Chinese Whispers

Andreas Gedin is an artist and a freelance curator as well as the editor for M, Moderna Museets Vänners Tidskrift [Journal for the Friends of Moderna Museet, transl. note]. His work "Chinese Whispers" has been on show at UKS in Oslo and at Gallery Index in Stockholm. "Chinese Whispers" will also be on tour to Åbo in Finland, Thessaloniki in Greece and is included in a big exhibition at Ikon Gallery in Birmingham, U.K, which will tour through out Europe.
Niclas Östlind is the head of the Gävle Art Centre and the editor of the journal Hjärnstorm [Brainstorm, transl. note].

Read the Swedish version of this text

"Chinese Whispers" by Andreas Gedin is an advanced work, both technically and logistically, in a strikingly sophisticated, even elegant form. The artist contacted ten people around the world and organised, over the phone, a whispering game sometimes known as Chinese Whispers, in which a message is transferred from one person to the next and then to the next, and so on. In that process, for different reasons, the message is transformed. The participants were in the following places: Stockholm, Thessaloniki, Tokyo, Sydney, Brasilia, New York, Dijon, London, Aarhus, Stockholm. At their disposal were two separate telephone lines, both open at the same time, and therefore they could maintain one line open over the globe. The text that was "whispered" over the world consisted of a number of funny stories which were read in English, one sentence at a time.

The first and the last person in the chain were filmed and these films are the core of the exhibition. The filming took about 100 minutes to do, and the resulting two films, synchronised and cut, are 40 minutes long. After the first person, located in Stockholm, has uttered a sentence, the distorted version, filtered through eight persons, is repeated on a different monitor by the last person in the chain. The other eight participants have also been filmed and are shown on separate monitors.

The planning process of this work was very extensive. The correspondence - the letters, the e-mails, the fax messages - has been copied on coloured paper, where each participant has been assigned a distinct colour. These sheets of paper have been organised into a flowchart on the wall.

Niclas Östlind: In a minute we’ll discuss your latest work "Chinese Whispers", but I wanted to start off by describing a story that tells a lot about your art. When I was working at Moderna Muséet and was to assign an accession number to your work "A5", there arose some difficulties. The work was acquired in the mid-90’s by the then president of the Photographic museum (confusingly enough a part of Moderna Muséet). However, since it didn’t contain any photographs, but is instead an object made of wax and with a text printed on Perspex, it couldn’t be incorporated into the photograph collection. The department of painting and sculpture wasn’t very acquainted with your works, given that what you do normally is characterised as photography. Eventually, however, it was decided that the right home of the work was the collection of paintings and sculptures. There is good reason to claim that you - as do many contemporary artists - make life hard for those assigned the job of classifying art! There are several factors that combine to make it hard to assign one single label to your works: I’m thinking mostly of the editorship at the M magazine and the fact that you recently were the curator for the group exhibition "As if you really mean what you say". These are tasks that, I presume, are close to your own artistry. My initial question concerns the artist role, which has gone through a number of changes from the romanticist worship of the divinely inspired and frequently misunderstood genius; I’m wondering what it means to you to work as an artist. What are your views on being an artist?

Andreas Gedin: First and foremost I try to keep as free a relationship as possible to the notion of the artist. One of the advantages of being an artist is that you to a relatively high degree can do as you please. Obviously, you’re restricted by the times you’re living in, economy, etc., but I feel that you should let artists do whatever they like and call it art. But then you have to consider the work on its own. You say that it’s hard to classify me and my artistry. I recognise the question. As you point out, it’s common for contemporary artists to be more undefined than earlier ones. In my case I think that to a large extent it’s due to the fact that I early on decide to avoid the art schools. After a couple of years at a preparatory art school I’d had enough with still lifes and model studies, and that was basically the only way to get into Mejan, which was closest at hand in my case. This has had its consequences, for good and for bad. On the one hand you lose out on parts of art history and artist connections, but on the other you get an opportunity to try other types of education and jobs, which is one of the explanations to my work. For instance, I have a BA in philosophy and literature where I wrote a term paper on the romanticist poet Erik Johan Stagnelius and his perception of art and being an artist, as it was expressed in his poetry. That was a study of the role of the artist which is quite different from the one done by art school students.

Since art schools have_had a specific idea about the artist as a lowbrow, unintellectual, artists who aren’t educated at art schools normally become more intellectually oriented than the others. In M magazine I’m secretly working for a perception of the artist as a non-idiot. I do that, for instance, by bringing in other artists to write for the magazine. I detest the common conception of the artist as a genius, the flower in the field that critics, curators, art-gallery owners and others "discover" and pick. In writing, curating exhibitions and so on, I’m also expressing my wish not to be a shy violet waiting for the right person to pick me.

NÖ: Behind your sophisticated, economical works of art - "Chinese Whispers" is a supreme example - there’s often a story in the shape of a journey - geographical or temporal -, and a complicated piece of machinery - technically as well as logistically. It’s hard not to see this as an essential part of the work, and in this you have a lot in common with conceptualism: above all I’m thinking about the importance given in your artistry to language, the relationship between image and text, and linguistic displacements and ambiguities. The art movements that are more strictly based on ideas have, for several reasons, not had a prominent place in Sweden. I assume you’ve pondered this, and I’d very much like to know how you see the conceptual movement. I’d also want you to elaborate on the notion of art that you work with.

"I developed a conceptual relationship to my work thanks to the breakthrough of postmodernism. Suddenly it was possible to use the head and not only the hands."

AG: Yes, it is indeed strange how little importance the conceptual movement has had in Sweden. This is probably due to our anti-intellectual tradition, be it the Swedish pulpit version of modernism or the authoritarian politicisation of art in the 70’s. A contemporary colleague of mine, who I nonetheless respect, said the other day, with complete naturalness and in disgust: "I don’t intend to interpret my own art". But why not? Why shouldn’t the creator of the work, as well as other knowledgeable persons, have a right to interpret his work? Another gifted colleague recently told me that you shouldn’t be "too manifest". But this fear of "saying too much" can only be generated by a personal distrust of the work. Instead, I often try to "say too much", be overexplicit. There’s a certain sense of humour in this, but also a wish for the work not to become obscure. These past few years I’ve deliberately worked towards eliminating the unnecessary gaps where the observer can step in and interpret freely. I’m not overly fond of art that’s made up of a sort of humanistic gesture, "fine art", which entails no responsibility whatsoever but works fine to sigh blessedly at. Instead, I try to push the work to an extreme, to simply make it as good as possible. I think that in this extreme condition, a qualitative leap is possible, the work is transformed. That the (quasi-)rational becomes something which resembles surrealist or concretist art, but without the contents being lost in the process, as if someone suddenly would launch into a tap dance. For real, no joke. This isn’t always a very welcoming method, and it can probably seem a bit provocative to some. On one hand, my art is often very direct, the idea is obvious to anyone. On the other, in order to get further, the observer must plunge into the work on its own terms. In this there’s a will for the works not to be passive objects to the observer, but instead that they have their own will, that they are subjects. At times my works may seem closed or self-sufficient, but I don’t think they are. Often, for example, there’s a level of humour. I prefer to see my works as being not ingratiating but independent.

I developed a conceptual relationship to my work thanks to the breakthrough of postmodernism. Suddenly it was possible to use the head and not only the hands. As early as 1987 I did the background work on "Stockholm - Beijing". To me, that project is still important. I realised that I could combine my interest in ideas, literature and art in artistic work. But where I feel most at home is the freedom, relatively speaking, that followed the postmodernist breakthrough. For natural reasons, the purely postmodernistic art tended to become overly programmatic. Obviously, ideas are what interest me the most, but I very much enjoy working with my hands, painting included. In the cases where the work is practical it’s part of the work. But painting doesn’t interest me per se. For example. Paradoxically enough, I’ve been strongly influenced by analytical philosophy even though I don’t really like it: my artistic activity has a speculative side to it that goes completely against that philosophical branch. I studied philosophy at the university for a couple of years. That learned me to sort notions and to ask critical questions, but also that the Department of Philosophy was narrow-minded and provincial. I realised also that the prevailing, tiresome rhetoric wasn’t for me. But it was fun to study epistemology, the theory of knowledge, above all as a history of philosophy. An abundance of interesting questions and heaps of strange and unsuccessful answers. Maybe my work is pre-Socratic in nature. I feel at home in their grave naivety.

NÖ: Now I want to return to talking about the relation between idea and visual presentation. I see that as one of the most difficult problems faced by conceptual artists. How important are the formal aspects of your works to you? Please use "Chinese Whispers" as a concrete example.

AG: I peel away everything that's not necessary. My objective is to be as precise as possible (and here aesthetics and ethics meet). I have every bit of understanding for Lawrence Weiner when he, instead of making a work, describes it in words and puts the text on the museum wall. He has pushed his idea to an extreme. It might not look all that interesting from a distance, but the work may still be good. This is a matter of personal taste and it doesn't cause me any problems. Or take Yves Klein's empty gallery. If you fail to see the poetry and the grandeur in it, you've missed something quite essential. On the contrary, I often feel that art made to be "experienced" may be poor, and that it is there that the real problems are. It is relatively common for artists to use cheap decorations, such as a minimalist rhetoric, or that they cram a room full with objects without having one single interesting idea. It's strong visually, but completely meaningless.

As far as "Chinese Whispers" is concerned, there is above all a visual element in it, about 140 sheets of paper in different colours. (It's a schematic image of my letters, e-mails and fax contacts throughout the planning of the project). It's a combination of images and texts, as flowcharts often are. It's very precise, and that corresponds well to the planning process it describes. At the same time, these letters contain, if you look more closely at them, everything from formal aspects, funny conversations and jokes, to pure desperation when things didn't work out the way they were intended to. I also got to know some people by way of these letters. There are a number of stories there. I personally think it's beautiful, and that this duality with images and texts is interesting. The fact that the sheets of paper are in the colours of the map of the world has a point to it. For instance, my e-mails, fax messages and letters are all blue, the colour of the ocean, since the predominant part of the Earth is covered by water. The exhibition also has a spatial aspect to it that isn't only visual; you step into the work, are surrounded by the coloured sheets and the mumbling from the television screens.

