Joana Vasconcelos
I DON'T WANT TO BELONG TO THE GENERATION OF HUMANS THAT FAILED TO SAVE THE PLANET.
ISABEL LUCAS
Interview
PEDRO FERREIRA
Photography
Environmental activism, the feminist cause, colour and scale, handicraft, national symbols questioning her/our place in the domestic world, which she decontextualises to challenge function and identity. Joana Vasconcelos' work provokes, celebrates. It’s playful, while potentially disruptive. At 50, the Portuguese artist is one of the boldest, most powerful and recognisable names in the art world today.
The pandemic allowed her to do impossible work. With her whole team sitting at home, she got everyone to embroider thousands of leaves and attached them to a piece she called the Árvore da Vida (Tree of Life). The same unusual circumstances also made her see time differently, to realise that the solution for all of us - and art along with it - is slowing down, thinking about the world and our role in it, questioning it, representing it, giving it a meaning. Ensconced in her studio by the River Tagus, Joana Vasconcelos talks about being moved by a 5,000-year-old sculpture, pondering the eternal nature of art, and what might remain in such an ephemeral world. There’s also time to ruminate on her generation and how it can change the fate of the planet.
Recently, someone told me that you were overwhelmed by a sculpture over 5,000 years old.
[Smiles] When I explain what I do, who I am, I often say how old the artistic milieu is. It begins in the Palaeolithic period, at a time when society was structured very differently to today. There was a tribe that constantly moved from place to place, leaving its mark in the caves and places where it sheltered. Even in such a simple society, there were artists representing the life of their people, something they’ve been doing until now. Most people are unaware of this longevity, or what it means to be an artist. They see us as the superfluous, least important link. But artists are essential for communities to exist, for them to be represented and have a history. Artists are key to creating group identity and what is transmitted for the future.
I was invited to exhibit in Syracuse, at the Museum of Archaeology, which has a remarkable collection. Standing next to pieces that are 1,000 or 2,000 years old is genuinely exciting. In addition to being magnificent sculptures, many depict women, which means a lot to me. When they told me “We’re bringing the Cycladic idol", I thought it was another Greek sculpture. I had no idea that the idol was 3,000 years older than the other sculptures in the collection. When we assembled The Crown - because my idea was to crown the Cycladic idol - I thought to myself, "remarkable, this sculpture is 5,000 years old!" Few objects last for such an unimaginably long time. I thought: "will Picasso exist in 5,000 years? Will my work withstand everything that’s going to happen to the planet? 5,000 years is virtually the history of humanity!”
The object was a piece of carved stone, explaining its hardiness. That said, it was relatively small and not very complex, in terms of appearance and three-dimensionality: a simple figure, beautiful, elegant, extremely abstract and contemporary at the same time. While setting up, there was a feeling of reverence towards the idol that made our hands tremble. It was a special moment, a spiritual occurrence inspired by an object that spanned the history of humanity. It had resisted everything to now feature alongside a living artist. Suddenly, it was as if I had a fellow sculptor there beside me, whose work resists everything; with a unique strength from the past, from a time when there was nothing, but there was sculpture. I’ve talked about this strength many times, but now I felt and experience it; to be alongside another artist and to pay tribute to them.
From an artistic perspective, perhaps there’s never been such a dialogue between the perennial and ephemeral. Whether it’s materials, intention or urgency, things are created with a very short lifespan.
We live in a very consumerist society. It’s one of clicks, visualisations, 30 seconds of attention. We’re reduced to fleeting attention. The way we view the world is instantaneous. Contemplation is a thing of the past, which forms a barrier to interiorisation and deeper thinking. If we’re always changing the subject, if there’s always dispersion, there’s no depth. Sculptors and sculpture are in tune with their own times, which means that if it’s a time of consumerism, sculpture will reflect that ephemerality. As such, performances, happenings, adverts... everything is so ephemeral we can’t bear the stability of the moment. Despite its great abstraction and serenity, the [Cycladic] idol’s presence was immutable; it had nothing to do with the ephemeral. It’s true that carefully handled, well-crafted materials, if restored, can endure the ages. If well cared for, textiles can last for centuries. We receive some of them. I have masks and tiles that also last; these materials are hard wearing. When it comes to public art, the challenge is to last over time and being outside. It must withstand the public and the weather. The range of suitable materials is also limited. There’s more freedom indoors and you can experiment with the ephemeral using different techniques and materials. However, the ephemeral is closely associated with contemporaneity and the way we live, which is desperate and constrained to the moment.
