マシュー・バーニーが「捕鯨」や「茶道」など日本文化をテーマに、映画、彫刻インスタレーション、写真など多彩なメディアで展開された2005年の映画作品《拘束のドローイング9》。この作品を軸に、マシュー・バーニー本人に「拘束のドローイング」シリーズにかける想いを聞いた。*The English version is below the Japanese.
その頃、日本で展覧会をする話をいただいて、金沢付近を旅しながら、何をしようかと考えていました。「拘束のドローイング」の新作を作ろうというアイデアが生まれたのは、金沢21世紀美術館での個展をキュレーションしていた長谷川祐子さんと、これまでの同シリーズを網羅する展覧会にしようと話をしていたときです。「拘束のドローイング」についての展覧会をやろうという話と、日本で新しい「拘束のドローイング」をつくろうという話のどちらが先に始まったのか、正直よく覚えていません。その頃ブラジルで『DE LAMA LAMINA』を完成させたばかりだったので、自分とはあまり直接関係のない、自分のものではない文化のなかで制作をするときに直面する似たような問題に、また向き合うことになるなという気がしていました。
──《拘束のドローイング9》の一連の写真も、写真になっていなければ見逃してしまいそうなほんの一瞬をとらえていて、映画の筋立てやプロジェクトの輪郭をはっきりさせていますね。ファーガス・マカフリーギャラリーで展示中の彫刻作品《The Cabinet of Nisshin Maru》のタイトルにもあるように、ガラス棚やキャビネットはあなたの彫刻言語によく登場しますが、この作品についてもう少し教えていただけますか?
いくつかのプロジェクトで、「キャラクター・ガラスケース」と名付けたものをつくりました。ガラスの陳列ケースに入った作品は、映画のなかの特定のキャラクターのポートレートであり、また、キャラクターと場所のつながりをつくり出すものでもあります。《The Cabinet of Nisshin Maru》は『拘束のドローイング9』のキャラクター・ガラスケースとしての役割を果たすものですが、日新丸は場所であると同時にキャラクターでもあるので、とくにふさわしいと思います。
そうとは限りません。現時点では可能性がより大きく開いていると感じています。例えば、「RIVER OF FUNDAMENT」巡回展(*2)で行われた「拘束のドローイング」は、かなり直接的なものでした。複数の女性が黒鉛の塊を引きずったり押したりして、展示室の壁を一周する線を描くというもので、それ以上でも以下でもないんです。
AS: Drawing Restraint as a project began in the late 1980s with a basic set of limits: restrain movement while attempting to mark-make within a choreographed and physical facility. Almost from its inception, Drawing Restraint began to expand on narrative, and from there sculpture, photography, and scripted cinema became more elaborate, the most ambitious of which is DRAWING RESTRAINT 9, set entirely in Japan, filmed at Nagasaki Bay in 2005.
Could you speak to the initial impetus to make DRAWING RESTRAINT 9 in Japan with a full cast and crew and as a feature film?
MB: I was invited to make an exhibition in Japan and started making site visits to Kanazawa and traveling around a bit, thinking about what I would do. The idea of making a Drawing Restraint grew out of a discussion I was having with Yuko Hasegawa, who was curating the show at 21st Century Museum of Contemporary Art, about making a Drawing Restraint survey. To be honest, I don't really remember which idea came first—the idea to make a Drawing Restraint exhibition or the idea to go to Japan and make a Drawing Restraint action. I had just finished DE LAMA LAMINA in Brazil, and I felt like I was confronted with a similar problem of working within a culture that’s not mine, a culture with which I have less of a kind of direct connection.
AS: It wasn’t that you were thinking specifically of Japan, until it came about through Yuko Hasagawa’s invitation?
MB: Well, so too was there an invitation in Brazil. Musician Arto Lindsay, for years, kept saying, You have to come to Carnival, you have to see this, come down, we’ll do something—so eventually I did. In that sense, I think they are similar.
AS: You mean in terms of presenting a particular situation within which you have to navigate, whether it’s South America or Japan? In terms of the limitations and challenges to develop a project there?
MB: Yes, my mode of working, at that time particularly, was largely to do with place, a site-specific context and working out from there, toward a narrative. And so, on a number of levels, it felt quite challenging to make a work like that in Japan, from the production standpoint, from the cultural standpoint. So much of the work I had done before, in CREMASTER, for example, even in locations that were not home to me, there was a familiarity with the kind of the Western sensibility, and it was quite easy for me to draw on, you know, a more personal experience.
AS: In CREMASTER you’re still directing the narrative; you’re essentially in control of the story, and the film. When you get to DRAWING RESTRAINT 9, where do you find your own story, given the complexity of reconciling your aesthetic language within a shared other culture?
