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| Who’s Afraid of Ģirts Korps? Krišs Salmanis, Artist Ģirts Korps. Video: M, T & Untitled 15.11.-06.12.2008. RIXC Media Space | |
| I am. Or at least I used to be for a while. My wariness had no reason; it resembled a mixture of vague suspicions and forgotten emotional experiences. If I attempted to describe the cause of my past uncertainty it would probably not come to anything more threatening than a portrait of a modern day artist - a tall, dark-haired man who seemed never to be in any hurry, never to smile and never to get excited. Perhaps the single truly frightening element of this combination was the feeling that Ģirts Korps is not pretending to be an artist with a Weltschmerz-creased brow - he truly is one. In the section devoted to video art in his book, "All of a Sudden. Things that Matter in Contemporary Art", Jörg Heiser speaks of memory fragmentation, induced by a traumatic experience: "If fragmentation is systematically arranged, transformed both intuitively and consciously, then trauma becomes vision, a blocked past becomes a possible future." A few years later, when I got to know Korps better, listened to his stories about fear and alternative music, laughed till I cried at his unexpected jokes, and eventually even had my pictures taken in the pink drifts of rhododendrons in the company of whimsical artists, my suspicions were confirmed - Korps is "for real". He does not hide behind irony, does not try to be demonstratively contemporary or build a profitable brand. He simply (!?) works with his experience very carefully, fragment by fragment turning it into a united and convincing work of art. I hope you've been to see Ģirts Korps' solo exhibition "Video: M, T & Untitled" at RIXC. I hope it spoke to you. If not, I hope the following conversation will make you regret it. | |
 Ģirts Korps, working on "T". 2005. Photo from the private archive | |
| Krišs Salmanis: Who is Ģirts Korps? What do we call you - a video artist, a media artist, a conceptual artist, perhaps?
Ģirts Korps: It doesn't matter what media you use, you can even take a pitchfork and dig something. Therefore, the designation of "video artist" or "media artist" is not really appropriate. It indicates the format of the author's works but it has no meaning content-wise. K.S.: Still, what do I put after the comma? Ģ.K.: Formally, it is media art, but contentually, I wouldn't know what to call it. K.S.: If the technique does not matter that much, could you work in another medium? Ģ.K.: I'm thinking about it. The means of expression I've used so far simply seemed to be most convenient for the execution of my ideas. I use these technologies in my everyday work, so their use in art does not require any particular training. Any new technique takes new knowledge. I know what can be done in video, and it makes things simpler. K.S.: The use of the word "simpler" in the context of your work makes me suspicious. Miks Mezītis says of you, "Technically, his work is often borderline impossible. But not as an end in itself. He does not follow fashion, he does not do what is trendy, and he does what he feels." Can it really be said that you seek out the simplest way? Ģ.K.: No, it should probably be called "the way that can be achieved by whatever means". More often than not my thoughts are not like a video, with a beginning and an end. I like the option of interactivity, when the content seemingly expands a little. When the viewer can intervene a little, and the work begins to live on its own. That's why I don't like video that much, it seems too unyielding. K.S.: When did you start working with the moving image? Ģ.K.: Straight after graduating from the Secondary School of Applied Arts. I enrolled in the Department of Ceramics at the Academy, but then transferred to Visual Communication, because I found the irreversibility and unpredictability of clay irritating. I like everything to be clear. And that's what I strive for. K.S.: I was told you made an unbelievably complicated set of crockery for your diploma work at the School of Applied Arts. Of every ten plates that were made, only three could be fired successfully. Shapes that usually aren't made in clay. Ģ.K.: It was only complicated back then, when there were no imported materials available. Now it would be much easier. K.S.: Why did you choose something so complicated? Ģ.K.: I can't do things differently. It's almost an obsession - if I'm not overworked, I start to feel inadequate. Back then I was already interested in combining techniques, making something more than just ceramics. As a result, "Sakrālais galds" ("The Sacral Table") consisted of a set of dishes, a metal table, an Internet homepage and sound. A conversation table. Not quite an altar, but the composition of the crockery was based on a mandala. K.S.: You said you were striving for clarity, but at the same time you're also interested in the possibilities of the non-linear moving image. Ģ.K.: Yes. This could have something to do with my interest in working with my own nightmares, not the pure exploration of form that is working with clay. K.S.: When the F5 artist group was at the height of its popularity, they used to say in interviews that they had no influences. In your opinion, is that possible? Ģ.K.: They were definitely the founders of an important movement here. But I think that their first video loops had a lot that was borrowed from somewhere. My influences are more about sound rather than visual art. I think the three works I am exhibiting show specific differences quite clearly. Content is one thing, but you can also see what I've been attracted to in terms of vibration and sound at the time when the works were created. You could say that I've been influenced by musicians from everywhere. These influences also tend to change. Right now, quite a lot of the things I like come from America and Sweden. People who listen to this music more or less know each other; the albums are produced in small editions. Over the past few years I've changed the direction quite significantly. Drone Country, New Weird America. | |
