that the physicality of the audio could carry a lot. I stopped doing them because I found that it was becoming work, like carrying out a designated project, rather than discovering new ideas.
CH: The first video walk In Real Time appeared in 1999. What spurred such a project? What challenges did you encounter when you produced In Real Time that you never did when you created previous audio walks?
JC: I was invited to do a video walk for the Carnegie International and I asked Madelaine Grynstein if I could try to do a video walk instead of the audio walk she had invited me for. The smaller video cameras had just come out and I had just experienced the pre-recorded video effect of the telescopes we had made. We realized that the same effect could be done with the viewer walking through a space with pre-recorded footage in the form of a video walk. It was experimental as we didn’t know if it would be effective at all.
One thing that we didn’t calculate was that some people, especially older people, curators and literary types can’t follow a video image (of a route) on a screen. We assumed that it was a skill everyone had. So with our initial tests we realized that we had to add more verbal directions. We also learned a lot about the trance-like effect that concentrating on video has on people. We discovered that as soon as people had images to concentrate on they stopped listening. There’s so many things that we learned from our first few video walks in terms of how our brains respond to and comprehend our physical environment. That’s why we continue to do them because the medium is always surprising us and intriguing for us.
CH: There are fewer video walks than audio ones. Why? Is it because the process of creating a video walk is more complex? Do you enjoy making audio or video walks more? Why?
JC: There are fewer video walks because a video walk can only be done indoors because of the reflectance of the screen. Also we only agree to do them now in places where they can be permanent because of the amount of production time involved. We just completed one for private collectors for their home because we had always wanted to try a personal space. We were curious how the cinematic quality of the video could inhabit a personal space in such a peculiar way that it would leave its shadow lingering in the house—and it did in a strange way.
CH: Many of your projects involve cinematic principles and techniques, such as Ghost Machine (2005). But Mr. Miller was a painter and you were a printmaker when you were in art school. What brought theater and cinema to your attention, and ultimately, into your work?
JC: For some reason, even as students, when we collaborated we produced media-based work—George as the cameraperson and me handling the sound. The collaboration allowed us to step beyond the mediums that had been available to us in our schools. Our flat work, however, was very cinematic and narrative, so it just made sense to push the flatness to a time-based media eventually when we had access to the facilities to do so.
CH: Your collaboration began roughly around 1995. How different is it to create art on your own than to collaborate? Are there any restrictions? Is one way more liberating than the other? Which way do you prefer? Why?
JC: The collaborations really began much earlier in reality—sort of on our first date, but you are right that the first dually authored large collaboration was in 1995. I enjoy working with George more than doing solo works because he has ideas and technical expertise that pushes my ideas and I think he feels the same. Our individual skills compliment each other. The only plus when you are doing solo work is that when it’s under your name you have the final say if there’s any disagreement. But normally we agree.
CH: Your work tends to blur the line between illusion and reality. Nothing is what it seems when the viewer goes on a walk like Conspiracy Theory (2003) or enters an installation like The Secret Hotel (2005). What is it about mixing reality with fiction that fascinates you? Do you consider it an escape from actuality? Why or why not?
JC: I think we’ve always made what we want to see and we want to experience rather than intentionally creating escapism. We are mostly interested in producing work that can surprise us and teach us new ways of thinking about our perceptions. That’s the beauty and thrill of being artists. You can create works that push your own understanding of the world in a way that no one has encountered before. It’s so much about a playful approach. We want to make and see art that amuses us on many different levels, and make it as complex as we can so that the viewer has as much fun as we do intellectually and viscerally.
CH: Can you talk about any new ideas or projects you have been working on recently?
JC: The reason that I am answering these questions solo is because George is in Sydney right now installing a large new sound piece. It’s called The Murder of Crows. It has 100 audio speakers situated throughout a very large space—one of the pier buildings there. It is a 30-minute long work that is like a theater or cinema piece without any physical images, only the soundtrack. It is a mixture of sound effects and music with my voice as a narrative element. It became a bit macabre as it progressed, so I think it continues the aesthetic of The Killing Machine and our sensitivity to what is happening in the world today.
The piece continues our explorations in creating sculptural and physical sound with the sound moving around the listener. The structure of the piece tries to mirror that of the illogical but connected juxtapositions that we experience in the dream world. One soundscape moves into another with an electronic dreamscape composition shifting into factory noises and then into a Russian choir then guitar and strings composition then into a carnivalesque choir sequence. As usual it is another experiment for us, putting us on the edge of our technical expertise.
