Upon entering Andy Zimmermann's recent video installation at the
FPAC Gallery, an uncanny sense of time and space warping seems
to come over the viewer. Onto several plexiglass screens composed
to form a jagged wall plays a projection. The images- interiors,
landscapes, architectural fragments- all contain parts which move
slowly between being in and out of focus, playing with varying depths
of field. The factuality of the wall is at times forgotten, replaced by the
clarity of the projection, which articulates a tangible space- but in the
next moment, the rug is pulled out from under the viewer, leaving
only a vague atmosphere of light. Experientially, the piece is sublimely
engaging- sometimes leaving the viewer baffled, but in a wholesome fashion.
Curious about the ideas that went into this work, I interviewed
Andy about his recent show...
MK: The work of yours I've seen prior to this show was at your
thesis exhibition at MassArt. There, you had constructed what
seemed to be a mini-city, which you used as a canvas
for a projection; essentially, an object in a state of permanent
change. In the recent show, however, you seem to be more involved
with an idea of passage- the movement of the viewer seems to be of high
importance to the completing the experience of the work. Can you talk
about how the idea to build the installation evolved for you?
AZ: In my thesis exhibit I was also concerned with how the viewer
moved through the piece. I'm very interested in having projected images
occurring in three dimensions, and the best way for someone to
experience this is by moving around, and into, the piece. You are
right, however, that in Seven Songs, the piece at the FPAC Gallery, I
was dealing with a specific path which the viewer would follow. The
piece is designed to be seen first from outside the gallery, as you
are looking in through the large window and doorway from the
Channel Cafe. Then you walk alongside the piece as you come
through the door and move into the interior space.
The idea evolved as I myself spent time in the cafe. I couldn't
help noticing that people invariably spent a lot more time there,
waiting for a table, waiting to be served, eating, chatting, hanging
out, than they did looking at the art inside the gallery. I just
wanted to make my piece so that people could watch it while they were
eating lunch! I'm very interested in making video poems that have
some duration, have a little plot development, but most videos
installations are limited by the relatively short amount of time that
most viewers are willing to give such pieces when they are walking
through a gallery.
The three-dimensional aspect of the piece, the layers of frosted
plexiglass panels, the cloudy, out-of-focus effect created by
overlapping layers, the different sizes of the panels, all developed
out of the idea of structuring the space so that viewers experienced
the piece first from outside the gallery, and then saw it unfold as
they walked into it. This then guided the content of the songs
themselves, having to do with uncertainty, and illusion; of things
looking different from different angles; of the images ultimately
dissolving and disappearing as you come close to them and walk past
them.
MK : That makes sense...a propos the interactivity of the
transient audience (the audience that views the work from the cafe),
it actually sounds like an attempt break down
the so-called "fourth wall". For instance, the
fact that you have decided to project the "songs" in a random
sequence brings about a different sort of expectation on the casual
looker's part; a lesser one than, say, having the narrative of the
projection be sequential and cumulative. At the same time, my
impression was that the randomization carries with it the effect
of the images entering the viewer's awareness on a more
subconscious level. Was this intentional?
AZ: You're right about the idea of the 'fourth wall'.
There were a couple of reasons behind the idea of making
the songs play in random order. One was to get around the
viewers' expectation that they could know when they had seen
the whole program; that they might then no longer need to
watch anymore. I wanted them to gradually become aware that
there might still be parts they had not yet seen. I liked the idea
that the piece would keep re-making itself; that even if the
individual parts had been seen, they were going to continue to
occur in new and different combinations, and therefore have a
slightly different meaning each time.
I thought about not only what the piece would be like for the person
who spent a lunch hour there, but also the people who worked there
every day. I wanted the piece to be enjoyable for them, and not oppressive.
Secondly, the piece is in some ways a political critique. It deals with
uncertainty, blurring of vision, things that disappear when you get close
to them. Just because it is called Number Five does not mean it comes
after Number Four. There is not one Number Three, there are two of
them, and three Number Fives. Just because you see it in print
doesn't mean it's true.
MK: That's a very clever way of dealing with the issue of narrative;
the idea that the piece keeps remaking itself harks back to the notion
of the artwork as a being in itself . Backtracking a bit, can you talk
about your history as an artist, and how you came to the themes which
you are dealing with currently? Have you always been a video artist,
or is this something you arrived at via other media?
AZ: I started as a painter; studied it in college. Went through a
long sequence of gradually using more and more relief elements on the
canvas, then shaped canvas, then making painted wall-sculptures.
These still had the aspect of an image painted onto a three-
dimensional surface. When these got heavy to the point of pulling the
bolts out of the wall, I started doing floor sculptures out of welded
steel, then outdoor sculptures. This was my focus for several years.
I came back to the idea of having images on the surfaces of the
sculpture when I started using digital photos printed out on buswrap
adhered to the flat surfaces of welded aluminum sculpture. Somehow,
the complexity of the illusion of depth in a picture layered onto the
actual depth of a three-dimensional structure has always fascinated me.
In 2001, I entered the MFA program at MassArt. There I pretty
quickly got the hang of using digital projectors and editing video
and sound. I brought it right back to my original impulse to make the
images happen not just on a plane, but three-dimensionally. I think
the theme that I've been exploring is the relationship between the
stationary material world, which doesn't change much from one day to
the next, represented by the sculpture, and the fleeting, flickering
sequences of our living moments, represented by the video
projections. In my working process, too, I find it satisfying to
spend time carefully planning and building the framework onto which I
will be projecting, and then allowing the video and sound work to be
more improvisational and spontaneous.
MK: That sounds like a very organic trajectory. It reminds me of
something Robert Morris wrote:
"The trouble with painting is not its inescapable illusionism per se.
But this inherent illusionism brings with it a non-actual elusiveness
or indeterminate allusiveness. The mode has become antique.
Specifically, what is antique about it is the divisiveness of
experience which marks on a flat surface elicit.
There are obvious cultural and historical reasons as to why this
happens. For a long while the duality of thing and allusion sustained
itself under the force of profuse organizational innovations within the
work itself. But it has worn thin and its premises cease to convince.
Duality of experience is not direct enough. That which has ambiguity
built into it is not acceptable to an empirical and pragmatic outlook.
That the mode itself (rather than the lagging quality) is in default,
seems to be shown by the fact that some of the best painting today
does not bother to emphasize actuality or literalness though the
shaping of the support."
And this was written in 1967! I guess I'm just trying to point out
that there is a tendency- almost an inevitability- within those who
have worked in the two-dimensional, to branch out, become curious
about the potency of more tangible media. Based on what you've
described as your history, it seems your work mirrors this condition,
and it's remarkable to see where you have arrived- coming from a
painting background.
Lastly: (and this one's a bit virtual)
Describe your idea of what the ultimate installation would be.
I mean, one you would create. Realizable, or not...
AZ: An interesting question! I find myself thinking in something like
religious terms. On entering the ultimate installation, the viewer
would be re-born, would suddenly have a deeper, more intense
perception of reality; "…was blind, but now can see!"
It’s a funny puzzle that, to get the sensation of experiencing the
whole of reality more deeply, one has to experience specifics and
details. It is by learning more details that we know we are seeing
more than we saw before. So, that leads me back from the
ultimate installation to the regular installation, one which has
specifics and details which are new to the viewer, and leads to a new
way of apprehending those specific ideas. That, in turn, makes the
viewer realize that it is possible to be, and to actually become,
more conscious than s/he was before that moment. That, ultimately, is
all I hope to accomplish.
more work by Andy Zimmermann can be seen at www.andyzimmermann.com
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