Building with time is conceptually distinct from building for the moment. I’ve built in the moment, performances, happenings, the joy of doing and disappearing. Building with time is a different responsibility, which implies other techniques and other teams. I use a lot of handicrafts, where time is very different. Industrialisation and technology have accelerated our time, but human time, that of our hands, is something different.
You talked about the representativeness of artists and their function in a society; they embody or create a kind of mythology around which society is represented. Nowadays, artists are asked to take action, often political, and take a stance. What’s your position regarding society’s demands in relation to artists, or when the artist feels the need to intervene, to make a stance, to make their art intentionally political? What are the pros and cons?
Political activism must be coherent within the society it’s part of. Artists are influenced by everything around them. For example, my fellow artist Ai Weiwei is someone whose family history has been considerably affected by political constraints. And his work reflects that. He’s extremely critical and opportune because it’s not someone else's story. It’s his own. This gives him a genuine, fair and sincere perspective on the political situation. I can’t take that position because I’m not in China. I’ve never been arrested. I don’t have a father who was arrested. That story isn’t mine. I can’t mirror what isn’t around me; that which isn’t my tribe. My tribe has other problems, other situations and, like it or not, we reflect upon them, on a personal level. We reflect our surroundings, our society, family, history. There’s also a personal interpretation, but it’s always connected to where we come from. Artists will only take political action if they feel it necessary.
Is there opportunism?
I don't judge. If artists want to voice certain concerns and discuss certain issues, I think it's good. For example, I talk a lot about women's issues because I’ve experienced them throughout my life. If you're born black, and you have suffered racism throughout your life, you'll talk about it. In Portugal, many artists focus on the former colonies. It's a Portuguese issue and it's good that it's being talked about. It’s important to reflect on and rethink our own history, translating it so that it can free itself and continue transforming. The former colonies are a complex era of our recent history, and the Colonial War has yet to be properly processed. There are many artists addressing this theme and shining a light upon it. Art has a universal language that addresses the issue differently to politics, economics, sociology. Saying that, artists are not politicians. They’re not a voice of politics. They shouldn’t be manipulated by politics, nor be seen as political activists.
But isn’t there is a temptation for the establishment to manipulate them?
I think there’s a misunderstanding about the artist's place. Artists should keep pace with society, its time, what’s happening with power, as well as social and economic issues. Saying that, they should have the freedom to reflect another kind of thinking. It's almost the opposite: no one should want to use artists. They are the ones not to be used. Because they have no agenda, they’re constantly creating.
What inspired you to take objects from women’s everyday domestic life, decontextualise them and make them autonomous? How did what is often presented as your artistic agenda come about?
This seed of the domestic environment is common to all of us but is currently undergoing seismic change. It was once rock solid and codified, establishing a particular relationship between family members. A domestic environment is extremely codified, has its own symbols and is a reflection of society. I’m talking about the transformation that’s occurring in society, where roles aren’t rigid and pre-determined, where there’s a new dynamic about the role of the family, of women and what they do within it. How can I talk about this? By observing what happened to my grandmother, my mother and myself. This transformation of the domestic world and the role of women illustrates the society that exists today.
When I decontextualise domestic objects, I am alluding to this new dimension of family. Women’s new role is totally transforming society. I was the first woman to have an exhibition at Versailles. There have been many women with the same ability as me, but none had ever done it before: why? Because there wasn’t room yet. I’m the product and the result of an era.
You take these themes from the world of women, speak of women's emancipation and choose to do so using the world of fantasy that seems to communicate with other arts, such as literature. The shoe, the wedding cake, the chandelier.
Being Portuguese has many advantages. Our history boasts an extraordinary time involving the confluence of cultures and goods. These travels and cultural exchanges are so strongly rooted in our outlook and education that they furnish our homes and lives with many things not found in other countries. Because Portuguese homes accept multiculturalism, we can have a Buddha, an elephant and a figure of Christ in the same room.
When I say multiculturalism, I’m also talking about tastes, smells, textures, objects. It was this excess that later inspired the baroque style, which generates dynamics and exaggeration, but also imperfection. It’s that multicultural baroque we live in. Portugal can be in many places, bring many things from far away. We see this as part of our history, the gilded woodcarvings, the ceramics, the fabrics, the food. We accept more things than many countries that don't have that multiculturalism.
