Not a single iota of Laurie Anderson’s creative energy falls by the wayside. Since her beginnings in the New York art scene, every note, every brushstroke, every word, has become some part of her body of work. She once created a unique way to play vinyl records, too.
Through November 19, Ms. Anderson has a new multimedia show, called Forty-Nine Days in the Bardo, running at The Fabric Workshop and Museum in Philadelphia. The exhibit includes drawings, sculptures, projections, and sound made from media such as mud, foil, iron, chalk, and ashes. Laurie been engaging with her fans quite a bit lately on Facebook about this innovative show.
Ms. Anderson was gracious to take a moment out her schedule to chat with us about her vinyl playing inventions, her beloved dog reborn, her tenure at NASA, and what defines the art market.
Your artwork has included some unique vinyl playing inventions, particularly the viophonograph. Can you tell me a little bit about that?
Yeah, that was really like the first scratching instrument. I designed it in 1975. I just really love records. I wanted to sort of play the record player live, so I made this violin. It had a battery-powered turntable on it and a needle mounted on the bow in the middle. It played just 8 sustained notes per band, so you could scratch around. It sounded really intense, but it went through records really quickly. It’s a really great instrument that never caught on, I have to say.
It never caught on but was it more popular overseas or domestically? What was the response internationally?
Well, you know, it always was especially easier for me to work in Europe. Like the guys before, the Jazz Guys, who just went to Europe, the ex-pats. You go to places like Berlin and they just treat artists differently, and they still do.
“Hey, what do you wanna do, do you wanna work with the orchestra here?” And I was like, “Whoa!” So, I began most of my work around then—much in Europe. Because of that reason, you just didn’t have to plead with people. They were really happy that you were an artist. They wanted to do whatever they could to help you out.
The Sweetness of Music, 2011. Mud, clay, and ashes. 23” x 8” x 3”, 7lb 12oz.
It’s kind of a little bit easier here in the last few years, but it’s still—our version of that is extremely commercial. So you can be an artist and you know how to hock your stuff and promote yourself. You know, it’s not like European artists are better for that. Great American art gets produced anyway.
So, tell me a little bit about your show, your exhibit that’s going on in Philly right now. Thematically, what’s this exhibit about?
Well, it’s a bunch of big drawings and those are kind of like diaries in a way. It’s called ‘49 days in the Bardo,’ and the Bardo in Tibetan Buddhism is about the afterlife. It’s the time they believe that when after we die, there’s a period of 49 days to refresh your mind and resolve. And then somehow as they express, your energy is transmuted and you are a big part of another, like—let’s say, a being of some kind.
Lolabelle in the Bardo, 2011. Charcoal on paper. From series of ten 10’ 4” x 14’ 4” drawings.
So during this period your former self could become something completely different?
You could be a slave, you could be girl, you could be whatever. But you would be reborn in 49 days, so that’s what they believe.
And so when my dog, who was a really, really great dog, and great friend of mine died, I realized she would be reborn on my birthday—and, well a kind of like magic numbers thing or something happened. I kind of have to believe it’s a magic map, you know. It’s too weird to be coincidental.
So, anyway, I made a bunch of drawings of her in the Bardo. Almost like when William Blake tried to draw what heaven looked like, that kind of thing.
Lolabelle in the Bardo (detail), 2011. Charcoal on paper.
Do you think technology, which has enhanced art, ultimately sets boundaries on art?
I don’t think there are any boundaries on art, no. Every time someone sets [a boundary] an artist makes a new thing that’s outside the boundaries. I’m pretty sure everything will be called art. I mean, when I was working at NASA, the artist in residence, I realized they were basically doing giant art projects. You know, when they built the stairways in space or when they built life-like robots that go to Mars, to me that’s really well-funded art project.
Lolabelle in the Bardo, 2011. Charcoal on paper.
Were you trained as a musician or a fine artist?
As a kid for example, I was always writing, painting, playing music, goofing around, making up stories, making plays. I was that kind of kid that was restless and you know, nobody ever said to me, “Hey, what do you want to do when you grow up?” Nobody ever asked me that, so I never decided. I just did a lot of different things, and that was my training.
What’s your favorite instrument to play right now?
Let’s see, right now it’s the ocarina, the one you can play on the iPhone.
MakerBot Thin-O-Matic, 3D scans of a clay model of Lolabelle.
Do you identify as a multimedia artist?
When you call yourself a multimedia artist, nobody gripes when you do something out of your category. The truth is that a lot of artists kind of get their style—kind of do their style—and people analyze their style. It’s like, really boring. For myself, I just like, well, doing different things for myself and if you call yourself multimedia artist, people don’t question what you’re doing.
I said to a friend that I realized that I’m not part of the art world, I’m part of the art market. And so, one of the reasons that people are put into categories like sculpture or painting or whatever—it’s economics, so they can figure out how to market you. So, if that’s not your primary thing, then you just do a little bit of everything.
Fractured: Lola in the Night Sky (detail), 2011. Aluminum and light. 8’ x 14’.
Like any other field, whether you’re a scientist or computer programmer, you have to diversify.
Yeah, absolutely. A lot of programmers who I consider artists, are designing incredible systems and they’re looking at things in the physical world in different ways—and that’s what I call art.
Photos: Carlos Avendano | Portrait photo: Tim Knox | Violin photo: Cooper Holoweski | Bottom photo: Lou Reed
