Miriam Bäckström (SWE)Anonymous Interviews2004 |
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— Why do you change? — It’s to do with my work and it’s to do with myself. But I often stay at the same hotels. Those that I like, and those that like me. — Do they know you? — And I know them. — Do you ask for the same room, if you’ve stayed there before? — Yes. Since I stay rather long at the same hotel, they usually give me the same room automatically. I don’t ask for this directly. Throughout the years things have developed in certain ways with different hotels. — When you come to a new room, what do you do? — Well, if it’s the usual rooms ... Hotel rooms always look the same, really. I guess it’s because you’re supposed to recognise something in them, and that’s what I do. Everything is there, everything that I need. I appreciate that. But I don’t know if I ever feel at home. I don’t know what that means. Or I’m not ... Perhaps hotels are a loss of memory, or rooms without a memory? I have my memory, my memory of what has happened, but what has happened is just as distant as what’s going to happen. I watch TV. — You don’t need a home, in the usual sense? The way we usually speak of a home, with things that surround us ... — No, I don’t know about that. I don’t think about that ... A home requires decisions ... And time is present there, in a way. Or it becomes visible ... — Do you have special requirements for your room? Should it look special in any way? — No, I see right through those things. Different styles ... New design ... — You leave the hotel in the morning, and when you return all traces of you are gone, since someone has been there to clean. Is that a problem for you? — No, it varies so much. If I’m in the middle of something and if my papers are spread all over, I ask them not to clean for some time. Or I ask them to only make the bed and clean the bathroom. No one will enter when I don’t want them to. And then they can always ... I appreciate the orderliness of hotels. And I prefer to be a guest wherever I’m staying. — You work in your room? — Yes, for me the hotel room is the perfect work space. I think I see it more as a work space than as a home. I live in my work. I think I’m a creature of habit. I like being where I am. In one place. I started working like this rather early, and then ... It feels very comfortable to work like this. — Do you often entertain guests? — No, I don’t have much of a social life anymore, or at least not for the time being. Not like before. If I receive guests, I normally use other facilities in the hotel: the restaurant, the lobby, the bar. But you’re not alone when you stay in hotels. There are always other guests who may be staying even longer than I. Everyone is a guest. — How did you realise this is a good way of life for you? — Well, it was after a separation, really. And I decided not to buy a new flat or a new house. I was relatively young then. At that time, I also had some success with my work, so I felt I’d be able to ... It must have been a coincidence, at first, that I began to stay in a hotel and noticed I could work very well there. A kind of liberation. Being able to do only the really important things. — And do you think you will continue like this? — Yes. I don’t think I have any reason to change this. Not now. — Do you have belongings or property somewhere else? With relatives? — No, that doesn’t interest me. I have nothing. That’s the biggest trap we fall into starting to collect things. — Did you once own many things? — Yes, but I don’t think I was aware of it at the time. Now I am. — And they have disappeared? — Yes. — Was that a conscious decision? — Well, it was a combination of unfavourable circumstances that turned out to be a great liberation. — You said the food was a reason for you to decide about moving on. — I’m not used to talking about this. I think it’s called a change of atmosphere. I think the atmosphere, the air around me, is what I actually write about. — The air around you? — Yes, I am in the air that I write. I affect the air, and I think it’s because I was successful with my first piece of work that was produced like this: in a hotel, during one whole year. And I realised I wanted to continue building my other work in the same way. |
— How does your family feel about this choice of yours? — But I have no family. — Is there any place that feels more important than others? — No. I have consciously sought to liberate myself from any kind of personal opinions to do with judgements of taste. And I have succeeded in that. The places relate to my work. I’m here because it’s important right now. — So you have no personal connection to space? — No, not to the space I work in. But I do make use of space, and descriptions of spaces, in my work. That’s different. That’s descriptions. Representations. — Do you see any similarities with ... Well, isn’t this somehow like avoiding responsibility for all belongings and everything we believe that we need? — No, I would say it’s the opposite, rather. That the rest of you avoid responsibility. — What kind of responsibility are you talking about then? — Well, you make excuses all the time. — I think if you don’t own anything and if that’s of no real importance to you and you don’t miss anything ... That reminds me of childhood, in a way. An existence with no constraints, with no demands. Are there any demands that relate to staying in a hotel? — No, childhood was not the same ... This is something very serious, it’s my way of looking at life. I guess it has always been. I don’t quite understand what childhood means, the word childhood. — So you’ve always functioned in the same way? — Yes. I think this childhood thing is largely mythical. It is. I have been living like this for a long time now, if that’s what you’re thinking about. No, I can only say that I’ve always been who I am, and that my adult life actually gave me the possibility of living for real. — As few impressions as possible? — Yes. I don’t need anything new just for novelty’s sake. — You said your work is about air and emptiness? — No, I don’t think my readers would notice this. It’s rather my own need for ... I think everyone would work a little better if they had a little more ... if they were exposed to fewer impressions. It’s about taking things seriously, about ... Well, right. You want this to sound special. The only thing I’ve done is I’ve de-selected certain things so I can have the possibility of doing what I want. It’s not a big choice. Everyone is forced to make choices, more or less. It’s nothing irreversible. This way of prioritising allows me to make fewer choices than before. Perhaps my priorities will be different tomorrow. Right now this is good for me. — How is your relation to time? — I’m a creature of habit. I’m just a human, so I need to sleep and eat, and I do that according to a schedule. Same time every day. And it works. It’s very ... It’s soothing for me to know that the same things will happen at the same time every day. — I think that if you’re sitting in an environment that doesn’t provoke too many associations—the way I imagine a hotel room can be very pared down and similar to everywhere else ... I think perhaps time doesn’t become as palpable in such environments, particularly not if you’re alone. — Do you mean time as the time of ageing? — Just the feeling of time. The absence of time. — But I think you can become stressed by habit as well. By routines. And I’m a bit older now. I guess I was more stressed before. I think stress is independent of how you live, really. But you do have a point. When I work, time is suspended. I ignore it. Time for me is a means of synchronising with other people. When I’m alone I don’t relate to time. — Do you lack anything?
Published in Miriam Bäckström, Anonymous Interviews/Anonyme Interviews (Basel: Museum für Gegenwartskunst Basel; Christoph Merian Verlag, 2004). Biography |
Drawn by Reality - Encapsulated in Life |
October 1st - December 31st, 2004 |