 View from the exhibition Video: M, T & Untitled. Photo: Katrīna Teivāne | |
| K.S.: Is it possible to determine the overriding aspect of your work - is it sound, or is it the visual material? Ģ.K.: Sound is very important. The nightmares stand on their own, without any sound, but sound helps a lot in my works. K.S.: And visual artists? Do you have any kindred authors? Ģ.K.: There are some things I've seen, but I'm not an active fan of anyone. I don't feel the need for it either. I like Thomas Köner's videos, and the creative work of Christina Kubisch. As for Latvians, I like the artists that are now referred to as the Trespassers. There are, of course, others. K.S.: And professors? Ģ.K.: Ojārs Pētersons is certainly an authority to me. And Raitis Šmits. Birzkopa at the School of Applied Arts. K.S.: You sometimes collaborate with other artists - musicians, programmers. To what extent do they influence the end result? Ģ.K.: I've been very lucky as far as the sound is concerned, because Laurynas Jukonis, a musician from Lithuania, gets things right the first time. We are a good fit. The Latvian project "Antireality" also did well. Swedish musician Kristian Olsson almost left me without any material, but we did manage to come to an agreement in the end. Programmer Nils Austrums and I also have a good connection. Of course, I'm getting older now and have less and less willpower to do something that's just based on enthusiasm. K.S.: Would that be the enthusiasm of the programmer, or are you referring to yourself? Ģ.K.: To myself. It's hard to sit down in the evening and do something. K.S.: So why do you still do it? Ģ.K.: I think music invigorates me. If there is a deadline, then, of course, I have to bear it in mind. But, in most cases, if you're going to do something, just get to it and do it. K.S.: What would you do if there were no deadlines? Ģ.K.: I'd do some caching, probably. [Get involved in geocaching: using GPS technologies and coordinates available on the internet to search for caches - little capsules or containers hidden all around the world. K.S.] K.S.: How did that start? Ģ.K.: A German friend of mine got me hooked. To me it seems to be a terribly emotional thing. By caching I can refuel my basic emotions much more efficiently than by going to see an exhibition, for example. Just like it is with music. The searching is quite a technical thing, but the emotions are provided by the locations themselves. It's a thing worth trying. K.S.: You do a lot of photography. Do you also gather material for your artwork when you cache? Ģ.K.: Yes, you cannot separate these things, it all happens at the same time. K.S.: You've published two multimedia discs devoted to the industrial subculture: semema.org/Claustrum: Isolato in 2001, and semema-industrial.net/ comrades in lost... in 2004. Ģ.K.: That was schoolwork. It should be noted here that the modesty of the answer is to be disregarded, as the discs are carefully crafted, substantial works; and the admiring reviews of foreign experts of the underground culture are well deserved. For more information on these projects see www.semema-industrial.net and www.semema.org. K.S.: Where does an idea for a piece come from, and how do you work on it? Ģ.K.: That's something of a hassle. It's not like I'm sitting around, thinking of something and writing it down. What has happened so far has more or less arrived all by itself. When I'm half-asleep, in a way. K.S.: When you've decided what you want to make, do you also have a clear idea of the end result, and all that remains is to reproduce it in some kind of material, or does the work process bring its own adjustments - does the fine-tuning of the work continue to the last? Ģ.K.: To the last, to the very last. Of course, you have to start with some clarity, but a lot of things change as I work. K.S.: Are there any specific subjects you are particularly interested in? Ģ.K.: I'm interested in emotional states. K.S.: Artist Fēlikss Zīders considers you as one of the strongest Latvian thirty-something artists, because of your emotionality in particular. Where everybody else is doing "more or less alright" with conceptual and formal solutions, the angst and the multilayered nature of your work has even lessened his scepticism regarding interactivity in art. Emotional states - do you attempt to capture them, or to evoke them in your audience? Ģ.K.: I wouldn't want to reveal all, but you could say it's important to me to accentuate the half-unknown. | |
 View from the exhibition Video: M, T & Untitled. Photo: Katrīna Teivāne | |
| K.S.: What is that mythical thinking mentioned in the description of your work M? Ģ.K.: It is something ancient, something we all have in common. The mythical aspect can reveal itself in dreams, in the thinking process of a child, also in everyday life... On that occasion the theme of a myth was common to the entire exhibition. In the end, however, I turned out to be one of the few authors who were informed of it. My texts are usually written by Katrīna. She helps me a lot. All the works are essentially collaborations. I couldn't do anything by myself. She also helps me to put my thoughts in order, to give them additional shape. Katrīna Teivāne: "Two things are intertwined in him. Firstly, his enormous love of technology. He'll never be happy without a problem to solve. He's totally unable to do something "the easy way". But technology is definitely not an end in itself. Never. The other thing is something like