The organisational conflicts of Studio Olafur Eliasson.

A new book, The Fall of the Studio: Artists at Work, examines through a collection of essays the changing role of the artists’ studio as sacred space of creative genesis. Edited by Wouter Davidts and Kim Paice, psychedelic-ly designed by Metahaven, and published by the new imprint of Valiz called ‘antennae’, which seeks to “pinpoint certain phenomena or new lines of thought in art, photography, architecture or design.”

A highlight here is the contribution focussed on the Danish artist Olafur Eliasson by Philip Ursprung, whose controversial and critical position is boldly announced by the title ‘Narcissistic Studio’.

Eliasson is probably my favourite contemporary artist, measured both by his prolific and wide-ranging exhibited output, the particular subjects of his exploration (optics, geometry, perception), but mainly because of the mythical qualities of the studio that produced them.

I had heard from friends in Berlin that he hired lots of architects, that they were generously given space and time to conduct their own research and experimentation, and that the studio itself functioned more like a community than a place of work; with a chef cooking lunches, and regular internal seminars to stimulate ideas. As an architect exhausted by the monotony and stress of office life, this sounded like somewhere I could even enjoy. More than this, being an artists’ studio, it appeared to offer a greater connection to the world of making, as the various artefacts are literally constructed by the studio, and not simply described in drawings to be handed off to builders.

And Ursprung’s essay largely confirms this. We are told that in addition to artists and architects, Studio Olafur Eliasson includes blacksmiths, carpenters, furniture builders, geometricians, electrical engineers, graphic designers, model makers and historians; making it a genuinely cross-disciplinary workshop and laboratory for ideas. Although Ursprung likens the studio to a medium-sized architect’s office, managerially it is importantly different, as “Eliasson does not act as his collaborators’ superior, but rather as a kind of ‘client’ who approaches them with ideas for projects and asks how they might be realized.” This offers them “more freedom to carry out their own investigations and experiments than they would have, by contrast, in an architect’s studio.”

This image is further reinforced by the self-published and freely downloadable publication Take Your Time, a booklet of 100 images of the studio and all its diverse creative production. We see people welding small geodesic spheres, screen-grabs of complex geometric structures, serious machinery for all sorts of material manipulation, staff enjoying informal debates (and of course lunch), process images and full-scale prototypes of various sculptures in development, and people seated at computers, like that of a more traditional design office. In the background, we frequently see the master, watching, contemplating, instructing and directing. Eliasson is presented not as a controlling authoritative figure, assigning tasks to his employ, but as an equal participant in the collective cultural endeavour he has brought into being.

But it would seem that all is not rosy in this creative utopia.

As a subtle prelude to the analytical section of the essay, Ursprung hints at an intrinsic conflict within Eliasson’s studio, by stating that he “has been employing between fifteen to fifty collaborators.” OK, hold on a minute, you don’t employ collaborators. You work with collaborators on equal terms. You employ staff. This is a critical distinction in the hierarchical structure of the office with direct implications on issues of authorship and financial incentive. Collaborators share in both the risk and reward of any undertaking, both financially and in terms of associated reputation, good or bad. Staff, in contrast, trade this possibility of reward for security and insulation from personal criticism. If an Eliasson show bombs, he is the one who has to face the music, not those who made the work.

It is at these contradictions in the so-called ‘collaborative’, ‘community’ and ‘cross-disciplinary’ structure that Ursprung levels his aim. To quote him at length:

“The artist intends to overcome the separation of practices that is typical of today’s economy and, by consequence, of today’s realm of art, art history, design and architecture. But the studio is not an organic research community, in truth. Notwithstanding the rhetoric of teamwork and its participatory and collaborative structures, and despite the fact that some publications merely bear the imprint of Studio Olafur Eliasson, it remains clear that Eliasson is the sole author. The collaborators are paid employees whose job it is to produce surplus value. […] Eliasson successfully exploits the key rule of any bureaucratic power structure, whether it be the Roman Empire or today’s globalised economy: Divide et impera, divide and rule. As long as every practice is limited to its spatiality and absorbed in its self reflection, it can be easily controlled and manipulated.”

(Aside: It is important here to note Ursprung’s intimate relationship with the Eliasson enterprise. As author of the Taschen-published Studio Olafur Eliasson: An Encyclopedia, the most comprehensive and monumental tome dedicated to the work of the artist, Ursprung is far from being a detached observer. And that’s perhaps what makes his critique all the more interesting. Is he biting the hand that feeds? Or has he finally seen through the rouse?)

This ‘manipulation’ occurs not only on the level of the staff, but also in the mechanisms for controlling the studio’s perception from the outside. One example of this is the ‘Life in Space 3’ symposium, featuring guests and studio members invited into the space to investigate “the relation between models and reality” in a day long programme.

Speakers included Mark Wigley, Daniel Birnbaum, Felicity Scott, Einar Thorsteinn, Bart Lootsma among others, speaking on topics as diverse as the ‘moral perception of the colour orange’ and ‘fivefold symmetry’. The published guestlist included superstars of art, architecture and theory: Beatriz Colomina, Thomas Demand, Juan Herreros, Sanford Kwinter, Detlef Mertins, Ilka and Andreas Ruby, and Lars Müller. Videos and a publication with transcriptions of all the presentations are available on the artists’ website, creating a fantastic archive of ideas and discussion.

However, it is also fairly easy to be sceptical of this endeavour as nothing more than an ego-fest of attention on Eliasson himself. In the introductory video he states his aim to focus on the studio as subject of discussion: “what we are trying to achieve is not talking about something which is not here” (read: ‘lets just talk about me’.) Indeed, the seminar and the views produced in it, are conceived as an artistic artefact itself, a “co-productive act of the artists’ studio.” By including these international figures in this production, and encouraging them to discuss the work of the office in the space it is created, they are deprived of their analytical distance, and inevitably lean toward praise. In addition, as the seminar, publication and videos are a product of the Eliasson studio, it allows the studio to selectively edit the message, and rigorously control how it is presented.

While Eliasson projects himself as a democratic enabler, he may conversely be closer to an autocratic dictator. This gaping void between these two Eliassons is sharply articulated by Ursprung:

“Diametrically opposed to the image of Eliasson as a quasi-romantic artist, with deep roots in the Scandinavian welfare state and the ideology of community and participation, stands the image of Eliasson as the smart research manager and artistic entrepreneur embedded in the networks of globalised economy, who is eager to expand his influence. The studio, I would argue, is the vital tool with which Eliasson successfully balances those divergent images and succeeds in pleasing almost everyone.”

Where I hope to expand on Ursprung’s argument, is to suggest that this rigorous control of the perception of the man and the studio is a key characteristic of Eliasson’s artistic production and research themes. Eliasson’s entire practice is about perception. He is foremost interested in how the eye and the brain interpret information – like light, colour, shape, texture and scale – and more specifically, the gaps between what is real and what is perceived.

A trademark piece in this regard is the ‘Afterimage’ series. An afterimage is a universal optical phenomena produced by focusing upon a projection of a particular colour for a number of seconds, allowing the viewer’s eye to adjust, at which point the projection is switched off, leaving the complimentary colour imprinted on the retina of the viewer. You see the opposite colour, something which is not really there, and nor has it ever existed.

This phenomenological sleight-of-hand is a useful metaphor for the dual realities of the projected image that is Eliasson and his studio. What exists is a “research manager and entrepreneur”, yet what we see is the “quasi-romantic artist”. The studio itself, conceived as a creative artefact of the Eliasson brand, could easily form part of his ‘Afterimage’ series. We have been tricked into seeing something which is not really there. The question is, how long can he keep up the illusion? When will our eyes adjust, and see this studio for what it really is?

This isn’t about whether ‘collaborative is good’ or ‘hierarchical is bad’, but the slippery notion of honesty. Is it a problem that the Eliasson studio and its organisational structure purports to be something it is not? There is clearly no problem with the work; in fact, the incredibly prolific output of the studio may only be possible under this strict managerial regime. Could the studio be better if they acknowledged this autocratic reality? Probably not. But what if they engaged in genuine collaboration, with the associated shared responsibility and reward? Possibly, although it could also be argued that the art world requires and demands a singular author/brand to attach to these projects and exhibitions. Despite the massive teams of staff and assistants that actually create the works of any contemporary artist of Eliasson’s stature, the concept of a factory or production house is thought to perhaps tarnish the impression that each work is a personal creation direct from the masters’ hand. We as the collective audience of consumers regard this as simpler and more palatable than dealing with the complex notions of distributed authorship or the grubby engagement with the market economy.

While it’s easier to believe the illusion, as Eliasson himself admits, “it’s quite liberating to understand reality as a construction.”

All images of the studio from the Take Your Time pdf.