MB: Just before DRAWING RESTRAINT 9, I had done a kind of takeover of a cinema in Brixton [a district in London, Ritzy Cinema] and there we cast a five-ton petroleum jelly form in the lobby. That casting was made with the intention of it collapsing under its own weight. It was a difficult thing to calculate at that scale, and the casting literally obliterated the lobby. I mean it really couldn’t contain or support its own weight, so as soon as the walls of the mold came off, the form just expanded and went from wall to wall in the cinema. We ended up having to use an alternative entrance just to get people into the cinema to see the films. So, on some level it was a kind of a failure of an installation, but it was exciting—very exciting to me as a material problem.
When I was traveling in Japan and looking around, that was on my mind, and as I started exploring the whaling industry and looking more into the kind of material problems that whalers are faced with, I started conflating those two conditions. The body of a whale on the flensing deck of a ship, once you open up the skin, there’s all of this mass and weight—the blubber has to be dealt with. And so a factory ship where a whale body is being processed out on the ocean—all of the equipment installed on the deck is designed to deal with that problem. That was the first condition of DRAWING RESTRAINT 9—to make a large petroleum jelly casting at sea, on the flensing deck, and use the whaling equipment on board to deal with that material.
AS: I imagine the bureaucracy around the Nisshin Maru ship is pretty intense—how did that become possible?
MB: I did it together with Yuko Hasegawa, and there were many meetings and many rejections from the whaling association, and we just kept presenting it from slightly different angles, and suddenly an opportunity opened up. I have to say, in retrospect, it was surprising that we were able to pull that off. It probably took a year and a half or something like that. I remember at the time thinking that so much of the preproduction had been devoted to that kind of bureaucratic situation that it was starting to affect the film—which was frustrating, but ultimately really worth waiting for.
AS: Back to Brixton: I see parallels in how you disrupt access to the cinema based on the unruliness of the sculpture and what’s taking place on the Nisshin Maru too, you know?
Yeah, that cinema installation was made during the time period of the CREMASTER Cycle survey. It was a project with Artangel, along with a presentation of the five films at the Ritzy Cinema in London, so it was truly about presenting the Cycle, but it was also about trying to create a character that I thought was very present in the Cycle film narratives, but absent from the sculpture. And that would be the character of entropy—I wanted to make a piece that was more nonobjective—to be more or less formless in its demolded state. There’s an aspect to CREMASTER that functions that way for me—although it crystallizes into these five discrete narratives, the work itself is more formless, and at that point in time I felt it was important to express that sculpturally. After watching the Cycle exhibition travel and seeing the way the sculptures were operating in that show—as characters, so to speak—it did feel like there was something missing to me.
AS: It could be said that there’s progressively less restraint throughout the Drawing Restraint series—that the early actions exhibit patent limitation and then develop to multimedia, multi-locational, multi-situational narratives. Does that reflect something of what’s going on in the series?
MB: Well, I think the Drawing Restraint 7 (1993) was obviously a real pivoting point for me—to make a work in the Drawing Restraint language that functioned more narratively and involved other actors. It was less direct in its relationship to mark making within a kind of restraint situation or a condition of restraint. It was carried out narratively and through a set of more psychological questions. So too was DRAWING RESTRAINT 9 in that way, within the kind of filmmaking language that I had developed through CREMASTER; I wanted to understand if, in fact, a DRAWING RESTRAINT could be a feature film.
AS: In the meantime, are you considering future Drawing Restraints? Or is this occupying all of your creative thought?
MB: I had made Drawing Restraint 8, which was a sequence of erotic drawings that were on some level a kind of development for DRAWING RESTRAINT 9, although I don’t think I realized it at the time. That would have been 2003, and so it had been some years since the DRAWING RESTRAINT 7 production. I was definitely in the mood to make DRAWING RESTRAINTs but waited until the feature film was complete before making a kind of flurry of them during the tour of the Drawing Restraint survey show.
AS: Including performing one in each venue: Kanazawa, Seoul, and San Francisco ...(*1)
MB: That’s right.
AS: I recently watched DRAWING RESTRAINT 9 again—what a pleasure. In a way the film feels rigid because it’s built around singular but connected Japanese ceremonies: food preparation, traditional clothing, tea ceremony. My own experience in Japan is there’s a real rigor to how those practices unfold.
The ritual-driven narrative feels overwhelming because it’s impossible to sustain, and I’m wondering if this is intended conceptually, or is it a byproduct of the kind of projects that you’re describing?
