INTERVIEW WITH THORSTEN BRINKMANN

»So, things that were, mix with things that are added, to create something new.«

The artist Thorsten Brinkmann in an interview with Caroline Schilling (Int. Press, Hatje Cantz) about his house installation La Hütte Royal and the wild joy of combining things that don't belong together.

La Hütte Royal is the largest installation you have worked on so far, and at the same time a transformation that playfully and sometimes bizarrely juggles with the dimensions of time, space, and reality. How did this total work of art come about between 2011 and 2013?

In mid-2011, my collector Evan Mirapaul asked me if I would be interested in realizing a house installation. He already had some of my works and would like to give them a suitable home. Since the real estate market in Pittsburgh had completely collapsed, there was the possibility of buying houses incredibly cheaply and making them available to artists. I listened to his offer and immediately signaled that I was very interested. Two months later, he called me to tell me that he had now acquired a house for me, and if I wanted, I could look at it. That was in October 2011. I myself saw the house for the first time in November 2011. All the previous owners' belongings were still in the house; they had cleared out overnight and left everything behind. The house was substantially in pretty good condition, yet the first impression was extreme, as it had been occupied by unknown individuals for two to three years and was therefore completely trashed. Since I didn't want to simply erase the entire history of the house, I saved everything that was still usable and stored it in the garden. Two more visits followed, each for a few days in spring 2012, to see what ideas I had for the house or to discuss what could or should be prepared in the house so that I could get started. I started working on the house for the first time in September 2012. Since I was still working on other exhibitions, there were always breaks. But in September it really started, then again in October and finally in December. Each time for a few weeks, usually two to three weeks. Because of a visa, there was another long break until April 2013, from that point until October I was essentially just commuting between Hamburg and Pittsburgh, as the house was supposed to be finished for the Carnegie International in October.

From the beginning, I wanted to treat the house differently than a museum show. Because there, you usually have to plan everything very precisely in advance, as there is usually not much time for construction and everything has to be shipped on time. I wanted the work to develop on site and not have everything planned in advance. I deliberately took my time there, allowing one room after another to develop processually and fit into the whole. I had no interest in building a kind of "clean" Brinkmann museum for myself. I was more interested in what happens in the house if I spend a lot of time there, what kind of spaces might develop from the things I found. For example, there are only three rooms in the house that I have built in a similar way before; all the other twelve only emerged on site during the work. I proceeded very playfully and always worked on several rooms at the same time. For example, there are the "Record Rooms" on the ground floor. Since I found numerous records in the house and one of the previous residents was a DJ, I simply incorporated that. I wanted to revive a part of the history there, but without creating a historical exhibition. The fans on the record columns are also from the house; they all still worked. So the idea grew to incorporate these with the records into the first two rooms. Of course, records should also be played, but it shouldn't be a specific song, as concrete music would have given too much away from the beginning. So now four record players are running there, all at the end of the record, spreading a sound carpet that constantly changes, as there are small speed differences. One also sounds as if it is breathing heavily and deeply; it almost sounds as if the house is breathing. Almost every room developed processually in this way. Also the hallways or the entrance situation.

One day I saw a huge wooden bell at a used parts dealer. I was immediately drawn to this object, and after a few phone calls about the sizes of the windows in the house, because it definitely wouldn't fit through the door, it was clear: this thing has to come with me. Now it hangs right in the entrance area. I can't plan something like that; I know you only encounter such "erratic blocks" with a certain amount of time. And the longer I stayed in Pittsburgh, the more unusual finds there were. Ultimately, it means that this house grew and developed piece by piece over a period of two years. There were also no concrete drawings, only a few very loose collections of ideas, where it was clear that these were only starting points. There is also an area that you can crawl into, which might remind you of Alice in Wonderland. There are five rooms in one; the entire architecture also grew step by step on site, without anything being fixed beforehand. Except that you climb into the fireplace to eventually emerge in the cinema one floor up. On the way there, you climb, crawl, and clamber through five hidden rooms, and the further you go inside, the more isolated you are from the outside world, as you have no view outside. There is also a golf room; this also came about because I found a complete, ancient golf set in the house. For this, I then designed wallpaper, laid grass, a basketball hoop serves as a golf hole, and an old truck wheel cover became the ramp. So, things that were, mix with things that are added, to create something new. The old found objects also create a time jump to the era from which the objects originate. There are also rooms where I have only added a small detail or where I have only re-positioned the light; these are therefore found places that mix with the other stagings. Now, however, one does not know whether these are also staged, and so the staging mixes with the "house reality." I have also quite deliberately left architectural elements untreated, the stairs for example, the floor or the doorframes, to create a connection to the lived history of the house, to blur the boundary between reality and staging, and to allow different time levels to exist side by side.

Exhibitions are usually accompanied and documented by a catalog. You opted for something special and created 222 unique pieces. Strictly speaking, your extraordinary artist's book is a record with a booklet. How did the idea come about?

Indeed, there is still supposed to be an extensive book about the house. But since this was impossible to realize for the opening, but I wanted something that interested people could take home as a souvenir, I gave it some thought. It had to be quick, so small, but still top-notch. But also different from a forthcoming book, otherwise no one would want it anymore... While I was pondering this, I was sitting in the record room, surrounded by hundreds of records. I would say the records practically got in my way and wanted it that way; I was just their handyman. I picked one up and looked at it closely, and yes, then it was clear: original record, sleeve with text, and booklet with pictures, brilliant! That my dog Ernie, who had already written about my work anyway, would also appear on the sleeve was the next stroke of luck.

Your works are created in the tradition of readymades. Which objects appeal to you, are there selection criteria?

There are various qualities of objects that interest me. Sometimes it's simply the shape or even the color. But there are also things that are so ugly that I just have to have them. What I then use them for often only emerges later. But also quirky objects whose function cannot be deciphered at first glance are interesting. Then there are also a lot of extremely "normal" objects, without a special design; making something out of them is also very appealing, as their otherwise existence is quite unspectacular. Extremely worn-out things have great advantages, as they tell a lot and their surfaces simultaneously show informal traces of painting or indicate their period of use.

Art critics repeatedly refer to Kurt Schwitters in connection with your works. What significance does he have for your art?

I myself like to mention Kurt Schwitters again and again, as his Merzbau was quite groundbreaking when it comes to installations. For years, he kept working on this structure and letting the space grow. His sculptural work occupied the space over time, appropriating it. An installation that grew or proliferated from within itself. An approach that is very close to me. His collage-like work, too, the finding of new meanings by combining things that don't belong together. Besides, I like his clever humor.

The motif of your Collector's Edition makes you curious. Is there a story behind it?

Yes, the items are all original finds from the house, like the records for the "artist's book." I also found numerous bowling trophies and bowling balls in the house, so I believe that, in addition to golf, a lot of bowling was played by the residents. The title Never Die then came about naturally because of the figure shown in the image. I also found it very fitting, as, so to speak, life-sustaining measures were carried out on the house and many things could be saved from the landfill.

22.1.2014