‘Monster movie (also can be referred to as a creature feature or giant monster film) is a name commonly given to movies that centre on the struggle between human beings and one or more monsters. While there is no specific academic genre classification of that name, the term is usually applied to films sometimes labelled as horror, fantasy or science fiction genre that involve fictional creatures, in most cases it is applied to films that feature more oversized monsters despite its history starting with adaptations of horror folklore and literature.
‘The most common aspect of a monster movie is the struggle between a human collective of protagonists against one or more monsters, who serve as the antagonistic force. The monster is created by a folly of mankind – an experiment gone wrong, the effects of radiation or the destruction of habitat. Or usually the monster is from outer space, has been on Earth for a long time with no one ever seeing it, or released (or awakened) from a prison of some sort where is was being held.
‘In the 1950s, there arose a wave of “creature features” and the concept of combining nuclear paranoia with the genre. A parallel development during this era was the rise of the Z movie, films made outside the organized motion picture industry with ultra-low budgets. Grade-Z monster movies such as Plan 9 from Outer Space (1959) and The Creeping Terror (1964) are often listed among the worst films ever made because of their inept acting and amateurish special effects. After 1960, monster movies were less popular yet were still produced.’ — C.L. KIlarney
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The Astounding She Monster (1957) ‘The Astounding She-Monster is a movie for people with highly specialized tastes. It tells the story of a trio of kidnappers, their socialite victim, the geologist whose house they invade, AND a blond, radium-emitting alien in tight spandex who crash-lands her spacecraft near that same house. Potential viewers of this film must possess the following traits: They must love movies that are made on the supercheap, and that contain no outdoor synch dialogue; movies in which egregious day-for-night photography is used, worse than anything in “Plan 9,” and in which non sequitur music that bears little relation to the story is standard. These viewers should also be OK with inept direction; the insertion of long, meaningless shots; offscreen narration that sounds as if it’s being read by a hypnotized dodo; Grade Z acting by a six-person cast (well, maybe Robert Clarke gives a Grade D performance); and “special” effects that look as though they were filmed through a Vaseline-smeared camera lens. It also wouldn’t hurt if potential viewers didn’t mind scratchy-looking prints on their DVD, with abysmal sound that keeps dropping out, and with hardly an “extra” to be found. If the above seems to match your highly specialized tastes, then The Astounding She-Monster might be just the flick for you.’— ferbs54, imdB
________________ The Cosmic Monsters (1958) ‘The Cosmic Monsters was the onscreen title given to the American release (by Distributors Corporation of America) of the British science fiction film The Strange World of Planet X; title confusion invariably comes into play because in all of the advertising for this film, DCA called it Cosmic Monster instead. One of three British 1950s science fiction films to star American actor Forrest Tucker, it is the least known of the batch and is seldom revived. Generally considered a minor effort in the genre, The Cosmic Monsters is notable for its interesting premise, for a few effective shock scenes, and for being an across-the-pond cousin to the American “Big Bug” subgenre of science fiction movies. The giant ants, spiders, worms, etc. are all too obviously stock micro-cinematographic material; and the spectacle of the cast running in terror from them is a trifle absurd. Only a most unpleasant shot of an ant feeding off a human face makes the film unsuitable for younger audiences.’— TCM
___________________ Beast from Haunted Cave (1959) ‘This is one of those crooks-on-the-lamb-who-don’t-count-on-the-monster-outside the-cabin movies but with a difference. While most of these cheapo quickies never had much to start with, this little oddity is fun because you’re diverted from the trivial plot by acting and directing that’s edgier than you’d expect. MONTE HELLMAN directed this, his first picture, as though it were Key Largo rather than an ephemeral ROGER CORMAN horror flick. So even if you’re disappointed by the cave monster – which I was not – you’re hooked by the interplay between the hard-bitten gang leader (FRANK WOLFF who also starred in Radley Metzger’s The Lickerish Quartet), his cynical, world-weary girlfriend (SHEILA CAROL), and their wholesome, outdoorsy, back-country guide played by MICHAEL FOREST (Atlas). The ads promised: “Screaming Young Girls Sucked into a Labyrinth of Horror by a Blood-Starved Ghoul from Hell!” Said Ghoul from Hell is actually a giant spider monster that’s really more like an octopus covered with cotton candy which turns up in the darndest places.’— somethingweird.com
___________ The Giant Claw (1957) ‘In basic terms this film is your standard 50’s sci-fi/monster flick, but with one of the most asinine-looking monsters ever. It starts off quite promising but gradually begins to peter out until it finally reveals its terrible title creature. The performances by the actors may keep one interested, as they give it their all despite some truly off-putting dialog. Those looking for pure cinematic cheese will not be disappointed in this one, as both the monster and the miniature FX are truly a sight to behold in their godawfulness. Music is forgettable, but the endless cries of the big bird will haunt you long after this one is over. A beautiful mess. That is exactly what this film is. The producers try so hard to give us a frightfully good time, but the end result is just laughable. It’s so bad, that the years have garnered this movie a special reputation above and beyond other genre films from the same decade. Anyone calling themselves a fan of B-movies must see this film at least once, just to see how unintentionally comical it all is. The folks that don’t like older films or prefer a certain degree of realism in their films had better steer clear. This thing is about as far removed from reality as Tom Cruise jumping on Oprah’s couch. If you’re like me, you’ll love this film for it’s over the top cheeze factor.’— bmoviegraveyard.com
____________________ Teenagers Battle The Thing (1958) ‘A high school Biology class receives a visitor, who is a good friend of their teacher. He tells them of an encounter that he and their teacher had 15 years before while searching for Indian artifacts in the nearby mountains. They find a mummified corpse in a cave that resembles a rough-hewn statue. The mummy is brought back to their lodge and breaks out of its wrappings. It goes on a short rampage in what appears to be an orchard. The humans gather together to stop the creature before it can kill any one. The film was an expanded and colorized to become the 1972 film The Curse of the Bigfoot. The two stars from the original appear as adults in the opening scene of the 1972 film. The rest of Curse of Bigfoot consists of the entire 1958 film seen as a flashback.’— Wiki
___________ Robot Monster (1953) ‘The monstrous Ro-Man attempts to annihilate the last family alive on Earth, but finds himself falling for their beautiful daughter. Universally recognized by bad film connoisseurs, Robot Monster is one of the most poorly executed and hilariously awful films of all time, perhaps only second to Plan 9 From Outer Space in it’s infamy. You would think that Robot Monster would at least have some propensity for creating atmosphere. Considering that the plot, the acting and dialogue seem to be of little concern, it would only be reasonable that the focus of the film would be towards more of a feeling than a linear narrative. Yet atmosphere and scenery is arguably where Robot Monster fails most noticeably. Unless you have a penchant for piles of rocks and barren scrub-land brush, you could get better scenery by closing your eyes and putting up a camera at random. There are long moments of panoramic shots showing nothing more than our gorilla suited alien trudging up the scrubby mountain side to his cave, which only seems to emphasize that this is a portly fellow, bumbling along in a cumbersome costume for seemingly pointless footage.’— ericjant, imdB
_________________ The Giant Gila Monster (1959) ‘In The Giant Gila Monster, most of the plot is given over to a group of hot-rod enthusiasts, headed by nice-guy Chace Winstead (Don Sullivan), who sometimes breaks into song. Before long, the titular gila monster, which is just that — a real gila monster — is lumbering about on miniaturized sets terrorizing the community, killing at random, knocking over trains and barns, and in general making a nuisance of itself. When the monster threatens to devour Chace’s kid sister, he attempts to dispatch the beast with a hot rod full of nitroglycerin. Camp value is provided by a truckload of 1950s B-movie cliches and dreadful song breaks — “The Gila Monster Crawl” among other “rock & roll hits” — by its lead, Don Sullivan, who through this movie rose from nothing to complete obscurity.’