August 23, 2024
In February 2024, I visited Chiang Mai to spend a few weeks at Rirkrit’s house after opening my 2nd solo exhibition with Gallery VER in Bangkok, Thailand. This was my 4th time staying at Rirkrit’s Chiang Mai house (my previous visits were in January 2016, February 2018, and December 2019). After collaborating with Rirkrit on the last Jeju Biennale, I decided to write a book sharing the story of how I first met him in New York, hosting him and his work at my farmhouse in Jeju, and the many new relationships and conversations that arose thereafter. *The book is to be released in Korean in October and in English in December, 2024.
During the biennale, I made a video interview with Rirkrit while he was cooking bingdduk, a traditional Jeju dish, at my farmhouse in Jeju. This video was later shown at a two-person exhibition I participated in last year in Fukuoka, Japan. For the new book, I decided to conduct a second interview with him. Serendipitously, the day of our conversation marks the one year anniversary of the end of the biennale. It was also the day after my birthday. Though it wasn’t necessary, I jokingly asked for the interview as my birthday gift.
Lewis Hyde, the author of “The Gift: How the Creative Spirit Transforms the World,” said that the gift moves from plenty to emptiness. I hope that this conversation flows to places to open up new thoughts and conversations.
This conversation was conducted in Tiravanija's study at Rirkrit Tiravanija's house in Chiang Mai, Thailand, on February 12th, 2024.
Rirkrit and his family gave me a surprise birthday cake (February, 2024)
Yujin Lee: It has already been a year since we worked together for the 3rd Jeju Biennale. Looking back, what has been most memorable about the experience?
Rirkrit Tiravanija: I remember the taste of makgeolli. I remember a lot of things in a kind of flowing way. So, it's not like I have a story to tell you. I only remember impressions, I don't remember stories.
YL: What are the impressions?
RT: Well, I had a great time, and I'd like to go back sometime. It’s like the wind that blows through the room. You feel it, but you don't have the details.
YL: What do you think about all your “art” still being used at my house? Your ceramics, the compost bin, and the wood-fired stove.
RT: I don't think about what is work or what isn't work, but I think it's better to use it than not use it.
YL: Wouldn’t you say that most contemporary art is not used?
No. It's just used differently, and maybe not to its full capacity. People looking at things, like a Buddha sculpture, is considered being used in the Thai context, because looking at things reminds us of ideas. But I value things that are used, having more people handle it, having more time and space, having more age. It would be much more interesting in the future to think about it. And now even when it breaks, you can fix it! (laugh) So there is no fear! Most people are scared to touch art because they don't want to break it. Breaking it and fixing it gives it another life. That's a nice idea.
YL: This house is you, your work, your life. It is being used, it is also breaking down, and it is being fixed. I always find artists’ homes fascinating and most inspiring, so I wonder what you think about this Chiang Mai house and your other homes in relation to this idea of art.
This house in Chiang Mai was made to have people in it. It’s like a tea cup. It needs to have tea in it and people drinking from it. What's interesting to me is to see how resilient this house is, to see how flexible it can be to hold all the people, and how it can accommodate things. It is a family home that has all these possibilities.
My apartment in New York barely can fit five people. It’s funny because the legend of the tea room is that it's a three meter by three meter square box that some hundred thousand monks fit into to listen to the sermon. But it's also that I use the space that way. There are people who are very private and don't let anyone into their space. I’m not like that. But also, when you have a place like this, there is enough space
YL: Interesting.
RT: At one point, I was pretty much living here with the idea that less people would call me because I'm so far away. It didn't work out that way, but you need time out or time to go and think. You need the time to go and do things that are not the things that other people want from you. I'm trying to organize my life so that I can basically be back here.
Image of Rirkrit’s Chiang Mai house from the guest room (February, 2024)
YL: More permanently?
RT: More permanently, yes. I'm going to quit school. That's the only main obligation that's keeping me in New York.
YL: That connects to my next question.
RT: It's been long enough, and one could see how the landscape of art education has really changed, partly because the art world has changed. It became highly professionalized or careerist. I'm there to say, no it's not like that. But it's like fighting bureaucrats who are trying to make it into a kind of professionalism and careerism. I just don't agree with that. I also don’t have the energy to go and fight it. My energy would be better used making alternatives. And the alternative is to not do anything. (laughs) The alternative is to make people realize that you don't have to do it that way.
There are more Korean students coming to the program than ever, and they’re like training to be an athlete or something.
They trained themselves to be good artists so that they could get into the university. I can't imagine that being the way art is made. I can't imagine that's the way one thinks about making art because art in a way is about self discovery or self doubt. It's about a way of fumbling around and finding things and the accidents are much more interesting and much more important than the success. It's not measurable in a way that other things in the world are measured. That's what makes it interesting. That’s what makes it art. So now, I tend to think that people who are self taught are much more interesting than people who went to whatever best art programs in the world.
YL: But don’t you think people probably want to go to Columbia because artists like you are there?
RT: No, I don't think so. Maybe they used to. Now, they just think about the program that is famous because some other famous artists went there, like Korakrit. People's goals are different and they have different reasons to come to Colombia. It’s to get more visibility, for instance. Kids are getting shows even before their second year. That's also because there are a lot of random little galleries everywhere, and people calling you over Instagram to give you shows. What does it really mean?
YL: What do you think it means?
RT: It's about commerce. It's about money. It's about how it looks. It's not about the idea. It's about whether it looks really good. They don't even care how big it is or how small it is. It's just about whether it can be a good commodity, a good decoration. So I have to tell people that whatever you do, at least don't make decorations. It’s not a bad thing, but you have to admit to being a crafts person and not an artist. I respect people who make really nice things like furniture with gilded panels or whatever. They are actually functioning in a very high way as what they are without pretending to have an idea. They admit to their own function.
Rirkrit preparing dinner for the Lunar New Year celebration. (February 10th, 2024)
YL: So you think an idea is central to art?
RT: Well, Craig Owens, who passed away. He was quite famous and young, everybody really thought he was a genius. Anyway, he'd walk into the studio and he'd go, “Where's the content?” And you go, “It's about this and that...” But then he's still like, “Where is the content?”
YL: What does that mean?
RT: I guess it means it's not interesting enough. It's not real. It's not content, if you're just slapping some stories together, slapping some Google search ideas together. It's not content.
YL: Where does the content come from?
Content comes from you finding yourself and expressing it. At least that's more real. Content comes from an experience which is somehow critical to your existence as a human being. Going back, that's why I respect a nice tea cup since it's much more sincere and meaningful than a funny ceramic sculpture.
YL: In my view, teaching is a very important part of your practice. School is one of those rare places where different generations meet and make meaningful connections. I also met you through school and there are other students of yours that you still have continuing friendship and relationship with. What are your thoughts on this?
RT: Recently, I got an email from a kid. At first, I was like “How did this kid get my email?” because it was from a complete stranger. Then I found out that the kid had seen my show at PS1 and really wanted to talk to me. It's interesting to me because of course people can just come and knock on the door, call and talk to me. That would probably be much more productive in terms of schooling or learning or thinking. So, I decided to meet the kid, and we looked up the kid and he's some kind of spelling bee genius, right? A some kind of personality. And he’s going to Yale, like some genius child going to Yale. And he wants to talk to me (laughs), so I was kind of like “Oh, okay.” Everyone else thought it was weird, but I thought that's great.
The school was definitely a platform where I could meet many generations of younger artists. But that platform now is kind of corrupt. It's just about money, and it's not money towards a good idea. It's money just for a degree. Also if people had to pay that much money, at least they should get a better studio. It's almost a crime. It's better to spend like two thousand bucks and come to Chiang Mai. Even if you just sat here for a couple hours, maybe you will learn more. I can give whatever I have here which would probably be much more interesting.
YL: So teaching is, whether in or outside of institutions, still an important part of your practice?
RT: I never taught, and I never thought about teaching. It’s just having conversations, having some sense of community or having some kind of exchange. I'm sitting in a place where I can say many things, because I did have many experiences. I'm saying things because I think that's how I saw it, but again, you cannot teach people how to be an artist.
YL: So, going back to wanting to quit teaching…
RT: I'm not wanting to, I am quitting. I'm definitely quitting. Well, after 20 years, I want to leave with my full pension, so I'm not just going to leave. It’s also about the time. It takes a lot of my time, the time that I could be doing something else. Or I could be doing less and spending less. Also it's time to think about access from other places or other people. For a long time we've all been thinking about doing a school again. When I first started working with some younger artists here, I asked how we can make something that is more universal, that more people can participate. So we made this magazine with original sound without edits, without English translation. If the content was in Japanese, we listened to Japanese. If the content was in Korean, we listen to Korean. If they were Koreans speaking in English, that’s fine too.
YL: Was it like a podcast?
It was pre-podcast. It was a magazine with a CD that you put on your machine and listen to the sound while looking at the pictures. The idea was to make a platform where you can have information from everywhere, truly from everywhere around the world, which is not all in English. I was just speaking about this with Tuguldur the other day. I said, “Why is your catalog in English? You should use your own language. You can translate it of course, but first address it in your own language, because it's time for them to learn that not everyone has to cater to the English speaking blah blah.” There are many art, artists, art worlds, or art communities that's external to English speaking places. So we always thought about trying to make a school which is moving around the world or like the Land Foundation, which is a place where all the people would come from everywhere.
YL: So you are quitting Columbia and leaving New York. Thinking of the past twenty to thirty years of living between New York and Thailand, do you think spending a lot more time here will shift your practice and affect the kind of projects you do or art you make?
RT: Well, I'm trying to do a lot less, that's for sure. (laughs) I think with what I'm doing, I don't have to do anything anymore, you know what I mean?
YL: No… (laughs)
People can just come here, have dinner, hang out, talk. That's it. I don't have to go and do a show in a museum or gallery. It's just as good, better even. It’s like how Duchamp kind of stopped working, yet everyone still thinks and talks about Duchamp. I'm good in a place like that, you see? I've always said to look at the life around the object and not focus so much on the objects. Like that question you asked about “using” art. It's not about the objects, it's about people using the objects. If people are still coming to the house, drinking tea or makgeolli, having curry, it's perfectly what it is. That is the thing. Even this PS1 show, it's still focused on the objects, as much as everyone understood that it is not about the objects.
Image of Rirkrit’s dog Pinky at his Chiang Mai house (February, 2024)
YL: Why is that?
RT: Because that's the only way they can see it. That's the only model they have in mind. That's the only way they know. That's their habit. They don't understand that it doesn't mean anything to place these 100 pieces sitting around in the room. Actually, we shouldn't have any work, and just have one kitchen and that’s it. Or we have different flags out in the street, that's it. Or people wearing T-shirts, that's it. Those are much more interesting to me.
YL: That leads to my next question. Recently, you were the artistic director of the Okayama Art Summit and Thailand Biennale. You are also the artistic director for the upcoming exhibition at Leeum Museum in Seoul. When you present your work at an institution, you said it doesn't have to be objects and can just be a kitchen. But when you are on the other side, curating these kinds of institutional shows, are you not bringing in objects?
RT: I try to bring artists who are making things in the place, who make things that are alive.
Continue to Part 2 - Click here to keep reading
After Jeju Biennale’s public program with Rirkrit Tiravanija, “Art is Over! Come make tangerine baek-kimchi with us”
at Next Door to the Museum JeJu (January 20th, 2023)
Rirkrit Tiravanija
Born in 1961 in Buenos Aires, Argentina, the Thai artist Rirkrit Tiravanija’s practice combines traditional object making, public and private performances, teaching, and other forms of public service and social action. Tiravanija is a professor at Columbia University School of the Arts and a founding member of Utopia Station, a collective of artists, art historians, and curators. He is also the co-founder of The Land Foundation located in Chiang Mai, Thailand.
Yujin Lee
Born in 1986 in Daegu, South Korea, Yujin Lee is an artist and a collaborator who wears many other hats; she is a writer and translator, a caretaker of land and animals, as well as a host of an alternative artist residency that she began in 2019 at her farmhouse in Jeju Island, South Korea. yujinleeart.myportfolio.com @jejuanarchist
Lee was a collaborating curator for the 2022 Jeju Biennale, hosting Rirkrit Tiravanija's new site-specific work “untitled 2022 (submit to the black compost)” at her farmhouse turned artist residency, Next Door to the Museum.
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