On the stage of the Palais Garnier, Peter
Sellars’ staging of Kaija Saariaho’s opera Only
the Sound Remains hosts as its set two large-scale paintings by the artist
Julie Mehretu. The paintings, which are slightly enlarged reprints of her works
from 2014/15 entitled Tsunemasa (next to Kaija) and Invisible
Sun (algorithm 7, spell form) exemplify what she has described as the “liminal
third space” of “emergent possibility”. Peter Sellars invited Mehretu to be
part of the project in response to an ongoing conversation and relationship
with her work. Julie Mehretu reflects on her
first participation to the making of an opera set.
Why did you accept to work on a project for opera?
Julie Mehretu : For a very long time I’ve been interested in the relationship between painting and sound, and also in the inherent time-based experience with painting. During Only the Sound Remains, you sit for almost an hour looking at each painting. The paintings evolve over the scope of the opera, definitely due to the lighting design and staging of course, but you also appreciate the paintings differently, see them differently, depending on your emotional engagement with the sound, the narrative and the characters, which are in constant evolution. Sound, music, have always informed my painting, it is a part of my process, and to see how that relationship could be continued outside the studio, on the stage, was something I was very intrigued by.
How did the transition from the actual paintings to their reproduction for the set work?
Peter Sellars connected me with a stage designer,
since I hadn’t had any experience with that language and together we thought through
how many layers there could be, in order to keep the “whole” translucent. At
first we thought there could be many layers on the stage that could seem like a
painting stretched open, but it turned out to be much more compelling to have
the complete painting be on a single layer and rather convert the stage into
the ontological, metaphoric layers. The primary narrative, which takes place on
earth, is center stage in front of the painting, the painting itself is the
liminal space, through which the spirits move between earth and the heavens,
and then the heavens, the universe, the space of the ghosts, is behind the
painting. How can you make paintings of that scale come to life, through light?
How could you make them work with the story to represent the various layers of
life and death and the spirits moving between them? We needed to create that
dynamic on stage, and we did that with choosing to print the paintings onto
very translucent material, that could be read as a solid painting, but then
could evaporate into air depending on the lighting. The light could move inside
the paintings, through them, behind them. We (and the characters) enter the
paintings, through light and shadow. The paintings become landscape, dream,
death, imagination, ghosts, heaven, emotion, and nightmare. They also become
the liminal space, through which the spirits move.
To what extent was Nôh Theater an inspiration for Tsunemasa and Invisible Sun?
The paintings are part of a larger body of work I
was working on. Invisible Sun (algorithm
7, spell form) is actually the eighth painting of an eponymous series. When
Peter brought me the libretto with the two Nôhs, I read them, continued working,
read them again, but I did not try to paint those Nôhs specifically. Tsunemasa
(2014) and Invisible Sun (2015) are related to them
abstractly, in that I educated myself on Nôhs, studied them, their cosmic ideas
of the world and their ancient, very condensed and specific form. Tsunemasa
also relates to the tradition of having a tree in the background of the Japanese
Nôh stage. This painting has the
metaphorical aspect of being both a landscape and this other mystical space, a
ceremonial space even, of the actual narrative. In the end, both paintings are
very much about creating from within the great space, from within this other
place of the ontological tree. Fundamentally, those paintings refer to the most
ancient forms of creating a painting, of mark-making, by using Sumi ink and
acrylic -- to invent and imagine something else from those marks.
In the staging of Only the Sound Remains, how do your paintings interact with music, dance and technology?
It is interesting, because those different artistic languages come together to make this complete work of art, the opera in full. To see this happen during the technical rehearsals was extremely inspiring. From Kaija’s magnificent score and listening to her work take form, the musicians playing it, and then the sound technicians bending it through the space. The layers of imagination, abstraction, ontological space, mark-making, to Peter’s staging of the opera, the singers, the lighting, the dance. My work relates to those complex stratas of existence and resonates with the language of dance, with music, the libretto and the manipulation of the singer’s voices electronically. They are different forms of imagination, but there is an inherent, intuitive, relationship.
How challenging was this experience for you?
This project was a complete challenge in that I
had never had any experience with the stage. The first ideas I had for the
project were unnecessarily complex. It was a big learning curve to reduce those
ideas to the three spaces of the painting across the two sets. But also to understand what happens
with the translucent fabric and what can be done in terms of color with the
light. The experience was very
instructive for me also on how to continue to paint. Color and ontological
space took a new direction and form in my work after this experience.
Your reading: The colours of our dreams