— collaged
_____________ The Crawling Eye (1958) ‘Even before the success of Hammer films English moviemakers were trying to get a piece of the same boxoffice that Americans had tapped in fantastic science fiction stories. With a few exceptions, the attempts were pretty bleak. Another teleplay upgraded for the screen, as had been most of Hammer’s Sci-Fi features, this moody and ambitious chiller has one of those perfectly constructed stories. A chalet welcomes a host of shady scientists, psychics and a reporter who may be a spy. All are drawn for different reasons to a mountain where mountain climbers are disappearing, or getting their heads ripped off. The horror menace makes itself known through killings and also via the telepathic reception of a mind-reader. This puts the wonderfully expressive actress Janet Munro at the center of the drama, instead of making her a typical horror heroine who stands by to scream and be rescued. Her wide-eyed visions tell of unseen monsters, in nervous speeches that have the effect of a good ghost story.’— dvdtalk.com
__________________ Monster from Green Hell (1958) ‘They don’t really get much worse than Monster from Green Hell, a horrible, ludicrous “giant mutated insect” movie from 1958 that is strictly bottom of the barrel. Now, if you are in the right frame of mind, all this might mean that it’s just exactly what you’re looking for, because many people get a huge kick out of laughing at the absurdity of these low-budget monster flicks. Be advised, however, that while there is plenty to laugh at in Monster, there also is an incredible amount of dead space throughout the film. It seems that director Kenneth G. Crane had to pad the film out to meet a certain length requirement, and so there’s a lot of time when nothing really happens as our heroes journey through the jungle. Also, there’s a high percentage of stock footage, which doesn’t necessarily seamlessly match the actual “new” footage. And then there are the “special” effects. Aside from two — one in which a giant wasp is seen coming over a hill and another involving a wasp-python fight — the other effects are abysmal. (There’s where you get your yocks.) The cast is poor, with Jim Davis unbelievable as a scientist and Barbara Turner unappealing as the love interest. The script, by the way, is dreadful, in case you needed to be told.’— rovi
________________ The Magnetic Monster (1953) ‘Working for O.S.I., the Office of Scientific Investigation, A-Man agent Jeffrey Stewart and his partner Dan Forbes are sent to a local hardware store where they find a strong magnetic field has magnetized every metal item in the store. Investigating further, they eventually trace the source of the magnetism to an airborn flight carrying scientist Howard Denker, now dying of radiation poisoning, who has carted on board with him a new radioactive element which he has bombarded with alpha particles for 200 hours. The element, dubbed ‘serranium’ grows geometrically by creating matter out of energy which it absorbs from metallic objects surrounding it. The Magnetic Monster has a delightful gaffe in every scene. When a dangerous isotope is said to be ‘on the loose’, the police radio order goes out to SHOOT TO KILL … Shoot what exactly, they don’t say. This line could very well have been invented at the film’s mix, if the producer thought the scene needed an extra jolt. But despite the fact that Curt Siodmak cooked up Donovan’s Brain and personally invented a bona fide classic monster mythology, his ’50s sci-fi efforts strain credibility in all directions.’— classicmoviesez.com
________________ The Horror Of Party Beach (1964) ‘Radioactive waste dumped off the coastline creates mutant monsters. The beasts attack slumber parties, beaches, tourists, and terrorize a waterfront community as a scientist, his daughter, her boyfriend and the local police try to find a way to stop them. The slumber party massacre scene is the height of hideousness! genuinely unnerving. Filing alongside the aforementioned murder freakout in Night of the Living Dead. (Also, as a devotee of the harry smith folk anthology, I got really excited when I recognized them singing “The Wagoner’s Lad.”) but the body count in this movie! Lord! It puts the slasher cycle to shame.’— clare
_________________ The Beast of Yucca Flats (1961) ‘Coleman Francis’s The Beast of Yucca Flats is a monument to cinematic incompetence, routinely ranking among the worst movies ever made. Clocking in at a mercifully short but agonizingly slow 54 minutes, the film tracks a defecting Soviet scientist, played by 400-pound ex-wrestler Tor Johnson, who wanders into a nuclear test site and mutates into a lumbering madman. Because Francis shot the entire project completely silent to cut costs, the movie lacks synchronized audio or genuine character dialogue. Instead, viewers are subjected to post-dubbed grunt sound effects and an infamous, heavy-handed voiceover narration delivered by Francis himself. This narrator spits out utterly bizarre, repetitive, and nonsensical pseudo-philosophical phrases like “Touch a button… push a button… world ends.” Visually, the production is a disaster, featuring out-of-order sequences, a completely unrelated opening murder scene meant as drive-in bait, and a climax where a wild rabbit inexplicably sniffs the main character’s corpse.’— abcflicks
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p.s. Hey. ** A reader of this blog named C.L. Kilarney says they were inspired by last week’s Ishirō Honda post to counter-program with some low budget monster flicks from the distant days when American ingenuity had freer reign. And that’s your entertainment for today, and all thanks to our very generous and canny guest-host. ** Dominik, Hi!!! You bet, thanks, pal. Funny, it was a neighbor of mine who put that wish into love’s fertile mind. Sounds like an obnoxious form of pain that more than deserves love’s swift kick. Is it history or almost? Love insisting that you must be comically menaced by a monster on display today, but he’ll let you choose, G. ** jay, Hey, Jay! I’m good enough, thank you. I’m happy that the Warner novel spoke to you. Delicious prose, no? I did indeed read and really like ‘Erik Satie Three Piece Suite’. I just watched a documentary about Satie the other day. I can’t remember the title, but it was enlightening. Your musical strengths and weaknesses could play right into Satie’s hands if I’m interpreting him correctly. Go for it. Oh, lovely, thank you for the link. I will indulge very shortly. Everyone, Take a break from the monsters and go listen to the mighty Jay perform Chopin’s ‘Prelude in E Minor’ with his own two hands here. I have never listened to an audio book in my entire life. Seems weird, I know, but I’m wary for reasons I can’t completely explain. Makes sense as a soporific, though, yes. I hope yours gave you restfulness in a nutshell. xo. ** _Black_Acrylic, Yeah, ‘Seedbed’ was an eye, etc. opener for sure. Different world when artists could make work like that and a gallery would say, ‘Sounds good!’ ** Carsten, Hi. Congrats again. I’m heavily deadlining on a ‘deck’ that Zac and I having to make for possible investors, but I’ll luxuriate in your poem when my brain isn’t forced into work mode. Wow, nice photo. I vaguely remember it happening but not who the photographer was. Or where it was taken. The background rings a bell. Thanks. I ain’t nobody’s daddy, though, haha. ** laura w., Nice and convenient friend. October: The plan was to go to LA for the annual home haunt hunting and overindulgence, but the screening of ‘RT’ in London on Halloween killed that, heartbreakingly. Luckily Parc Asterix has a very good Halloween makeover with haunts and scare zones and stuff. I have a friend who works for Disney, so I’m going to see if she can get us discount hotels and park tickets in Orlando, so Zac and I might pop over there, but I kind of doubt that I can afford than even with the rate cuts. Autumn is going to let summer back in for a few days this weekend here, ugh, but hopefully that’ll be that. Enjoy the beginning. ** Adem Berbic, Well, gosh, thank you, man. Do sift to your imaginations content. ** Steve, I recently saw a friend I hadn’t seen in maybe 40 years, and it was like time hadn’t passed, etc., at least when we weren’t concentrating on our wrinkled visages. Hopefully you’ll have the same, but with far fewer wrinkles. Nothing has jumped out at me yet from l’Etrange’s schedule. It used to be much more varied. I mean, ‘Like Cattle Towards Glow’ premiered there, and now it wouldn’t have a shot. I’ll try ‘Ghost in the Cell’ then. Thanks. I didnt know Gerard Cosloy had a show. Huh, I’ll go find it, and thanks for that. ** HaRpEr //, There’s also the fact that ‘TGR’ and ‘PGL’ were shot in the same place, Cherbourg, although you would never know since we deliberately erased its seafront status. I too am among those who’ve never quite gotten the greatness of Kafka’s actual writing. Maybe I’ll try the diaries then. Thanks. ** Thom, Hi. Lyrics referencing George Miles would only be a total honor. Wow, that’s amazing. I want to hear that song when and where it gets real. Amy Grant super fan story: I’m down. I can’t begin to imagine it, which is obviously the best. My intro to ‘Mina Harker’ is no big deal. The press wanted it. Dodie and I both thought it was a boring idea. So my intro is just me kind of fulfilling the press’s demand. Big luck on your back. I’ve had a tricky back since I grew way too fast when I was about 11 yo, and it fucks up on me regularly, and back pain is no friend. ** Right. Go spend your day with the ridiculous monsters, thank you, and see you tomorrow.
