INTERVIEW
Tell
me how Mario's Furniture came to be.
Mario's Furniture began with a discussion between Hillary
and I around space. Space in a physical sense that then
becomes mediated by the camera and space as a virtual place.
How does it change as its visual representation moves and
alters? Since we both work quite a bit with humor and have
a strong sense of the absurd, we employed the video game
genre as our way into a discussion of space. Of course the
predominant mid-century/Ikea aesthetic worked its way in—as
it subsequently did in a similar collaboration of ours called
Mimesis. But Mario's Furniture has so much play in it, literally.
M.A. Greenstein called it "the anti-Jorge Pardo.”
Hillary and I collaborated once before Mario's with a project
called Cubed for the Guggenheim gallery at Chapman. We have
this process that takes over when we get together that focuses
very strongly on re-framing. Processes within processes.
What is your own house, your own space, like?
It's a mixed space, and sort of spread out. There are parts
that are very light and have a lot of southern exposure
and then there is the middle room that is very dark and
cool, like a cave. I think I need a place to retreat to
sometimes and sort of hole up. The furniture is almost all
yard sale finds from Echo Park, Sliver Lake and Los Feliz.
So everything has a good story that goes with it. It looks
a bit like Mario's Furniture—those are my lamps and
chairs in it.
You had another game-type installation, Mary Shelley's
Daughter. Do you get to watch what people
do to your piece when it invites interaction like that?
Absolutely. One of my favorite instances of that was at
the initial opening for Mary Shelley in Long Beach when
a friend swapped tapes and put a head in the tv normally
reserved for the foot. People came running up to me to tattle
on him, which really made me laugh.
Do you ever see people get emotional watching your
pieces?
Yes. I remmeber one woman became very upset after seeing
a version of Mary Shelly's Daughter in which only the nude
tapes appeared. She said it was as if the figure was dead
and she couldn't bear to look at it. On the other hand I've
had a lot of people come up and hug me after seeing some
of my videos. In particular I remember showing Mistakes
to former studio mate and feeling sort of shy about it as
it was the first time I'd shown it to anyone. As the video
ended he jumped up and hugged me. That felt pretty amazing.
I see a lot of clothing and accessories, dressing,
and undressing in pieces like Open Closet, Under Cover,
The Shrug, and at 600 ft. It's fascinating to watch how
we adorn ourselves before we leave the house, what dress
is appropriate for where, and how our look is perceived
once we're out in the world. What do you want woman to take
from these pieces?
Gosh there's so much. I think each piece that employs dressing
and clothing offers varying ideas. For instance Open Closet
uses dressing as a means of presenting a consumer culture
where we are rendered in stasis by an overwhelming array
of options. Under Cover emphasizes public/private space
and covert action, something that has carried over into
the Tweetys collaborations with Kahty Chenoweth.
Now,
why Tweety?
Tweetys began as a response to an international call for
action around surveillance cameras. People did things in
Berlin, Rome, New York, San Francisco, but I think we might
have been the only ones doing anything in LA. Which is funny
because it's so appropriate here in a nice interesting complex
way. Wired magazine actually interviewed us while we were
out doing the performance. They were asking very pointed
questions about the evils of surveillance but that's not
at all what's really going on. It's more about wanting privacy
and celebrity simultaneously, very LA. Kahty and I had started
talking about it at a digital arts workshop we had been
invited to and we thought whatever we do, it would be good
to do it as animals. As it turns out Tweety is perfectly
uber-friendly, so you can hold a sign proclaiming, “Big
Brother is Watching” or “I Already Took Your
Picture” and it's ok—it’s Tweety.
Is this an ongoing project? Might we see Tweety interviewing
on the red carpet at a future awards show?
Well, we have done a warm-up for a Tweetys exhibition match
called Tweetys Box. But of course being Tweetys we didn't
just box but placed small surveillance cameras on our heads
that recorded every punch. We isolated ourselves in an old
garage and sent the video signal out to a lawn party where
we could only be viewed on a large projection screen as
blows came to our heads.
I like your emphasis on the attraction/repulsion
dichotomy. We love to watch, but we hate ourselves for watching.
It's the ultimate truth in the popularity of reality television.
What images of yours do you think strike the deepest chords
in people?
Well, those images from the Tweetys get a lot of attention
and of course the Deep Throat series with Martin Durazo.
People really polarize around those.
Let's
talk about your photography series Untitled (Deep Throat).
First of all, was anyone permanently injured?
No, not permanently, at least no visible scars. That was
a rough piece to do. At first it was fun and very playful,
kinda sexy, but as the performance, I actually see the work
as documents of a performance, wore on it became increasingly
uncomfortable for both of us. I suppose that's when I thought
it might be interesting work.
Do you think the viewer has to be uncomfortable
in order to be engaged?
Oh, no absolutely not. There are so many kinds of engagement,
too. There is certainly a hope that I will offer a viewer
a way of seeing that is new to them and for some, in some
instances, that may be uncomfortable but that can also happen
with, say, humor.
What are your favorite pieces?
One of my favorite pieces is a video called Mistakes. It's
full of contradictions, both playful and heartbreaking,
it works on so many levels, personally, formally, structurally.
I
also am very fond of Snow Music for Polystyrene. I was quite
pleased with the audio component and how well it pulled
the visuals together. Plus I was quite happy to make little
video objects—too ephemeral to last, only able to
be appreciated when the lights are low.
Do
you find that these little portraits are the most intimate,
capable of conveying the most emotion and/or message?
Hmm, it may be. But I consider Mistakes to be a very intimate
work too.
Maybe intimacy has more to do with allowing a certain kind
of vulnerability to enter the work. Revealing what might
not be initially comfortable to reveal. I think that may
be they way I gauge how well I think a work is succeeding.
At least for myself.
What's next?
Well, I am finishing up a video portrait, a sort of documentary,
on my landlady and housemate from back in 1989. She was
bi-polar and died a year after I moved in. She possibly
committed suicide but no one knows for sure what really
happened. It's been on my mind a long time, obviously, and
it's been a great process to finally address it.
I'm also at work on a large project in the Mojave with a
collective of artists called Moisture. We went out to the
desert last year and made earthwork style projects around
collection and documentation of water in the desert. As
a result we got funded to do a bit more this year.
Finally, I'm ready to make another installation work like
Snow Music for Polystyrene. This time the character will
be an astronaut examining other planets and working in space.
Of course she will be miniature and projected in the worlds
of polystyrene.
