ROXANE LATRÈCHE (L) : Many of your works are open to the public. How did you come to work with art in public space and art in an architectural context?
ROLAND FUHRMANN (F) : I realised my first permanent in situ art installation in an office building in Halle/Saale while I was still a student. At 17 metres high, the kinetic installation Lichtbegegnung (light encounter) pierces the entire office building vertically, disregarding hierarchies, from the underground car park to the executive floor. In the meantime, sitespecific works dominate my work. House-high installations, sixty-metre-long or six-metre-high landscape sculptures weighing several tons are just as much a part of my work as tiny miniatures that enter a space kinetically and acoustically. Art in buildings offers me great spatial freedom, allowing me to work in completely different dimensions. But the most interesting point about art in public space is that it is open and freely accessible to everyone. It is the democratic idea of the ‘non-museum’, the everyday and immediate confrontation and communication with an audience that happens to stumble upon the art and may be open to interact with it.1
L : You grew up in Dresden. To what extent and how do your East German origins and educational back- ground feed into your work?
F : In the GDR, art often carried a message for dissident opinions disguised as art. This ambiguity, charged with hidden content and meta-levels, still shapes my work as an artist today.
On the other hand, there were also more tangible influences. I started as a toolmaker in the Dresden camera industry. Since then, ingenuity and technical precision have always been present in my work.
From there it was not far to the lightweight aluminium structures of Zeppelin airships which I admired as a child. They became another important influence in my artistic work. The lightweight construction of their aluminium framework anticipated the idea of ‘volume instead of mass’ and ‘less is more’ in Bauhaus modernism. Like symbols of the artistic process of creation itself, they oscillate between exhilarating success and grandiose failure at the highest level. To this day, Zeppelins have been appropriated and transfigured. In the sculpture 30 Seconds I addressed this theme directly.
For the artistic basics and techniques as well as my academic art studies, I have the Burg Giebichenstein Kunsthochschule in Halle an der Saale to thank; for art theory and intellectual influence, it was the École Nationale Supérieure des Beaux-Arts in Paris, and in particular my teachers there, Christian Boltanski and Tony Brown. Students from all over the world made Paris a melting pot of creativity, which made a very inspiring atmosphere for me. In retrospect, I feel that this mixture was very fortunate.
L : Architecture is an essential factor in your research, and part of your artistic work. Why is that so?
F : As the son of an architect, I think I was born with this perspective. Inspiration for a new, site-specific work is drawn from the place itself, its conditions, its possibilities, but also its limitations. Feeling oneself into places and spaces, whether inside or outside, is a prerequisite, alongside an overall connection to space and the coherent integration of the artwork into a space. In the best case, a Gesamtkunstwerk will be the result. Then, the architecture appears to have been created for the work of art and not vice versa. One example is Spectral Symphony of Elements. This installation was created for an otherwise unfortunate, long, black-grey shaft that resulted from a second construction phase of the building. For my artwork, however, it was a stroke of luck in which the elements literally came together. In the new building housing the restoration workshops of Potsdam’s Foundation of Prussian Palaces and Gardens, for example, I created ‘uncoverings’ of wall paintings in the staircases – which were, of course, never there. They give the rooms a kind of history and lend them a special aura. The installation Freilegungen (‘uncoverings’ in German) is also a critique of the ‘faithful’ reproduction of lost architectural monuments and asks a very important question of art: original or fake?
Architecture and construction history in themselves are also themes in my research, as the following example shows. My initial incidental interest in the outmoded, streamlined form of the Dresden airship hangar built in 1913 developed over the years. It grew into a scientific project involving transatlantic research that occupied me for years, and then culminated in an unplanned doctorate. It was then published, followed by an exhibition and a video work.1 It was not important to me whether this was still art or not.
In general, history is a huge source of inspiration for my work, and by this I very consciously don’t just mean art history.
L : Some of your artworks are literally in motion and technically sophisticated. Can you elaborate on this aspect?