I’ve struggled fairly hard since I began writing and reading seriously to reconcile my constant fascination with the art/ film/ music/ sculpture/ pop culture world with the mandatory study of literature. Since day one I felt insistent that my love for bands like Discharge or Bad Brains had to be just as valid an influence on my writing as Celine or even Chaucer, and yet for all that insistence it has remained an ever-present burden to figure out just how I could use these nonliterary (obviously it can be argued that everything is literary, but in the interest of time I hope you’ll accept the term in this context) media when the time came to sit down and write something.
Early on a big influence in this respect was Don DeLillo. For all his discussion of literature he was just as adamant that going to the movies in his late twenties was one of the most important art-centric activities in his entire life, and considering his propensity for bringing the art/film/music/etc. into his books, I’d say he’s likely correct.
Lately, and I’d say this no matter where this piece was posted, a great influence has been Dennis Cooper. As many followers of this blog/readers of Cooper’s know, film and high/low art and culture has remained a constant presence in his books, and it could be argued that alongside DFW and Bret Easton Ellis he’s one of the latter 20th century’s masters at making whatever he needs the stuff of literature. It’s because of writers doing this in the past that I’ve chosen to shirk the canon whenever it seems appropriate, and thus I’ve become fascinated with any number of visual artists, musicians, et al, and use their work constantly when thinking of new approaches to writing.
I’ve chosen to create a day for Vito Acconci because, along with Bas Jan Ader, and Bruce Nauman, Acconci’s work is a pretty constant presence in my life of late, and unlike the other two—one is generally reclusive, the other dead-ish (theories abound, I prefer to imagine Ader riding his sailboat on mars)—Acconci is fairly outspoken and hence there’s no shortage of fantastic material to share regarding his work. Furthermore, considering the personal end of this post, Acconci studied writing, and received an MFA from Iowa before getting into visual/ conceptual/ performance/ sculpture artworks, and I find the literary edge to his early stuff absolutely fascinating (and wish more writers could be so bold).
And so, without further ado, here is a smattering of material either by or related to Vito Acconci that moves me of late. I hope you enjoy.
Note: it is next to impossible to feature everything essential about this artist in a single post, and hence I’d like to think of it as a mere opening of a door into a seemingly inexhaustible mind.
SOME MOMENTS FROM ‘LANGUAGE TO COVER A PAGE’ (the early writings of vito acconci)
THROW (1969, Ink and pastel on painted foamcore with gelatin silver prints)
NOV. 22, 1969; CITY SERIES (1969, Typewriting on paper)
FOLLOWING PIECE (1969, Gelatin silver prints, chalk, and ink on index cards mounted to board)
SOME VIDEO TO MOVE FORWARD IN YEARS
‘CENTERS’ (1971, video)
“Pointing at my own image on the video monitor: my attempt is to keep my finger constantly in the center of the screen—I keep narrowing my focus into my finger. The result [the TV image] turns the activity around: a pointing away from myself, at an outside viewer.”
—Vito Acconci, “Body as Place-Moving in on Myself, Performing Myself,” Avalanche 6 (Fall 1972)
“By its very mise-en-scène, Centers typifies the structural characteristics of the video medium. For Centers was made by Acconci’s using the video monitor as a mirror. As we look at the artist sighting along his outstretched arm and forefinger toward the center of the screen we are watching, what we see is a sustained tautology: a line of sight that begins at Acconci’s plane of vision and ends at the eyes of his projected double.”
—Rosalind Krauss, “Video: The Aesthetics of Narcissism,” October 1 (Spring 1976)
‘UNDERTONE (excerpt)’ (1972, video)
“In this now infamous tape, exemplary of his early transgressive performance style, Vito Acconci sits and relates a masturbatory fantasy about a girl rubbing his legs under the table. Carrying on a rambling dialogue that shifts back and forth between the camera/spectator and himself, Acconci sexualizes the implicit contract between performer and viewer – the viewer serving as a voyeur who makes the performance possible by watching and completing the scene, believing the fantasy.” – Artforum
‘THEME SONG’ (1973, video)
‘OPEN BOOK’ (1974, video)
STILLS FROM MANY OF THE AFOREMENTIONED WORKS AND MORE
‘Blinks’ (1970)
“Holding a camera, aimed away from me and ready to shoot, while walking a continuous line down a city street.
Try not to blink.
Each time I blink: snap a photo.”
‘Seedbed’ (1972, video)
“In January 1971, Acconci performed Seedbed intermittently at New York’s Sonnabend Gallery. On days he performed, visitors entered to find the gallery empty except for a low wooden ramp. Below the ramp, out of sight, Acconci masturbated, basing his sexual fantasies on the movement of visitors above him. He narrated these fantasies aloud, his voice projected through speakers into the gallery. This video documents the performance.
The following text, which documents and transcribes Seedbed, was published in Avalanche magazine in 1972:
. . . I’m doing this with you now . . . you’re in front of me . . . you’re turning around . . . I’m moving toward you . . . leaning toward you . . .
Under the ramp: I’m moving from point to point, covering the floor . . . (I was thinking in terms of producing seed, leaving seed throughout the underground area).