The magic album you’re talking about is a magic that stems from that baroque; that exists in that transformation.
There’s an idea of magic and transformation within the idea of baroque. Evolution requires a willingness to transform. We have African, Chinese, Japanese and Arabic influences. It's part of who we are. And so, I don't just work in one way, with just one material, just using one technique; I work with everything. This is being Portuguese, and it allows me to navigate in different ways, in different waters. Sometimes I do things with textiles, other times I only want to work with iron, or I use ceramics. These are paths and research in different areas. It’s very Portuguese.
You work with very Portuguese symbols, perhaps the most controversial example being the Barcelos cockerel.
I find questioning things attractive; realising if things as simple as the Cycladic idol resist time. The cockerel was controversial because many people don't identify with it; they think it’s linked to the dictatorship - and it’s true that it was much appreciated and used in propaganda at the time - but it’s also true that the cockerel existed in Portugal long before the dictatorship.
Because symbols are almost always seized by the powers that be?
When political power seeks fortification and control, it misuses artists for evil ends in society because art represents. This happened at the time of Hitler, when artistic propaganda was clearly used to control the masses.
Did you ever feel that they were trying to use you, or could they be?
I never felt this directly, but power needs artists because otherwise it’s not represented.
And there are artists with power.
And there are artists with a lot of power.
You have that power.
Some.
What’s it like to know that you have power and that someone might want to manipulate or use it?
Artists cannot be used or manipulated because their power lies only in themselves, in the way they see the world. If artists are genuine and sincere... I’m thinking of Paula Rego, a great painter of our time. I saw her exhibition just recently and it’s impossible to look at her work and not think she's Portuguese. You might know nothing about Portugal but what’s represented stems from a country and a history. You can't control what Paula Rego paints. It’s a [false] political idea that artists are controlled; artists are the ones with no agenda, who must exist that way to better reflect their tribe.
What does belonging to the Portuguese tribe mean?
It’s being born in Portugal, speaking Portuguese. It’s being the product of a culture that’s many centuries old.
Do you think that your art is recognised as being from Portugal, even if people don't really know what Portugal is?
People might not know, but you feel it. I have a funny story about the cockerel, which is typical. In Portugal, those not fans of the cockerel will say it's fake; that it was, like I said, invented during the dictatorship. Others defend its importance for religious reasons because it’s associated with pilgrims, justice, and that truth prevails.
There are various versions. The truth is that if we don’t blame and judge the cockerel, it’s a symbol that continues to exist. I thought about what I could add, doing something more contemporary using that symbol. And I introduced light, another scale, contemporary music and updated it.
But there was a lot of pressure, and the criticism was so bitter that I thought I would never travel with this cockerel or get it out of the Ribeira das Naus harbour. Truth be told, it ended up representing Portugal in China, which also has a special connection to the cockerel. Then I thought of putting it in storage, but it was then requested for the Guggenheim exhibition, before the director of Rotterdam said she wanted to park it at the museum entrance. More recently, the director of the Yorkshire Sculpture Park also said she wanted the cockerel.
And why do they like the cockerel?
Because it’s both local and global. We talk about globalisation, but people find it hard to think that way because they’re used to thinking locally. In our local version, the cockerel has a history, but in the global version, there are other types of symbology created by other countries around the cockerel.
And the cockerel is also biblical. It crowed three times before the betrayal.
Exactly. We added a QR Code to the piece with different cockerel stories around the world. Everyone tells their own story through that object. That's when you take Portugal abroad; that's when you talk about something that is common, but particular.
Let's talk about scale and space. There are comparisons between your work and that of Ai Weiwei, not to mention Damien Hirst and Jeff Koons. Art seen as spectacular rather than what is traditionally considered art, the opposite of "good" art.
Well, what’s good art? There are many types because there are many ways of seeing; something more abstract, more conceptual, more physical. Art has always reflected its time, and sometimes our time is very dull, and art is very dull; sometimes our time is fun, and art is fun. That aspect of art does not occur just because now I want to be very conceptual. If I want to be a conceptual artist in black and white, it's easy because I'm Portuguese; that can be found in many Portuguese artists. Think of Julião Sarmento, who was very black and white, or Helena Almeida.