NÖ: With its word plays and sophisticated sense of humour, "Chinese Whispers" is thoroughly characteristic of you, and just as was the case with, for instance, "Self-portrait / Phantom image" and "Ageing" (1994), you’ve involved several other persons who contribute to or participate in the creation of the work of art. It’s possible to describe your art in terms of relations, but more so when it comes to the making than to the watching, where a more traditional situation prevails. When one thinks of the technical, social, geographical and temporal bases for "Chinese Whispers", it’s easy to feel a bit faint. How has it all been done - from the first idea to the final work? I’m sure you also have a special relationship to the techniques used; what can you tell me about that?

"Later I added the omnipotent aspect, that the participants formed a ring around the Earth (a ring game). I did this because the idea of embracing all, and ideas of the whole, and also the failures they carry with them, interest me a lot. This may be seen as an infantile trait, but at the same time it connects to some of the corner stones of art: communication, games, and a wish to dominate."

AG: Often I work excruciatingly slow. In 1991 I started working on "People in Landscapes", which is a kind of translation relay. I took a section from a poem by Tranströmer, learned that it had been translated into French, took the French translation of the section to an English translator and said that it was a French work. Then I continued with a vast number of new and recurring languages. It hit me that this resembled Chinese Whispers, and wrote a short article on it when the project was published in Dagens Nyheter [the largest Swedish daily, transl. note] in 1992. At one point I needed to get the text translated into English, and by coincidence I hired a translator who wasn’t all that experienced. Instead of calling the whispering game "Chinese Whispers" he used the less common "To Play the Telephone". This stuck with me. I pondered it for about a year. I’ve often used literalness in my works, and I did the same this time. Granted, the denomination "To Play the Telephone" is a metaphor, but I chose to interpret it literally, naively, or in other words that the game was supposed to be played over the phone. This behaviour of not understanding metaphors is common among people suffering from autism, but at the same time it is the kind of language destruction that the talkative Groucho Marx pursued. I don’t know what conclusions should be drawn from this.

In any case, that was the incentive. Later I added the omnipotent aspect, that the participants formed a ring around the Earth (a ring game). I did this because the idea of embracing all, and ideas of the whole, and also the failures they carry with them, interest me a lot. This may be seen as an infantile trait, but at the same time it connects to some of the corner stones of art: communication, games, and a wish to dominate. A year or so earlier, for instance, I reproduced in painting a book, letter by letter. I entered the times that I worked into the diary that made up the book. So it wasn’t a matter of performing a feat but of a process in which I measured my time with that of the diary writer, life matched to life. I can see why you should feel faint by "Chinese Whispers", I’d even say that I’m glad to hear it. This aspect of being "too much" is obviously a part of it. I wanted to push the idea of a whispering game to an extreme. I’m not interested in winning the World Art Championships, as some male artists are.

It took me quite a while to decide on what kind of text was to be read. I wanted a communicative text, one that’s clearly directed from one person to another. For a long time I thought about using letters. But in the end I realised that I should use funny stories, in part because I love them personally, and in part because they have such an apparent communicative force. They’ve been made to be told, and they are spread in a way resembling Chinese Whispers. By word of mouth, as it were.

In the autumn of 1996 I started planning the practical aspects of the project. This went on, with increasing intensity, up until May the following year, when the actual event took place. Later that same year I edited, with some help, the two most important tapes - the first and the last - and eventually received further help for the synchronisation of the other eight tapes. The first version was exhibited in Oslo in the beginning of 1998. In the spring the eight tapes were synchronised once more. All in all, the practical aspects of the work lasted a year and a half. But it took a lot longer if you include the planning I did in my head.

It occurred to me that "Chinese Whispers" resembles a play. First I took a script written by someone else (a number of funny stories), then I brought in an ensemble (the participants around the world) and instructed them carefully. When the event took place, the show - the whole project - was left to them. The director had to stand by and watch, in a cold sweat, keeping his fingers crossed.

NÖ: Since I’m at the head of the Art Centre in Gävle, I know that you’ll have a major exhibition there in early 2001. Could you tell me what you’re doing right now, and what exhibits await?

AG: "Chinese Whispers" was recently exhibited at Galleri Index in Stockholm and will now continue to Åbo and Thessaloniki. In the autumn it will be a part of a large exhibition at the Ikon Gallery in Birmingham that later on will tour Europe. Also in the autumn there’ll be an exhibition at Stockholm’s Enkehuset in which I am both the curator and a participant. It’s called "As if you really mean what you say" and a first version of it was on exhibit at CCS in Paris earlier this year. I’m also working on a new project, which naturally contains text, but not that many words. That too requires a certain amount of travel. I’ll be exhibiting it at Bildmuséet [The Image Museum, transl. note] in Umeå. Part of that is an older joint project, and some works by living and dead Swedish and foreign artists. Or, to put it simply, it will be a large installation. And this is, once again, an "impure" activity.