I’m turned to myself: turned onto myself: constant contact with my body (rub my body in order to rub it away, rub something away from it, leave that and move on): masturbating: I have to continue all day—cover the floor with sperm, seed the floor.
Through the viewers: because of the viewers: I can hear their footsteps, they’re walking on top of me, to the side of me—I’m catching up with them—I’m focusing on one of them: I can form an image of you, dream about you, work on you.
. . . you’re on my left . . . you’re moving away but I’m pushing my body against you, into the corner . . . you’re bending your head down, over me . . . I’m pressing my eyes into your hair . . .I can go on as I think of you, you can reinforce my excitement, serve as my medium (the seed planted on the floor is a joint result of my presence and yours). You can listen to me; I want you to stay here; you can walk around me; walk past me; come back; sit here; lie close to me; walk with me again.
Reasons to move away from a space: there’s no need to stay—I’ve left something there, outside, that used to be here, inside—I’ve left something there that can grow, develop, on its own.
Reasons to move: I can move with an easy mind—what’s left behind is safe, in storage.”– MoMA
‘Trademarks’ (1970, performance)
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“One of the more thoughtful and articulate artists of his generation, Vito Acconci began producing conceptually-driven performances in 1969 with Following Piece. In that work, he randomly followed strangers around New York City until they went into a non-public space. Since then he has often explored the relationship between the artist and viewer, challenging the very nature of the artistic experience.
In another group of works, Acconci tests the question: “How do I prove I’m concentrating on myself? I do something to myself (attack myself).” In Rubbing Piece (1970), he sat in a restaurant and rubbed his arm until it bled to see if viewers were more likely to approach him if he made himself vulnerable. In Trademarks, Acconci again puts his body to the challenge. Sitting naked in a gallery space, he bit different parts of his body in an attempt to reach as much of it as possible. His motive was “to move into myself–move around myself–move in order to close a system.” He then applied printer’s ink to the bites and made imprints of them, thus literalizing the idea of the artist as the maker.” – The Walker
(I’m now going to let myself go nuts and simply insert images without their background and such. I apologize for this, and yet immediately rescind that apology, because for all the stress it may cause to pin down just where each image comes from, the visual feast resulting will make everything well worth it. Enjoy.)
INTERVIEWS/READINGS W/ RICHARD PRINCE FOR BOMB MAGAZINE
I met Vito in Vienna in 1986. We’ve been following each other around, in a way, ever since: we both showed at International with Monument and now we both show with Barbara Gladstone. He just had a show, and my show followed his: I told him I felt like the Rolling Stones following James Brown at the Tammy Awards in 1964. I wanted to talk to him about mainstream cults.
Richard Prince Born in the Bronx, 1946?
Vito Acconci 1940; I wish you were right with 1946.
RP And graduated from Holy Cross in 1962?
VA Went to Catholic elementary school, high school, college. There wasn’t a woman in my classroom between kindergarten and graduate school.
RP When did you come to New York?
VA I thought I was always here; the Bronx, after all. But then again, in retrospect, it was like the country, a wild country where I grew up, but at the same time, a kind of Midwest in New York. Then I went to the real Midwest, graduate school in Iowa City. I came back to New York in 1964 and saw a lot of movies. I was writing poetry then; I saw a Jasper Johns for the first time, and realized that I was at least ten years behind my time.
RP 1971: John Gibson Gallery—who were some of the artists around then? Was anybody else doing things like you? What about minimalism? Robert Smithson?
VA I thought everybody was doing things like I was. I think we all shared the same general concerns, to break out of, and break, the gallery system—to range the way the “Whole Earth Catalogue” ranged—to be as articulate as possible about work so that art wasn’t mystified, to see art as just one system in an interrelated field of systems, to hate the United States, and power, during the Vietnam War.
Minimalism was my father-art. For the first time, I was forced to recognize an entire space, and the people in it (I had to look at the light socket on the wall, just in case, I wasn’t going to play the fool). Until minimalism, I had been taught, or I taught myself, to look only within a frame; with minimalism the frame broke, or at least stretched.
Smithson was probably everybody’s conscience. Maybe because Smithson went outside, I could go inside—I had to go somewhere else—inside myself.
RP What about someone like Dennis Oppenheim?
VA He’s the art context person I’ve been personally closest to, from the beginning. He’s the most restless artist I know.
RP Chris Burden was somebody on the other coast who got a lot of publicity for that gun shot piece. I always thought that was a major network piece, something the prime timers, Life or People magazine, could get, whereas your work was more a mainstream cult. Your pieces didn’t have any hambone or dancing bear stuff in them. Your work never seemed to have a facelift. What did you think of that Burden piece—cheap shot? Good shot? Corn ball? Did you roll your eyes and say, “Please?”
VA I didn’t take Chris seriously enough until later; maybe at first, I saw him as a competitor—anything you can do I can do better, anything you can do, I can do more tortuously. I pay more attention to him now than ever: he grabs particular situations better than anyone else—for that situation, after careful consideration, he performs a serious prank.
RP I see the media as the Antichrist. How do you view the media?
VA My early work depended on media. An action needed reportage, it didn’t exist unless it was reported. For my work now, I see the media as a travel guide, it points out places. But the situation hasn’t changed much, most of the public stuff I do doesn’t get built. It remains in model form, the embodiment of the idea. A model space is a purified space, away from the changes of place and time and people; media can put it, if not into an actual place, at least into the news. As long as there are multiple media, I love the “distortions” of media, because those distortions are multiplied and contradictory.
RP What about feminism? The difference between the ’70s and now?
VA My early work came out of a context of feminism, and depended on that context. Performance in the early seventies was inherently feminist art. I, as a male doing performance, was probably colonizing it.
RP Pornography—what do you find pornographic?
VA A conversation in which a man keeps touching a woman’s arm, a man on the street looking back at a woman who’s just walked by; a man kissing goodbye a woman he’s just met . . . and probably a woman doing the same. I don’t know if these things are pornographic, but they’re probably obscene.
RP What kind of sex do you like?
VA The kind in which two people use every part of their bodies and every secretion of those bodies and every level of pressure those bodies can exert.
RP Did you have any encounters with the Vietnam War?
VA I was in the usual demonstrations. I was one of the usual suspects. My early work came out of the context of the Vietnam War: self-immolation, boundary protection, aggression. The problem was that the work generalized those themes away from a particular target. It made them “ideas” and not political action.
RP They always talk about your voice. You really think you would have been able to fuck anyone without it (using your voice as a sexual persuasion)?
VA Anyone? Well, that’s probably exaggerated. But there are people I would never have fucked with if I hadn’t been an “art star.”
It’s not that I’ve used my voice as a sexual persuasion. I hope I’ve never tried to persuade anyone to fuck me. My voice probably has, for some people, a storage of sexual associations (Humphrey Bogart, Ida Lupino). Also, it seems to come out of some depths, so it probably promises intimacy, sincerity, integrity, maybe some deep, dark secret (it ties into biases of Western culture, it seems to go beyond surfaces).
RP You live in your studio.
VA I can’t separate living and working; I like to sleep for an hour, get up, work, sleep again, etc. I need to have books and records (tapes, CDs) around me at all times like pets, like walls.
RP You’re Catholic. Is that like being . . .
VA Was Catholic. But you didn’t finish the question. The thing that still interests me about Catholicism is the number of saints. There’s no void, no distance between “person” and “God.” There are all those saints in between: every misfit, every problem has a patron saint attached. So you’re always part of a crowd, and there’s no abstraction, everything’s tangible.
RP What kind of drugs have you taken? Have they done anything for you?
VA The usual late sixties drugs: pot, hash, mescaline, not even LSD. And hardly more than once. I was only a tourist. I get woozy, I’m afraid of losing control.
RP There’s an old joke, “Sex between two people is beautiful. Sex between five people is fantastic.” What would be an ideal sex situation for you?
VA Theoretically, sex with everybody. In fact, sex with one person I feel inextricably connected with.
Acconci, Adjustable Wall Bra, 1990–91, rebar, plaster, canvas, steel cable, audio, and lights, 288×96 x 60” variable. Courtesy of Barbara Gladstone.
RP What are your favorite TV programs, if you watch it at all?
VA Mainly watch when I’m eating. It could be anything (eat anything, watch anything). Eat late; so I see news, Nightline, Night Heat, ends of ballgames, commercials.
RP Movies? Which one comes to mind?
VA The Searchers, Videodrome, Blade Runner, Detour, Phantom of Paradise, Shock Corridor, Double Indemnity, The Killing of a Chinese Bookie, Last Year at Marienbad . . .
RP Do you ever feel like disappearing? Your early pieces had an appearance/disappearance method to them.
VA The early work applied stress to the body that then had to adapt, change, open up, because of that stress. Remember, this was just after the late sixties, the time—the starting time of gender other than male, race other than white, culture other than Western; I wanted to get rid of myself so there could be room for other selves.
RP You’ve said a lot of the early work focused on your self so you started using a camera because one thing you were sure of was that “I had my own person.” Do you see a difference between personality and person?
VA Personality fixes person, makes it static. That was a flaw of my early work: it started by being the activity of a person, any person, like any other—but once that person became photographed it became a specialized person, the object of a personality cult. After a while, anyone who knew work of mine knew what I looked like; action had become trademark. So I had to disappear from my work, certainly. And that takes us back to the question before this: I don’t know if I ever feel like disappearing—spreading out and branching out maybe—but I’m stuck with old habits: I want to keep working, other people work with me, there’s got to be someone for them to work with, I have to be around somewhere so work can be around elsewhere.
RP Do you still see yourself as a male cartoon?
VA When I said that, I meant—I hope I meant—not “myself” but “myself-as-performer” in some of the early work, where maleness was made so blatant that it stood out like a cartoon: so then it could be targeted, it could be analyzed, it could be pilloried.
I still see a lot of my work as cartoon-like: turn a house upside down, build a miniature Supreme Court that’s “ours” and submerge it in the ground in front of “theirs.” I’d like a piece to appear in the world, on the street, like anything else on the street except that maybe it’s in a dot matrix, maybe the colors are too simplified, maybe it oozes.
RP Polanski?
VA Except for early stuff, like Knife in the Water, I haven’t thought about his movies much. I think of the person, or the myth of the person, more than the work, and I don’t like that myth; I’ve been in relationships with people much younger than I am, and he makes a relationship like that look ugly, and I don’t want to believe they have to be ugly.
RP Have you ever had someone who you’ve been close to come to some unspeakable harm?
VA People died, in ordinary ways, probably too unspeakable.
RP What’s your relationship to your mother?
VA We speak on the phone every night; I’m an only child; my father’s been dead over 25 years. By this time we should know each other, but neither of us asks the right questions; maybe, in spite of all the phone time, we leave each other alone too much.
RP Would you consider serving on the Supreme Court?
VA I don’t want to make laws and commandments. I do want to make places that function as models, models for activities, but models can be tampered with, and added to and subtracted from, and there’s no punishment.
RP What did you mean by “dumb literalness”?
VA I don’t remember in which context I said this. What I would mean now is: I want a thing, a place, to just be there, and not look as if it’s asking for interpretation—maybe you wonder about it later, or you wonder about it on the side, but you don’t have to talk about it in order to use it—something that’s so clear you can’t believe your eyes, something without an inside, like a stone.
RP Can insanity be prevented?
VA For me, insanity would be like a vacation, or a belief in god; out of desperation, you let yourself fall into it.
RP When a person says gloomily, “No one understands me,” are they telling the truth?
VA They’re telling the truth in the sense that they’re making a demand: “Don’t understand me.” (Underneath the imperative is a subjunctive: “I hope nobody understands me, because if somebody does, then I’m just like everybody else. Who am I then?”)
RP Do you think anyone understands how another person feels?
VA Everybody, in a particular culture, understands the language other people in that culture use when talking about feelings, and that’s all understanding can do, it can understand language. Language is the realm of feelings when thought about or talked about, and that’s enough to take us from language to some kind of action.
RP Did you ever play any sports?
VA When I was a child; all the usual sports, in the usual awkward way. At the same time, from the early sixties, I’ve had a make-believe baseball player. I follow his career, think about him when I’m falling asleep, when I’m drifting around the studio. He’s my age, based on somebody I went to elementary school with (there had to be a real person to ground this on, though that real person was, as far as I know, nothing like this make-believe person, the real person functioned as a man without qualities, only the bones onto which all my storage could be grafted). The ballplayer’s an outfielder (all alone like an American pioneer), he’s batted .500 once, hit 121 home-runs one season, pitched a little toward the end of his career in the mid-eighties (relief pitcher, came in just when everybody needed him). He’s played other sports off-season (the thing about this guy is that he has only basic skills, he’s taught himself to be—willed himself into being—a superhuman player). One trouble is, he’s been traded a lot, he sticks out like a sore thumb, he’s never been on a World Series-winning team. He has a personal life: he’s gone out with actresses, rock singers. After he retired, he made a movie, 24 hours long, about the real invention of baseball, around the wagon trains on their way west (Jodie Foster plays the woman who began the sport). He’s making a comeback now, trying to stretch his career into four decades (he tried a comeback a few years ago, but he had gotten into trouble with some kids at The Palladium, and was drummed out of baseball). Now he’s playing with Oakland. After all, people forget. And anyway, they don’t worry about that sort of thing in the birthplace of the Raiders, so now he has one last chance at a World Series, one last chance at being a team player on this team of individuals.
Vito Acconci, Proposal for Site 3B, Expo 1992, Seville, 1990, 19 ½ x 78 ¾ x 39 ¼” model at 1/4 scale. Photo by Vito Acconci. Courtesy Acconci Studio.
RP Do you think women are more easily satisfied with their portraits than men?
VA More easily satisfied with (painted) portraits, less with photographs. (I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about, I’m just playing your game.)
RP I was wondering, do you think you can break a bad habit by practicing it to excess?
VA By practicing it to excess, you can break the habit of calling it a “bad habit.” It just becomes ordinary life.
RP Do you think it is possible to reason with people who are in love?
VA When I’m in love, I think I can be reasoned with most easily. On one hand, I’m always eager to find reasons to question my love, break that love; on the other hand, I’m determined to be in this love-state, love-event. But, in order to be really determined and adamant, I have to know all the reasons against it, and do it anyway.
RP Is there one sure sign that you’re not an emotional grown-up?
VA When I’m stuck on a piece, or when I hate my work, and I complain about this to people around me, I’m making the assumption that other people would be interested in what are, after all, ordinary troubles, and just mine, and of no concern to them.
RP What’s the best way to conquer fear?
VA My early pieces were based on stage-fright. In every early performance, I spent the first few minutes having second thoughts, “This is the worst piece I’ve ever done. The only honest thing is to admit this and get out of here.” But then, after a while, since the pieces usually involved some kind of talk, both to myself and to others, after a while I talked myself into it. I was hypnotized and the piece went on. (But, if I conquered anything, it was only the fear of performing. In everyday life, I’d be as afraid as I always was.)
RP How would you cure an inferiority complex?
VA Remind myself of some kernel of something in some piece I’ve done, tell myself that this could—just possibly—improve and range in the future. That might be illusory, of course, but so might the inferiority complex. I’d be fighting it at its own level.
RP Under what circumstances would you murder someone?
VA I could see myself murdering the Fascists in Salo, the rapists in Ms 45.
RP Don’t you think it’s a little pessimistic to believe you can read a person’s character by the way they look?
VA Yes, since it implies direct cause-and-effect. The character causes the look, and the look causes the character, and there’s no escape. But it might also be said to be optimistic, the belief that things can be so solvable and handle-able.
RP Is anything worth worrying about?
VA Yes. Falling into old habits, customary modes of working, already-used solutions. At the same time, I worry about not reusing solutions. I have a tendency, when starting a piece, to act as if I’ve never done a piece before, as if I have nothing to fall back on. I worry about that, so I have to assume it’s worth worrying about. It’s worth worrying about because it reveals a romanticization, a desire to divorce myself from history, from my own history, a desire to think of myself as a person alone in a vast unanswering universe—I hate ideas like that so I’d better worry about it.
RP What about anxiety, do you have any?
VA Anxiety about exclusion from large group shows, particularly European shows, anxiety that certain directions aren’t clear enough in my work. (E. g., I think of my work as more political than apparently a lot of other people think. I think the only way art should exist is as politics, as a critique of power and an impetus to change. I’m anxious: either I’m missing something or they’re missing something, and if it’s them then I’m missing an opportunity to change their minds.)
My biggest anxiety is that my stuff just isn’t good enough, and sometimes I can’t even answer “good enough for what?” That’s what causes the anxiety.
RP Is there some piece you’ve wanted to put out there but thought, “Even I couldn’t get away with that?”
VA There have been pieces I didn’t know how to do, so I never worked them out far enough to put out. In the early days, there was an idea of some performance on a floor filled with babies. In the early ’80s, there were some vague ideas of walking houses and rolling homes.
Doing a public space project always means adaptation, and modification, sometimes because of subject matter (no pricks, no cunts, no burning American flags), sometimes because of safety standards (no holes, no heights without railings). But I don’t think I’ve felt stopped from something I’ve wanted to do. I don’t think I’d want to do something that didn’t fit into the conventions of public space (the pieces aren’t put out in front of people, they already contain within them at least a general idea of people, actions and customs). You don’t put something out, you infiltrate, you squeeze something through.
RP What part of women do you like best? I like the voice, I think, just the way a woman can say your name.
VA The vagina. If the person is someone I’m not involved with, then the vagina must be the reason that the characteristics/qualities I’m drawn to in that person are different from those similar characteristics in a man. If the person is someone I’m involved with, then the vagina is, literally, my way to get inside that person and that person’s way to envelop me.
RP What do you live for?
VA If I can’t change the world, then maybe I can at least change something about the space in the world, the instruments in the world.
What keeps me living is this: the idea that I might provide some kind of situation that makes people do a double-take, that nudges people out of certainty and assumption of power. (Another way of putting this: some kind of situation that might make people walk differently.)
RP Do you eat pizza?
VA Yes. There was a time in the seventies when I couldn’t walk by a pizza parlour I hadn’t tried, I had to go in for a slice. I wanted to eat every pizza in New York.
RP Who do you think the Pat Boone of the art world is?
VA This might be the question I love most, but I have no idea how to answer it. (Shit, I suddenly have one or two ideas, but I won’t say a word.)
Let me avoid the question. The thing that means most to me about Pat Boone is that for people of my situation and class, at a certain time, he made black music available—distorted certainly—but enough so that you could go and hunt down the real thing.
Vito Acconci, Convertible Clam Shelter, 1990, fiberglass, galvanized steel, clamshells, audio, and lights, 4×10 x 8’ when closed. Photo by Vito Acconci. Courtesy of Acconci Studio.
RP What makes you cry? Is there some kind of music, a scene in a movie?
VA Twice, when a person I was in love with left me, I cried. Now, in love with someone, I cry sometimes when I’m with her and I feel I’m part of her and she’s part of me and that’s all there is to that.
I cry at the end of Last Year at Marienbad, when the narrator says (and there’s no one left on screen):
“You were alone—together—with me.”
I cry when Gloria Swanson comes in for her close-up at the end of Sunset Boulevard and she blurs out on the screen.
I cry when John Wayne slips down off his rearing horse in The Searchers—the horse is just about to pounce down on Natalie Wood—and he picks her up in his arms and says, “Let’s go home, Debbie.”
I cry (or something like it) when Jeremy Irons in Dead Ringers drifts around his dead brother’s body (his dead self) and says/sings, “El-lie, El-lie, El-lie . . .”
I cry (or something like it) in the middle of the Sex Pistols’ “Bodies” when the music stops for an instant and then starts again, with Johnny Rotten’s voice coming in, “Fuck this and fuck that.”
I cry (or something like it) when I look up through the Guggenheim’s spiralling ramps, up to the circle of light coming in at the top.
I’d probably cry, or something like it, at the Malaparte House in Capri, if I were there.
RP Do you think about what you are going to wear before you go out?
VA A little. If I’m going farther than my immediate neighborhood, I take off my green pants (indoor pants) and put on my black pants (outdoor pants). I decide whether to wear a black collared shirt or a black turtleneck (the old one that’s turning blue-gray, or the newer one still black, or the one with the hole in the sleeve). I choose between my black jacket (if I care about my image that day) or my green army jacket,
I guess whether it’s cold enough to wear my green army coat.
RP I’ve heard you referred to as “The Hunger Artist.” The hunger artist supposedly leaves out or forgets about public opinion.
VA I never leave out public opinion, not public appreciation but public consideration, public response; people are part of all the pieces I do. I anticipate a range of responses, or at least actions.
RP Why do you think you’re an artist’s artist?
VA If I’m an “artist’s artist,” it’s probably because: I don’t make much money; my work seems to change, so it looks as if I must be trying; I’ve been with a lot of galleries, so it looks like I’m my own person, no strings on me.
RP You once told me you’ve saved a lot of money by not having to go to a shrink. What did you mean?
VA Early work of mine might have been a substitute: I went through the motions of therapy, I physicalized therapy. (But I don’t think that was the purpose, I thought I was doing art. I was shifting the focus from art-object to art-doer. To prove I was focusing, I could target in on that art-doer, myself, physically—by extension—I could knock that art-doer out of existence and move out of self and on to place. So, if therapy is about getting rid of the problem, then my early work was getting rid of me.)