That was before my time. I was brought up in a democracy, which is different to being brought up in a dictatorship, it's more colourful, more fun, much more open to the world. The transformation occurred and the reflection has to do with an expansion, with the introduction to new languages, new technologies. Portuguese society has clearly evolved. Lisbon’s not the same as it was. Twenty years ago, it was depressed, decaying, frozen in time. Lisbon is now a contemporary city, colourful, like the artists. My generation doesn’t have to reflect in the same way any more.
Jeff Koons? OK, let's talk about him. He reflects many things. American vacuity, hyper--consumerism, plasticity, falsity, artificiality, which are major problems in the United States. He’s a great artist because he reflects the world’s emptiness and artificiality better than anyone else. Is his work empty? Yes, it is! And does he talk about it? Yes, he does! Which is why it upsets people, because they don't want to deal with a reality they don't want to admit exists or be willing to change. When people say that Jeff Koons is a bad artist, that he's not serious, the truth is that he’s a great artist because, using great elegance, excellent technique and an extraordinary capacity for analysis, he reflects a part of society that nobody wants to accept exists. That period with Cicciolina is brilliant. Doesn't porn exist? Yes, it does. Isn't there a Dark Web? Nobody wants to talk about it. He does; he shows it, and everybody gets very uncomfortable. There's the capacity to talk about things and do so in a positive way. Then there are those who choose to be extremely critical and aggressive in their art. It's an option. And nowadays, they don’t have to emigrate to New York or Paris, like Vieira da Silva; or to London, like Paula Rego. They can now live in their own countries, no longer in clusters of artists.
You’re a pro-environment activist, concerned about sustainability; it features in your speeches, the way you organise your studio. We’ve had two years of a pandemic. It was thought that a lot could change. Do you think artists looks at art differently or are we still trying to understand what these years have meant for art?
They’ve meant a big change, in the sense that we can't go on living as we did in the past. Things were too fast and exaggerated. We couldn’t continue to endlessly expand, as if there was no limit. Expansion always comes after contraction, and we contracted to expand again. Contraction is part of the process. We’re experiencing one of those times and we can’t want to go back. This pandemic is very positive because it makes us realise that we’d gone too far.
We have to believe these things happen for a reason. I don't believe in coincidences. I know that there’s a higher reason, which we are yet to understand. It has led to a period of contraction for everyone and the chance to look within, look at their home, family, job and understand what we’re doing here. Many people left the studio to do something else and people came in because they were also undergoing a process of change. We all have to think, "is this what I really want to do?" And we went back to the domestic, the domestic self.
Back home, literally.
Houses were protagonists of that change. Houses reflect who we are. They’re an expression.
How do you view the expansion of this house of yours? Your art?
The self-reflection I did, and what I did with my team here at the studio, involved thinking about emerging from this period with a new perspective. This isn’t only about my artistic démarche or my pieces, but about others, something that was really different, intriguing and even magical. I believe we experienced a process of transformation, which took us to a new dimension, where the particular is more important than the whole, where people count more than the group, and where every individual is a subject and not a number. We had to go home, and my team worked remotely with various leaves to embroider. I thought, 'at least we’ll make the tree'. There was a project that had started for Villa Borghese [in Rome] but it was halted, and the exhibition didn’t happen. The work was so difficult, required so many hours of work, so much dedication from so many people that I thought: "I won’t be able to do this". When everything suddenly stopped - and this occurred at a time when if you told us that the world was going to stop for three years, no one would have believed it - I thought: "so, at this impossible moment, we’re going to make an impossible piece".
Why do you say the piece is impossible?
Because with our dynamic at the time, at the speed we were going, it would be impossible to stop 15 people just to embroider a hundred thousand leaves! In the meantime, I was invited to Sainte-Chapelle [of Vincennes], where I came up with the idea of installing Árvore da Vida, which reflects upon renewal, the environment, sustainability. That piece is not only the team’s efforts during confinement. It also transmits the idea of hope, the journey, transformation, renewal.
Is that your commitment as an artist?
I can’t commit to that because I won't be around. But I would love the Cycladic idol, which has already resisted 5,000 years, to resist at least a few more. I’m interested in the idea of construction, of changing the planet for the better. The idea of being part of the generation that failed to do anything worries me. I don't want to belong to the generation of humans that failed to save the planet. I want to be part of the generation that was able to do something. I try to make that effort at home, and within myself. It's a constant, daily effort that is made in the community. And, if we all do it, perhaps we can save the planet.
Watch the complete interview:
