On Tino Sehgal and the Aesthetic of the Immaterial

Spectators puzzle over Yet Untitled presented at the Venice Biennale in 2013. The performers sit on the floor and make sounds alluding to iconic and cultural songs (photo from oe1)

Entering the industrial enclave of the Hauprok Foundation in East Berlin — a prominent institution housing a preeminent collection of conceptual and minimal art — I imagined myself prepared for potentially weird art. Indeed, I encountered an array of fascinating oddities: an old, tattered carpet from a drug rehab center in Los Angeles; a performance depicting the ordinary moment of a toilet attendant absorbed in music and a crossword puzzle; and to keep Duchamp from rolling in his grave (or perhaps, to make him roll more violently), some ready-mades, including a crumpled pillow on a pedestal.  

As I navigated the pale bustling gallery spaces, I observed arched brows and quiet whispers questioning the nature of the art. However, even my own suspension of disbelief faltered as I entered a room where a woman, appearing to be a museum guard, unexpectedly broke into song: “This is propaganda, you know, you know.”  

As she sang the melody twice in a flawless high-pitched intonation, there was utter silence and great confusion. After finishing, she nonchalantly turned around, resuming her museum guard duties as if nothing had happened, disregarding the perplexed faces of the spectators. 

Who is this mysterious museum guard? Was she just giving an impromptu performance, or could she be a deliberate part of the exhibition? 

As it turned out, the latter was true, and I was lucky enough to witness one of the so-called Constructed Situations of Berlin-based artist Tino Sehgal, who emphatically avoids pigeonholing his creations as mere "performances". Indeed, Constructed Situations is an apt title for Sehgal’s art, encapsulating the essence of the encounters, where visitors are propelled into the artist’s situation without warning or any means of escape. His immersive approach blurs the traditional boundary between viewer and performer, or in Sehgal's own terminology, viewer and ‘interpreter’. In fact, that woman was not a museum guard seeking our applause for her musical disposition, but she meticulously followed Sehgal’s precise set of instructions and methods for her song and overall behavior. 

After the exhibition I spoke to a few people and we agreed: it felt like the interpreter’s rendering of This is Propaganda disrupted the hallowed silence of the exhibition space in a provocative way, like a deliberate intrusion into the realm of individual boundaries and social norms. And if you look up other works by Tino Sehgal you will notice similar characteristics: during Kiss (2003) spectators are confronted with an intimate encounter between two interpreters who engage in acts of kissing and embraces alluding to famous artworks (such as Auguste Rodin’s bronze sculpture The Kiss). In Situation (2007) visitors are invited to participate in an ongoing philosophical dialogue sparked by a group of interpreters referencing statements from the history of political and social (sociopolitical?) thought. I describe these in the present tense because once a museum has acquired a Constructed Situation, it can display them over and over through an interpreter.

I confess to occasional feelings of aimlessness in museum visits and so appreciate the vigor of playing a conscious role and actively contributing to the development of an artwork. Even in major institutions such as New York's Guggenheim, Tate Modern, or the Palais de Tokyo. 

Two interpreters performing Tino Sehgal’s The Kiss on the floor of the Guggenheim Museum in 2010 (photo from GCC)

That development can take on different directions with each visit. Sehgal's "living sculptures" assimilate into the exhibition’s continuity as they are structurally repeatable and displayed day-long throughout the exhibition’s duration. Their subjective nature makes each visit differ in experience and conversation, generating diverse feelings and emotions. That is, if I had come back the next day and seen another interpreter with a different voice and energy performing the work, I might not have decided to write about Sehgal in the first place. 

The intemporal object-like quality of Sehgal's Constructed Situations – attributable to their day-long repetition – is what distinguishes them from ostensibly similar participatory artworks (by artists such as Tania Bruguera). Perhaps the reason I was so surprised when the woman began singing was the lack of prior announcement, as is usually the case with art performances? In this respect, his art can be seen as an impulse for our reassessment of the privileged position traditionally assigned to material objects in art institutions. In an environment where painting and sculpture dominate, the object-like, albeit immaterial, nature of Sehgal's art seems to challenge the essence of valuable artistic production within institutions. 

The documentation process for Tino Sehgal's immaterial art presents another challenge for museum archival practices. The artist prohibits documentation through photographs, videos, or any physical document like press releases or catalogues. Even the acquisition process of his art remains ephemeral through a verbal contract in the presence of a notary (fittingly, the only physical proof of purchase for This is Propaganda was said to be the parking ticket at the notary's office).  

How can we possibly capture and convey these ephemeral moments as cultural heritage if we are left with no evidence? In numerous interviews, Tino Sehgal has emphasized that, for him, the primary rationale lies in the nature of his pieces. His Constructed Situations are defined by a constant metamorphosis that produces dispersed and subjective experiences. Consequently, the attempt to encapsulate them in a document that aspires to be objective and eternal significantly distorts fundamental aspects of their essence.  

Months after visiting the Hauprok Foundation and experiencing Tino Sehgal's This is Propaganda, I am left with a myriad questions. How do we reconcile the ephemeral, ever-evolving nature of his works with our natural inclination to capture and communicate them through conventional means? Can we perhaps even accept the transience of these moments as an intrinsic aspect of their beauty? As I wrestle with these questions, I reflect on the role of institutions in preserving art, and wonder if Tino Sehgal's Constructed Situations can ever truly take their rightful and recognized place in art history.