intuitivism. Content-wise his work comes primarily "from within". There's the aspect of the unconscious/conscious and the collective/personal - he simply lets it come to him. I wouldn't call it self-examination... in part, it certainly is that, but to a greater extent, it is a documentation of sorts." K.S.: As I look at your work, I am tempted to call you a contemporary heir of the classic Latvian grey painting. Everyday motifs, refined colour schemes, personal observation that has been brought to the level of human generalization through artistic means. Ģ.K.: Great, I like that. Colour is very important. I like the classic, retro feel. And the content of the images does not come from me trying to remember and exactly reproduce my nightmares, they just set the direction. Personal phobias are the basis of my work, but it is not the documentation of my fears, or art as therapy. It's not a far cry from it, but I do have to create something different on the basis of my experience. What I would like would be for the viewer to reach a certain emotional state by looking at my work. That's what I'm working on. K.S.: Do people come to you and say what impression your work has made on them? Ģ.K.: It's been known to happen. In England, for example, an elderly lady told me all about her childhood. K.S.: I am vulgarizing it here, of course, but doesn't it mean that you're using a successful piece of work to somehow rid yourself of your experience while creating a state of similar intensity in the viewer, who then returns to you and unloads a new burden of emotion? When you work with your nightmares, you become a confessor for two people - yourself and the spectator. Ģ.K.:: It's not that bad, either. I haven't put anyone into a trance. K.S.: T does make one shiver sometimes. But your newest work, the interactive dream Untitled, cer-tainly seems friendly, if not quite entertaining. Ģ.K.: Well, yes - a bit of fun. K.S.: Was M really a three-dimensional video animation? Ģ.K.: Yes, the moving elements are 3D objects with textures. And the impulse for the movement comes from the sound file. It is sound that shapes the character, the nerve of the movement. But that can still be done without doing any programming. This work took a week to render. K.S.: I thought this work was a "simple" compositing. Ģ.K.: In a way it is, except it was done by the sound file curve instead of me and my own hands. The more pronounced the vector readings, the faster the rotation. The video material was also filmed by constantly turning the camera. Putting all of that together creates a distinctive feel. But you don't necessarily have to know it to watch the work. K.S.: Are you gratified knowing that the majority of viewers do not have a clue about how much complex work has gone into it? Ģ.K.: To me the most important thing is that someone comes up to me after seeing it and says that what they've seen has left an impression. That it really has reminded them of some kind of childhood nightmare. That's when I know I've done what I set out to do. K.S.: When did you start working on your exhibition "Video: M, T & Untitled"? Ģ.K.: A year ago there was a conference at Andrejsala, where I showed the introduction of my new piece. The same day Raitis Šmits offered to exhibit it at RIXC when it was finished. When asked about collaboration with Korps, Šmits expresses his admiration of this unobtrusive man's ability to mobilize so many specialists from various other fields for his projects, and admits to having enjoyed working with him. Ģirts Korps' work had attracted his attention back in his student days. Raitis Šmits remembers with particular fondness a short-duration subversive Internet work in which the viewers were lured into a fake homepage of a TV show popular at the time. During the visit to the page the wider public was offered to take a look at some seemingly confidential data along with a threat of downloading an electronic virus. K.S.: Who set up your exhibition? Ģ.K.: When we looked at the space I immediately told Raitis I knew very little about setting up. He took the job upon himself. I liked the way some works were exhibited at "Disorder" [LNMA Exhibition Hall Arsenāls, 2005 - K.S.], where you had to climb into boxes to see them. But that was a bit different from what I had envisioned for my work. The cage structure was designed and made by Raitis. He has a lot of experience in setting up exhibitions, so the layout for my works was thought up in collaboration with him. But the general idea of the setup and also its execution came from Raitis and RIXC. K.S.: What kind of reviews have you had of "Video: M, T & Untitled"? Ģ.K.: There have been a few sentences about the fact of the exhibition in the press, but I haven't seen any reviews. But there have been a few sentences about me in some group exhibition reviews. [At the time when this conversation was recorded, the previous issue of "Studija", which included Tīfentāle's review, had not yet been published - K.S.] K.S.: Does it matter? Ģ.K.: To me? No. It's nice to be acknowledged, of course, but that is not my goal. K.S.: What are your plans for the future? Ģ.K.: Nothing specific for now. A certain stage has come to an end, there are ideas mulling around in my head, and, hopefully, something will come of them. But it's probably going to be something completely different. Over the past few years my taste has changed so radically that it is difficult to make any predictions. My programme at Radio Naba has changed dramatically. The current vibrations, although not too far off the industrial context, are in any case somewhat different from what they were two years ago. That awful blackness is not there any more... The minor tonality is gone. /Translator into English: Līva Ozola/ | |
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