MB: In that culture there are such great examples of how action can be imbued into form through ritual, and so too can belief be invested into form, and I find that very interesting. I’ve always looked for ways of bringing narrative into form and I think that ritualized action is often a useful way of doing that, and one that I’ve certainly used over the years. However, I think the general approach I’ve made with narrative or site is that these are temporary conditions for the work, and that if you consider the work as a kind of guest, the guest needs a host body, and that’s a temporary relationship. The work needs to develop and it needs to move on and find a new location and a new narrative, a new site, and so DRAWING RESTRAINT 9 is in many ways about that condition, about the temporary nature of that relationship.
AS: Like the film’s climax, where the two guest characters morph into whales and are released to the sea.
So, if you’re pushing action into form and then responding to how you capture that form, do you then perform action in response to how you documented that action in the past?
MB: I think with experience one becomes more economical. When I go into a moving-image work now, I go knowing what I need photographically out of it. For example, when a set or a situation is being built, I’m thinking about where the camera is going to be placed. I didn’t do that when I was younger: I constructed sets in the round, built the entire space and decided where to put the camera. Before, I didn’t have the experience to think about it in that way.
AS: You are now producing less photography as artwork. When did that shift come about?
MB: I think the easiest way to talk about it is that I felt like the sculpture and the moving-image work, the drawing, the performance—those forms were all developing and existing with a similar kind of agency, in that they had in themselves a kind of quality of, let’s say, a kind of resistance to the world, and in part their content has to do with the process of how they were made. I never felt that way about the photography. I think the photography felt like it had been stolen from these other forms. So I always had a kind of troubled relationship to it, although at times it felt very important to me. I even resented it because it was so easily captured.
AS: It’s curious that you would have that feeling with the photography, as opposed to making a film and then trying to control how that film goes out into the world. You have much more control over the photographs, how they’re framed, presented, grouped, spaced. Does photography end up feeling static in the context of everything else that’s going on?
MB: I think that’s its value, actually—it crystallizes the narrative in one moment or in one character or one relationship. That was very useful, especially in a system as sprawling as CREMASTER, for example. I think the photography in the CREMASTER Cycle is very useful in that way.
AS: I find the photo suites in Drawing Restraint 9 map a plot sequence that would otherwise be more fleeting—they ground the project.
In regard to the title of the sculpture at McCaffrey, vitrines and cabinets feature strongly in your sculptural language; could you speak specifically to The Cabinet of Nisshin Maru?
MB: For several projects, I’ve made what I called “character vitrines,” which distill elements from the narratives. These vitrines serve both as portraits of certain characters in the films and also to create a connection between character and place. The Cabinet of Nisshin Maru functions as a character vitrine for DRAWING RESTRAINT 9, which is particularly fitting, as the ship was both site and character.
AS: The latest film REDOUBT has strong ties to DRAWING RESTRAINT, but is also a stand-alone endeavor. Do you think that the Drawing Restraint projects will become more autonomous?
MB: Not necessarily. I feel at this point there’s a broader range of possibilities. The Drawing Restraints that were made during the RIVER OF FUNDAMENT exhibition tour (*2), for example, were quite direct. A group of women dragged and pushed a block of graphite through the galleries and made a kind of hemisphere line around the surrounding walls of the exhibition, and it was nothing more than that, really.
AS: And very much in the language of the earlier Drawing Restraints, a residual mark noting a private action.
MB: You know, it took some time for me to get to the point where I felt I could make a Drawing Restraint that I wasn’t involved in as a character. Those works were a hybrid of sorts, and moving forward, the series will continue to pull on the range of possibilities of the different types of Drawing Restraints I’ve made.
AS: It’s interesting to think about that in the context of the exhibition at Fergus McCaffrey in Tokyo, looking at Carolee Schneemann, Min Tanaka and Kazuo Shiraga—their bodies are literally in the work. How familiar are you with the other artists in the show?
MB: Certainly more so with Schneemann, and to a lesser extent Tanaka.
AS: Had you seen footage of Milford Graves’ collaboration with Min Tanaka in Japan?
MB: No, not until Jake Meginsky’s documentary (*3)—it is tremendous, very beautiful.
The Butoh language had been present for me in a general way when I was making the silent out-of-body work in the early ’90s, and although my sources and the tone of the work were much more to do with athleticism and the language of broadcast sports, Butoh was an important touching point in terms of the way the body was being presented—particularly in the Jim OTTO works.
MB: I saw a live work when I first moved to New York, at PS 122, which was certainly however many generations separated from the original gesture. I was also looking at photographs of things that existed in real-time form. So yeah, I would say my relationship to Butoh during that time was as a generalist at best.
AS: In 2006, renowned dancer/choreographer William T. Forsythe described you as a “superior choreographer in every sense” (*4). How do you feel about being called a choreographer?