F : The technical aspect has always been an important part of my art. Kinetic artworks are not inert: they are time-based, mobile, variable, flexible, reactive – they are living, whimsical creations. I use movement very sparingly in my works. In Stardust Trap, the dancing movements of dust particles in the air, which are otherwise invisible, are made visible by light from a laser. In Universitas, movement is slow, at the limit of perception. In Conflux, located in Malmö, movement appears unexpectedly, with long pauses. I use movement as a means of expression in order to get something moving mentally, too, to get the proverbial ball rolling. The movement of the artwork is transferred to the viewer; it provides food for thought, creates flexibility and, at best, helps to move, dissolve and reinterpret fixed convictions. I draw on our primevally learned reflexes from being both hunter and hunted, with an animal-like interest in everything that moves.
But there is also the reverse case. In the cinematographic sculpture 30 Seconds and the installation Treibender Rhythmus, I freeze movement, break it down into individual images that are simultaneously visible. This form of movement analysis creates amazing sculptural results.
L : Your works are often playful and involve puzzles, optical illusions and perceptual tricks. This is also reflected in many of the titles of your works, many using wordplay. Why is playfulness such a central aspect in your work?
F : My works are meant to raise questions rather than prescribe answers. How could that succeed better than by means of absurdity and a conundrum around form and content? When viewing habits are disrupted, for example by using the optical trick of anamorphosis in Roehren:der Hirsch (Roaring stag), viewers have to leave their comfort zone and search for the only possible viewing spot in order to see the image. Nothing is what it seems anymore. They literally lose the ground under their feet, as in my Seasickness Simulator. In this installation, created for an exhibition on a large boat on the river Spree in Berlin, a sense of travelling was nevertheless simulated during the standstill of Covid lockdown.
Through playful approaches and active involvement, self-perception changes, our curiosity is called upon and we open up. The engagement with the artwork is then a much more intense one. Humour also helps to reach the audience, to touch them emotionally.
L : Irony and absurdity appear again and again in your work. What can you express with this?
F : Humans are the result of errors of replication in evolution, if you like. For further development, mutations, the absurd, mistakes and miswirings are required. Only in this way can something new come into being. That’s how many scientific discoveries were made and that’s how many of my works of art are created. Irony is a similarly paradoxical means for seeing the world through different eyes. In my photo series Lapsus Linguae, only one letter is ‘wrong’ and yet it changes everything.
The artist Christian Boltanski – whom I mentioned earlier, my professor at the Paris Beaux-Arts – had a great influence on me. He took on very serious subjects and yet did so with a certain mischievousness. Absurdité was one of his favourite words. My interest in the philosopher Jean Baudrillard and his ‘precession of simulacra’ dates back to my time in Paris: simulation no longer refers to reality, but to the hyperreal, the anticipation of a possible reality that never existed in this form – in other words, an ironic version of reality.2 This has inspired a whole group of my works, such as the traffic jam simulator Stausi 1, the productivity simulator Prodsim and the already mentioned Seasickness Simulator.
L : Your art cannot be reduced to a single medium, material or form. How does this creative versatility reflect your vision as an artist?
F : My work is situated between science, technology, philosophy and art. The influences come from different directions, less from the art world itself. Sometimes a new idea occurs to me immediately and at other times it is a very long process. With new projects, I often start first by writing the concept, researching it, and only then do I start doing sketches. Sometimes practical tests and experiments are needed first to check whether the idea is at all feasible. The design phase is then done on the computer. Depending on the field of work, consultant engineers, scientists and experts are involved in the process. I usually make the models, prototypes and mock-ups myself. I outsource the execution to specialist companies, but keep the director’s baton in my hands, as it were.
The freedom to be versatile is a precondition for me. In my vocation as a visual artist, I see above all an opportunity for constant innovation. There must be room in the creative spectrum for new areas of research and interest, better still when it is outside the welltrodden paths of art. This blurring of boundaries broadens access and gives the audience more room for interpretation.
Nature, with its micro- and macrocosm, is of great importance to me as an inexhaustible source of inspiration for shapes, colours and sounds. These ideal solutions of nature, created over millions of years, are timelessly beautiful and cannot become obsolete. I try to bring them to consciousness and convey their value to others.