Also, I used to be Catholic, I couldn’t make myself go to another priest.
RP Did you really ever have an orgasm under the Seedbed?
VA Yes.
RP Have you ever seen someone murdered or executed? What do you think about capital punishment?
VA No. No use for it, and even if there were use, no justification for it.
RP Do you really describe yourself as a minimalist, can that be amended?
VA My early work came out of minimalism (and also out of R. D. Laing and Erving Goffman and Edward Hall and Kurt Lewin and pop psychology of the time . . . but that’s another question.)
If minimalism was my father-art, I had to find something wrong with it, I had to kill the father. (The flaw in minimalism, as I saw it, was that it could have come from anywhere, it was there as if from all time, it was like the black monolith in 2001.) Well, if something just appears out of nowhere, then you never can tell where it might have come from, all you can do is bow down, kneel down, you’d better respect it. To get around this, I probably made the decision that, whatever I did, I would make its source clear: that source was me, I was the doer, I would present my own person. (When I think of Seedbed, I think of the room as a prototypical minimal-art space: nothing on the walls, nothing on the floor, except in this case there was a worm under the floor.)
I still think of my stuff as making minimal moves: it bulges walls out, digs under floors, it’s usually tied into buildings so it’s based on right angles. But I don’t know if that has anything to do with minimal art. It probably has more to do with co-habiting a space and fitting in, nudging in . . .
RP Would you shoot an animal for sport?
VA No.
RP Who do you do your art for?
VA For myself, to prove I can think. For other people, living people, to join in a mix of theories that might sooner or later lead to practices; for future people, to function as a track that might be renovated and taken from.
RP What kinds of food do you eat?
VA I could probably eat nothing but Chinese food everyday for the rest of my life. But I don’t. What I eat is: if I go out, Indian, Chinese, Thai; if I stay home, which is what I usually do, basic chickens, basic pastas, basic salads.
RP Do you know any good jokes?
VA Best joke I’ve heard recently is an old Milton Berle routine.
A resort in the Catskills. Lots of women around: widows divorcees, they’re searching for men; one of them spots a man she hasn’t seen before.
“You’re new here,” she says.
“Yeah,” he says, “I’ve been in the can!”
She’s confused, “You’ve been on the toilet?”
“No, no, I graduated.”
She’s confused again, “You’re just out of college? You’re that young?”
“No, no, when I say I’ve been in the can, when I say I graduated, I mean I was doing time.”
She’s still confused, “Doing time? What time?”
“Let me explain. You see, there was my wife. I took an axe, I chopped my wife into 25 pieces.”
“Oh, you’re single?”
RP Have you been married, any children?
VA I was married in 1962, just after I graduated from college, we lived together on and off until 1968, no children.
RP Do you have a good memory? How far back can you recall?
VA I remember scenes from movies well, and lines from books and movies and songs. I don’t remember faces well or, more precisely, I don’t connect names and faces. I don’t think I remember further back than to the age of four and even then, it might be that I’ve been helped by photographs.
What I remember most from childhood, around five or six or seven, is a recurrent childhood dream. I’m in the bathroom, I’m standing in front of the toilet, I’m pissing. I’m pissing blood. I draw back, shocked, scared: as I draw back, my piss shoots all over the place, all over the walls, over the ceiling. I see what’s happening, I make a sudden decision, I grab my prick and direct my piss more determinedly over every inch of the walls and ceiling, I’m not scared anymore, I’m exulting. The color of the room is changing and it’s all because of me.
The real life incident I remember is: I’m over my father’s knee, he’s spanking me, I’m about five. As he spanks me, I throw up, I’m vomiting spaghetti all around his feet. (The spaghetti I had eaten had tomato sauce on it, I was sure of that, but as it came back out of my mouth, it came out all white, as if it was filtered through my insides).
RP What kinds of men and women do you dislike?
VA I like multi-directedness, and the look of a frightened colt, and the little engine that could, and grasping at straws: I dislike smugness and self-satisfaction.
RP Did you find when you were growing up, that people often frowned upon those who sought out psychiatric help? What about now?
VA When I was growing up, people had priests, or they assumed they had themselves. There are no individual bodies now, no skin, no separation between public and private. (If there was, would I be so earnestly trying to answer these questions?)
Acconci, Proposal for Housing Complex, Regensberg, 1990, 19 ½ x 78 ¾ x 39 ¼” model at 1/4 scale. Photo by Vito Acconci. Courtesy Acconci Studio.
RP If fashion is what comes after art, what comes before art?
VA Probably everything. Let me put it this way: when I realized I wasn’t writing anymore, in 1969, what drew me to “art” was that art was a non-field field, a field that had no inherent characteristics except for its name, except for the fact that it was called art: so in order to have substance, art had to import. It imported from every other field in the world.
Let me put it another way: for me, what comes before art—in the sense of influence—is architecture, movies, (pop) music. (But probably literature and or philosophy come first. Books provide, literally, a text, theory. But of course, a book can provide a text, a theory, only because it’s a storage of what really comes first: history, science . . . )
RP Do you write letters? To whom?
VA Three times in my life I’ve written a lot of letters, each time to a person whom I was in love with and who was, either physically or some other way, very far away.
RP What makes you really angry?
VA Being cheated, being tricked, being slighted in stores or at business offices because of the way I’m dressed. Right now what’s making me angry is that I’m spending so much more time answering these questions than you spent writing them. (I work so much more slowly than other artists seem to work: that makes me angry.)
RP Do you ever hang out at topless bars?
VA No.
RP What sort of porn should be banned?
VA On the one hand, I believe that porn influences crime; if I didn’t believe that, then there’d be no reason at all to do art, since art couldn’t affect a real-life situation. On the other hand, I don’t believe that porn should be banned. You can only ban the crime, not the influence. (All you can do is hope that other influences, colliding influences, might act as a buffer. That’s what the electronic age is all about.)
RP Do you think art is one of the places in the world where something perfect can happen?
VA Visual art, architectural models, (concert) music, books . . . all those situations where there’s a viewer, an audience, where there’s a separation between person and thing: something perfect can happen only where there’s visual distance.
Which is why I resent the visual: the visual means you don’t touch it, the visual means somebody owns it and that somebody isn’t you.
I prefer the perfect to come down to earth and be imperfected: the architectural model become architecture, the architecture become renovated, music become pop music, blasting out of some radio while some other pop music blares out of the speaker in front of some store . . .
RP How many pairs of shoes do you own?
VA One pair for going out, another pair that used to be for going out but then wore out and now functions as house shoes, and a pair of all purpose sneakers, sort of on reserve in case one of the two majors breaks down and I need a quick replacement.
RP What artists do you like: old, peers, new?
VA Peers (we can commiserate and maybe my position can be buttressed); new (I can try not to be left behind).
RP Did you do your homework when you were in school?
VA Yes. All my life, I’ve never had particular skills, particular talents; I’ve just had will, and I’ve worked hard. I see myself as a drudgerer. (As for school homework, it wasn’t pure academics, I knew I couldn’t keep going to school unless I got scholarships, so I did what I had to do).
RP Do you wear underwear?
VA No.
RP Do you eat meat?
VA Yes.
RP I don’t like it when men whistle at women on the street. What about you?
VA I hate it, too. At the same time, walking down the street, in the city of the ’90s, means putting yourself out in public, subjecting yourself to the public, you’re up for grabs. This applies to men as well as to women, men realize they can be victimized, too. You don’t have to accept this situation, you just have to guard against it. And I don’t mean carry weapons, but I might mean wear armor: this is what late capitalism is all about. (At the same time, it’s apparent that women are subjected to whistling and men aren’t, except in specialized situations: women-whistling, therefore, should be a punishable crime.)
RP Has anyone ever tied you up?
VA Yes.
RP I heard that Elvis and Jerry Lee Lewis bought brand new Cadillacs with their first money. Have you ever gone out and blown a couple of inches of cash on something you really didn’t need?
VA Just on books and records/tapes/CDs, and I always need them. And, at various times, on presents for a person I was in love with. And that person needed them, or we needed them in order to be a couple.
RP Would you ever trade places with a woman?
VA Yes. Except that, as in your previous trading-places question, I don’t understand what it means: would I know I’d traded places, or do I “become” that person? Do I keep doing “my” work, only doing it as a different person? Who am I anyway?
RP Have you changed your bedroom situation since I last visited you?
VA It’s still the same. So that others can know what we’re talking about: all the implements for living—bathroom, sink, stove, refrigerator, table and chairs, bed, clothes closet—are squeezed into what’s probably less than 10% of a 3500 foot loft space.
RP What’s the best place you’ve been to? I mean, do you ever see yourself away from New York?
VA LA maybe Paris. New York follows an old model of a city: it maintains the idea of a center, it keeps vestiges of piazzas and town-meetings. The new city would be more like a blob, like ooze, like LA; the new city would be a ground for floating privacies, floating capsules; the new city would have more to do with the curves of a highway than with the grid of streets.
RP Have you ever walked into a bar and picked somebody up or been picked up?
VA I’ve been in situations, not bars, where I’ve met someone, we talked, and then within a few hours we fucked. I assumed we were picking each other up (I don’t think the word “pick up” came up in anybody’s mind: I assumed we were, simply, meeting each other).
RP Do you have call waiting?
VA No. I never answer my phone directly, always have my answering machine on; don’t like to be surprised and at a loss for excuses; call-waiting would be asking to be put on the spot; I want to avoid calls, not be in the middle of more.
RP What is the connection between the bras and Seedbed? It seems like you’ve come full circle, from masturbation to nursing (a kind of regression).
VA It’s hard for me to pinpoint the meaning of a piece; I’d want the reference, the connotations, to free-float. I want to make a situation where a passer-by says: “It’s a wall! No, it’s a bra! No, it’s a room-divider! No, it’s the attack of the 50-foot woman!” Then you could go on from there, and possibly have fleeting thoughts about sex and comfort and power and regression, etc., but by this time you’d be inside the space, and the space would be part of your everyday life.
I’m afraid people pay attention to my stuff only when it has something to do with sex: that’s my art role, and I’d better live up to it.
Seedbed started by taking architecture, something assumed as neutral and apart from person, and filling it with person: I’d be part of the floor, the wall would breathe. Adjustable Wall Bras started with taking a wall, the wall in front of you, and bringing it out to you, making it bulge. Now that it bulged physically, it could bulge with a person inside it, it could bulge with metaphor. (Seeing the world the way a baby might see the world, the breast as the baby’s wall.)
I hope the piece brings up other ideas besides nursing, I hope it brings them up all at the same time.
RP Having to follow your show with mine, I feel like the Rolling Stones having to follow James Brown.
VA Doing this interview, I feel like Eddie Constantine in Alphaville, answering the questions of Alpha 60. (One comment: the Rolling Stones sell a lot more albums than James Brown.)
VITO ACCONCI: ARCHITECTURE IN WORDS ONLY
TateShots: Vito Acconci
23 Minutes with Vito Acconci
Curator Chrissie Iles in Conversation with Vito Acconci
p.s. Hey. ** Dominik, Hi!!! Unofficially, yes, I think so. The dam is bursting. The pleasure is all mine. Love paraphrasing a guy who sees the question ‘how’s it going?’ as an opportunity to never shut up, G. ** Ilán, It amazes me too actually. Yes, I wish I had taken the chance to study Spanish in school a lot more seriously. Hopefully your novel will get translated for us poor folks. Thanks so much. I shot you an email. xo. ** _Black_Acrylic, Haha, yes. I know what a coot looks like. Or, well, I’ve seen pix. That sounds beautiful, Ben. Straightforward, maybe, but very lush. ** Bill, I love Tobias Bradford’s work. If I was a visual artist, I’d want to be like him. l’Etrange Festival’s thing is edgy, transgressive to-some-degree films in general, but most of what they program is genre stuff. They also do some ‘offbeat’ live music gigs. The Residents played at the festival a few years ago for instance. I’ll pass along any finds, yes. ** Carsten, I’m always in the Halloween spirit but I do my best to repress it until September. Congrats! Everyone, Here’s Carsten: ‘The new issue of Cathexis Northwest Press is out & my poem “Skull Music” is in it. Here’s a direct link. And for those who want to hear it, here’s the audio.’ Looking forward! I’m the same about traditional theater. Not being that interested in acting surely doesn’t help. But I accept being in the minority re: that. I saw ‘The Serpent and the Rainbow’ so long ago that I don’t have any value judgement on it that’s at all reliable. I remember having fun with it. I have friends who swear by it. Let me know if I should do a double-take. ** Adem Berbic, Hawkins over Dawkins for me, not that I have any quibble with the latter. Trying to find the exact expression/ demand of one’s desire kind of describes my entire impulse as a writer. And I find examples I can possibly learn from naturally riveting. At the moment they’re saying it’ll be 30/31 this weekend, which is too warm but not the end of Parisian society. ** laura w, Yeah, DiCaprio’s in it. I wouldn’t really bother with it, if memory serves. I’m the kind of person who is always looking for a reason to be optimistic even if the reasons are faint. So far, that’s served me well. A real challenge sometimes, of course. Halloween is a good short term reason maybe? Yes, make those stickers so I can have one to plant wherever I want. I don’t have a single sticker. Wait, I have one Sunn0))) sticker, but I’ve never figured where to stick it. It seems like such an important decision. Not as important as getting a tattoo, but close? ‘Malady of Death’ is my favorite Duras too. One of my all-time novels in general in fact. High five. ** HaRpEr //, Sue De Beer’s work needs to be much more widely seen. My favorite Ozus are ‘Late Spring’ and his last film ‘An Autumn Afternoon’. But he kind of never goes wrong. ‘The Green Ray’ is incredible, yeah. My and a lot of people’s favorite Rohmer. Probably an influence on Zac’s and my filmmaking, I’m pretty sure. ** Nicholas., Hi. Well, who the fuck knows what death is. Death is the stingiest shit ever. I like how open and hopeful your mind is. Mine’s open, but it’s also ‘prove it’. Whatever works, right? Dinner: Capellini pasta with basilico sauce and two kinds of grated cheese (parmesan and emmental). Pretty workmanlike. Eat (and live) hearty. xo. ** Okay. Today I’ve restored an old post made for the blog by the fine writer and novelist Grant Maierhofer who took the post-making opportunity to introduce the fantastic artist Vito Acconci. See what you find, and see you tomorrow.
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