MB: I’ve always felt there was a strong relationship to dance in the work I was making, and I think it has to do with the way that the narratives depend so much on the relationship between the body and gravity and movement, and for the most part function without text. I feel the overlap has always been natural in terms of working with dancers, directing dancers, and speaking with choreographers—there’s a strong crossover there. My first ventures into working specifically with dancers were really about the mass ornament forms of the 1930s musical—the Rockettes (CREMASTER 1, 1995)—which is really a different kind of thing. But working with those performers felt so familiar to me in terms of the way of one who has a relationship to the body as a tool. There’s a kind of ease I find when working with dancers in terms of directing them, in that I have a similar relationship to my own body that they have with their bodies—it immediately makes the conversation much easier. I still find it quite challenging to work with actors who are looking for a different kind of motivation than a dancer is.
AS: Is the development of that kind of direction an elaboration on athletic routines and systems? Are they one and the same? There doesn’t seem to be a hierarchy in terms of how you talk to a dancer, or direct professional fighters, or organize musicians to move in a particular order to affect sound—
MB: —all of that is choreography, for sure.
AS: When you saw the Kazuo Shiraga painting in the exhibition at McCaffrey in New York, Japan Is America, did you pick up on his body in that painting? Do you see him suspending himself from a rope? Does it matter?
AS: He did perform sometimes in front of an audience, for example with Challenging Mud (1955). Obviously, there’s a difference between that and how it feels to capture a private action and present it afterwards. For Carolee Schneemann, of course, it was very different—all of those drawing variants were in public with the exception of the one in the McCaffrey exhibition, her last, which she made privately in her in her studio.
Could you talk about the difference between a public performance and filmed private action? Why film the Drawing Restraints privately?
MB: I’ve always had an interest in creating a point of view. The first Drawing Restraints that use the language of athletics and sports broadcast were performed in real time and edited. They were performed with the intention of creating a mediated experience through video. It was always important to me—and not just as a way of carrying forward an artistic practice and having something to show for it. It was the beginning of this way of thinking about a mediated experience and how that functions in sports, how that functions in the body performance that I was exposed to as a young artist and building out from there.
AS: So in terms of the Drawing Restraints—essentially that’s what they are, action and broadcast film, as opposed to, for example, Schneemann’s performance and artifact drawing. Do you want to speak to the parallels between your work and Schneemann’s?
MB: The piece that was really influential for me is Interior Scroll(1975), and I think, like Butoh, it was a way of understanding how the body could be used in performance, but more importantly how that could become narrative. Most time-based examples I think of from that period are not narrative—they tend to be, you know, like Chris Burden’s work, or [Bruce] Nauman. The idea of a text being pulled out from an interior place was very powerful for me in that way. At the time I encountered that piece, I was definitely interested in telling stories and trying to figure out a way to merge my interest in object making and bringing my body as an athletic body into sculpture-making practice.
AS: When is the Hayward Gallery exhibition(*5) set to open, now that it was postponed from 2020 due to COVID?
MB: We’re scheduled to open in May.
AS: REDOUBT was screened in Japan once. Are we going get to see the film tour here?
MB: Up to this point I have presented all of my films in Tokyo, and I’d like to believe we can show this one there too. We’ve been waiting for the possibility to show it on a big screen, without the restrictions that everybody’s dealing with now, so we’re just trying to be patient.
*1──DRAWING RESTRAINT exhibition tour 21st Century Museum of Contemporary Art, Kanazawa, Japan, July 2- August 25, 2005; Leeum, Samsung Museum of Art, Seoul, Korea, October 13, 2005 – January 8, 2006; San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, USA, June 23 – September 17, 2006; Serpentine Galleries, London, England, September 20 – November11, 2007; Kusthalle, Vienna, Austria, March 7 – June 8, 2008 *2──RIVER OF FUNDAMENT exhibition tour Haus der Kunst, Munich, Germany, March 17 – August 17, 2014; Museum of Old and New Art, Tasmania, Australia, November 22, 2014 – April 13, 2015; Museum of Contemporary Art, Los Angeles, California, USA, September 13, 2015 – January 18, 2016. *3──Jake Meginsky and Neil Young, Milford Graves: Full Mantis (2018), sound and color, 1:31:00. *4──Quoted in Maggie Nelson “On Porousness, Perversity, and Pharmocopornographia: Matthew Barney's OTTO Trilogy,” (Yale University Press, New Haven, CT 2016). *5──REDOUBT exhibition tour Yale University Art Gallery, New Haven, Connecticut, USA, March 1 – June 16, 2019; UCCA, Beijing, China, September 28, 2019 – January 12, 2020; Hayward Gallery, London, UK, May 19 – July 25, 2021.