I see myself as a flâneur with an alert eye, open to new influences. My work is not primarily about being recognisable, or about style – the criteria of the art market. The Berlin artist Max Liebermann’s cheeky phrase has come down to us: ‘Style begins where talent ends’.
L : Humour and sarcasm, insolence and criticism, contemplation and empathy. What role do you think art plays in our society?
F : Art has the visionary potential to influence the zeitgeist; it confronts, refutes and can thus also initiate changes in society. The big issues of our crisis-ridden times such as climate, environment, species extinction, scarcity of resources, war and migration naturally also influence my work as an artist.
Exclusion is the theme of the mobile installation Fortification. The thermo-kinetic installation Thermochromatrix makes it clear what big effects a few degrees of temperature difference can have. The installation Ornisonorium makes the extinction and disappearance of songbirds visible by replacing them with sound-generating robots. Sustainable energy is used and thematised in many of my works. The installations Universitas and In Omnes Partes use solar energy. In the work Dynamographies, the photos are only visible when the viewers use crank inductors to generate ‘green’ electrical energy – that is, light.
L : Indeed. The topic of sustainability is on many people’s minds. What is your position on this as an artist?
F : Even before sustainability became a fashionable term, we artists have long been familiar with resource scarcity. Many of my artistic works consist of recycled components and upcycled salvaged materials. In my studio, I store electromechanical parts of long scrapped devices. I use them for prototypes, for models, but also for finished works. At the same time, their sheer ingenuity is often a great source of inspiration. I try to plan designs for new works as economically as possible in material terms. In my permanent works, materials are carefully selected according to environmental criteria and longevity. I am supported in this by my life partner, who works in the field of circular economy. These criteria are now also standard for art in public space.
In terms of design, I always aim for maintenance-friendly solutions. Art-in-architecture is, ideally, designed for an indefinite lifespan and is therefore more sustainable than temporary installations and exhibitions, for example, which are generally associated with high transport costs and waste. In fact, my viewers are usually already there, they are not coming specifically to see the works – so there are no additional transport impacts!
We accept the term ‘contemporary art’ and don’t even notice that it has an expiry date: this art must inevitably go out of fashion. I consciously try to avoid this. My works do not follow any current trends: I like to think they are universally valid and also address audiences of the future. That’s my way of interpreting and applying sustainability.
Actually, my longer-term photo/video project on the palombières phenomenon in south-west France is a really interesting example of sustainability. My work shows that these historic, towering dwellings, sort of ingenious, unique tree houses – some even including an elevator – can be built from recycled materials. I have been observing these structures for over ten years now and they are amazingly resilient. In these times, where people are signing up for prepping and survival courses, they are in a way very contemporary.
L : Against this background, what do you see as your main mission as an artist?
F : As an artist, one is often seen as a kind of seismograph of society. The landscape installation Zusammenhalt – in German this means ‘cohesion’, staying together – in Berlin’s Ministry of the Interior shows government officials the drifting apart of society in stark visual terms. The year following the work’s inauguration, the ‘cohesion of society’ was the central motif of the German government’s official declaration. Unfortunately, the social gap continues to widen.
The memorial Einschlüsse – wordplay in German, meaning both inclusions (mineralogy) and being shut in – against the politically motivated injustice of the post-war and GDR periods gives those who were arbitrarily convicted and executed a platform for their accusations and their yearning for freedom and justice. As I created this work, I particularly worked out the human aspect which is timeless and, today, once more painfully topical. I saw my artist role in the research, the selection and positioning. I merely hold the burning glass over history. I also see my role as a mediator, revealing, passing on and making visible, transformed of course by my subjective viewpoint.
Notes
1 See Roland Fuhrmann, Dresdens Tor zum Himmel – Die erste aerodynamisch geformte Luftschiffhalle und ihr Einfluss auf die Baugeschichte [Dresden’s gateway to the skies: the world’s first streamlined airship hangar and its influence on architectural history] (Dresden: Thelem, 2019).
2 For Baudrillard’s ‘precession of simulacra’, see Jean Baudrillard, Simulacra and Simulations (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1994 [1981]).
