CARAMBOLAGE: MICHAEL SAILSTORFER

The sculptor, object and installation artist Michael Sailstorfer ranks among the foremost contemporary voices to have emerged within the art scene in Germany. Born in Velden (Germany) in 1979, he shot to fame at a young age thanks to his passion for sculptural experimentation in public spaces. His works, many of which are inspired by everyday objects, are akin to the Gesamtkunstwerk: The melding in his works of physical and sensory stimuli bring forth an immersive experience.

In an interview with Marianne Dobner, the artist discusses the concept of extended sculpture, his art historical precedents, the reasons why he takes particular pleasure in working in public spaces, and such recurrent topics as transformation and transience.

Marianne Dobner: Would you characterise yourself as a sculptor?

Michael Sailstorfer: Certainly, my work invariably centres on a certain form of three-dimensionality. I find that space, the dimensions of an object, the material itself and the manner in which the viewers relate to the object all play a significant role. My point of departure is always sculpture.

MD: Many of your works are site-specific. What importance do you attach to the space in which you exhibit your work? Do you distinguish between gallery, museum or outdoor space, for instance?

MS: The integrity of the space is at the forefront of my thinking. Both in terms of its physical aspect, in other words, the local and architectural conditions, as well as the situation in which the exhibition is held. No matter whether a gallery, museum or public space, the location is invariably my point of departure, whereby I find there to be little distinction between gallery space and museum space. I do whatever inspires or moves me.

MD: What kind of space do you most enjoy, and what kind of setting do you find most appealing?

MS: It’s not easy to say what I enjoy the most. I find the kind of spontaneity of the outdoors highly desirable: The circumstance in which people do not approach art with a preconceived idea in mind, and in which I create an element of surprise through my work that provokes a sense of bewilderment. For example, in one of my first works, Waldputz (2000) – meanwhile, some 22 years old – I cleaned up a section of forest. I thus formed an artificial space within a natural space. This was a minimal sculpture which people walked past without knowing what had actually taken place there. Has there been an accident, or is someone constructing a cabin? One cannot say. To this day, I enjoy these open questions, this form of surprise.

MD: But what does your creative process entail, how do you approach work on a sculpture?

MS: The urge to create a work of art always has to do with oneself and with the question as to what and why one considers something important at any given time. When looking back, I find much of my work to be a sort of diary. The works evolve along with me. Naturally, I also sift through my environment, and seek to grasp what takes place around me. Still, the question must always turn on what moves me. At the same time, I reflect on the space for which each work is composed.

MD: Was your approach to work influenced by the COVID-19 pandemic?

MS: I do believe that the pandemic had a major impact on my life, since one was catapulted deeper into the private realm; there were fewer exhibitions and generally less social life. Yet I wouldn’t say that the pandemic brought about a conscious change in my work. It might take some time to fully grasp whether and to what degree the pandemic effected a serious change on me.

MD: Many of your sculptures are composed of everyday objects. Yet they are not always what they might seem at first glance. I’m thinking here of your salt sculptures, which, while seemingly made of indestructible marble, now dissolve before one’s very eyes. Visually, your work echoes classical Greek sculpture. On the other hand, such thematic aspects as transformation and transience occupy an essential role. Is this also a criticism of the so-called concept of value and the ever-increasing prices of contemporary art?

MS: You refer to aspects that in my work play a definite role and which I deal with in great detail. My father had a stonemasonry business, and so I grew up with solid, hard materials. Although I studied sculpture, I have never produced sculptures in stone, I resisted doing so. Marble is a material closely related to the sculpture of classical antiquity. It symbolises eternal and all-enduring art. Yet the transience of the material appealed to me far more. I found that creating something that does not last forever, but which is transient and ephemeral, to be liberating. My salt sculptures are located somewhere in this intermediary zone: While they may appear to be made of marble, they are in fact made of salt and are positioned so as to accentuate transience. The salt ears were thus hung in a game enclosure where they were licked away by the animals. Alongside transience, my main concern is always the fleetingness of an instant of feeling, moments that do not endure forever, moments that dissolve and change.

This idea may also be carried over to the market. I am aware that buyers very often desire only what endures, something for which the highest prices can be fetched; perhaps one ought to liberate them from this idea.

MD: And what do things look like with respect to artistic role models?

MS: I have always been interested in other artistic positions. I think it’s crucial to understand what has gone before, above all in the fields in which one works. Influences shift with the passage of time. Gordon Matta-Clark has greatly influenced my thought on architectural interventions. I’m referring here to my Tears video, in which tears demolish a house, or to a collaborative work with Jürgen Heinert entitled 3 Ster mit Ausblick (2002), in which we sawed up a wooden house and burned it in the fireplace. I refer to Gordon Matta-Clark again and again. Similarly, Marcel Duchamp and his ready-mades were a key influence, as well as Joseph Beuys, as a German approach – most notably, when dealing with the application of materials and the way in which they are invested with different meanings.

MD: You were raised in a stonemasonry business, and your father studied fine arts at the art academy. Has this influenced you?

MS: My father acquired the stonemasonry business from his father. While still in apprenticeship, he also studied sculpture under Leo Kornbrust at the Munich Academy of Art. He graduated the year I was born. Interest in contemporary art was undoubtedly a consistent feature of our family. I was 5 years old when first visiting the Venice Biennale. Excursions to the documenta in Kassel or to see the sculpture projects in Münster were not uncommon. That all this was self-evident is certainly what inspired the decision to study art myself.

MD: Your works very often not only display an intensely physical presence, but an equally distinct sensory presence. In other words, aromas and sounds play as large a role as visual factors, thus engendering an all-encompassing, physical experience for us as viewers. Here, I am thinking of works such as 1:43-47 (2008) or Brenner (2017).

MS: This takes us back to the initial question: as a sculptor, at some point one asks oneself, “How might one go beyond classical sculpture? How can one extend it into space? It was in this way that I began thinking about acoustic signals, smells and various physical modes of perception. I also enquired into how a small sculpture might be able to fill an entire space economically. This resulted in various experiments like the Skulptur Reaktor (2005), in which a microphone is cast into a concrete cube to absorb ambient sounds such as vibrations from the ground. The reactor responds to the audience and begins to hum when visitors enter the space. Once the space is empty, the sculpture again falls silent. Another experiment was the work Zeit ist keine Autobahn (2005): A tyre rubbing up against the wall. This is a small sculpture with a technical life of its own that permeates the space by means of the wear and tear on the rubber and the pungent odour that it gives off. The work Brenner (2017) functions similarly: A series of car chassis simulating a traffic situation, possibly a traffic jam, but perhaps also a factory assembly line. The installation was produced for a gallery space, a brutalist building and former church. What interests me here is the convergence of different worlds. The chassis are fitted with ovens instead of combustion engines. The ovens were heated with wood during the exhibition, thus producing the aroma of an open fire and giving off an intense heat. At the exhibition opening, it was just ten degrees outside but forty degrees inside, which produced the claustrophobic sensation of a sauna.

MD: What appeals to you in the creation of kinetic sculptures? Would you define your work as being at the interface between technology and art?

MS: As such, I have only marginal interest in technology. I’m more interested in endowing the sculpture with a life of its own. If you want the sculpture to emit sound or generate abrasion, inevitably it necessitates something that induces such movement. For me, technology is more the means to an end.

MD: What topics currently occupy you? What are you working on at present?

MS: Several new groups of works have emerged in recent years. My forthcoming exhibition at Galerie KÖNIG in Berlin is a retrospective of sorts. Scheduled for exhibition, for example, is the work Tränen auf Asphalt (2022), in which my series of tears are dissolved. The exhibition unites several themes I’ve been working on over the last few years; in a way, it marks the final exhibition of old groups of works. Currently, I am drawing a deep breath, a phase in which new things can emerge.