Stuart Hyatt and Richard Saxton in conversation with Lena Vigna, Curator of Exhibitions/Department Head at the John Michael Kohler Arts Center, Sheboygan, WI, August 2006.

LV: Talk to me about who you are independently and how/why you came together for M.I.K.E. And please touch on how, generally, you view the intersection of art/architecture/and music.

RS:  Well, most of the work that I do lands somewhere between art, architecture, design, and maybe social intervention. I have been creating projects under the moniker of the municipalWORKSHOP since 2002. I have always felt like the work I wanted to do could or should provide some sort of meaningful social utility—which is what I strive to accomplish with the municipalWORKSHOP projects. I am experimenting with social participation with these projects--I would like the work to be involved with the shaping of the social landscape—be meaningful in someway. I kind of think this is what everyone should be doing, right? Can you imagine if our society worked in a way where everyone used their work to somehow better their community--or at least kept that concept in mind while developing their “to do lists”? 

I think both Stuart and I share a number of ideas about what art maybe “should do.” Obviously he is a “sculptor” as well—which by the way is how we met, in Graduate School at Indiana University—but he is in no way working like a traditional sculptor. What both he and I are doing is more in line with what Beuys talked about with his idea of Social Sculpture—the idea that you can shape a society or community in the same way that you can shape a ball of clay. So, Stuart is gathering community members together to make these interesting music recordings. Generally, I think we share a lot of values in terms of art making. We had worked together before developing this project—which really came out of an opportunity for Stuart to do something in his hometown of Indianapolis and for me to get back to the Midwest to realize a new piece.

SH: Yeah, we’ve worked together for a while now. Our first official collaboration was a very strange installation in a front yard.  We rented a backhoe and dug massive holes that we turned into meditative bunkers. I think we connected over the agreed need for a backhoe.

Although my art training is in sculpture and installation, I seem to spend more of my time working on music projects. My activities in contemporary art and popular music have intersected on many projects and I felt the need to organize my various music projects and the people I work with —TEAM Records. TEAM Records is just an umbrella for my various sound and music ideas.

As for the intersection of art/architecture/music—there are obvious formal/functional intersections with much of the current challenging architecture designed to hold/display art (museums) or to give space to music (concert halls and theatres). But on a personal level—I am an untrained musician who studied art and architecture—so when I write music, I am thinking about space, color, scale, line, figure/ground…all that art stuff. I am not thinking about scales, modes, keys, or time signatures. And I find a lot of people who, when describing their listening process or their emotional reaction to music, describe it in very architectural terms—something is solid, massive, vertical or horizontal. Of course there are composers who have deeply studied graphic scores and the like—but I am not so interested in all of that, I like pop music. Which brings up one of the points of comparison between Richard and I. We both think in the built environment—he really responds to the hand-made, the vernacular, the modest, the simple - and I respond to these same qualities in music.

LV: Where were you with the development of M.I.K.E. when the John Michael Kohler Arts Center became involved? How much did this commission structure the project and what do you think it is about M.I.K.E. that resonates with the Arts Center's interests?

SH: Richard and I were finalists in a competitive public art competition in Indianapolis. Each finalist (or collaborative team in our case) was given a budget to propose a major new public art project to be funded by the City of Indianapolis and various private donors. Our proposal was M.I.K.E. We had a pretty ambitious (and in hindsight, insane) scope of work in mind—a 16–foot wide mobile structure that would, over the course of 18 months, facilitate the recording of a 4-CD box set of original music in 4 distinct Indianapolis neighborhoods. This was in January of 2005. We didn’t end up getting the commission, and each of us went on to new projects. Later that year, the John Michael Kohler Arts Center saw our proposal packet and thought it might be a great fit for Sheboygan as a Connecting Communities project. We then spent about a year coordinating our schedules and refining the nature of the project. In April 2006 we formally began the design of the sculpture as an Arts Center commission.

RS: To be quite honest, we had really moved this M.I.K.E. thing to the far back burner by the time the Arts Center showed an interest in realizing it. As Stuart mentioned, the proposal had been finished—there were models, graphics, the whole works—and since we had already presented this project a couple of times to panels in Indy, the ideas and visual layouts where totally in place when the Arts Center picked it up. I think we both hoped it would be realized but we both had moved on to other ideas as well, so it was kind of a surprise to us to be thrust back into the M.I.K.E. project and begin moving it through its next steps. The Arts Center had a unique perspective in wanting community members to actually participate in the building of the thing—our original proposal had a good amount of the fabrication work being shopped out—and we ended up doing it all ourselves with the help of a ton of people the Arts Center hooked us up with. So this did a couple of things—it cut the budget nearly in half (which I think was key to getting it realized) but also opened the project to these other people’s ideas. An example of this is Lee Seeger, a machinist at Lakeshore Technical College. We had a design problem of creating hinges that could open a 1200 lb. door and still look like part of the unit. Lee just kind of took off on the project and developed these things from the initial design stage all the way to actually bolting them onto the unit. So I would like to think that during the building phase of this project M.I.K.E. involved some community members in some unique experiences—which seems to be a huge part of the Arts Centers mission, impacting the daily life of local residents with contemporary art. I think this is definitely a key value that both Stuart and I, and the Arts Center felt strongly about and why, ultimately, the project ended up happening here rather than Indy or anywhere else.

LV:  M.I.K.E. feels to me both familiar and alien—an amalgamation of the past, present, and future. Talk to me about its structure and it's cosmetic make-up. Why the grain bin? Why the salvaged materials? What was planned and what was organic?

SH: The familiar and alien description—this is exactly where I want to be with my work, both visually and sonically.  In fact, this is probably the closest I can come to a definition of the projects that I most connect with. Having worked with Richard on several of the municipalWORKSHOP projects, there always seems to be a very simple ground (the familiar) upon which he adds his aesthetic (the alien). So the process of creating a form is, as we both like to say, intuitive building. And because intuition is a direct perception of something independent of a reasoning process, I think we get forms that are a bit off the cuff, off the logic radar. But, this alien that has been added is derived from personal experience in the world—Richard is from Nebraska and I am from Indiana, we both live and work in the Midwest. Using vernacular forms makes sense on practical and conceptual levels. 

RS: I have always wanted to make something out of a grain bin. Growing up in the Midwest it is such a familiar form on the land and I really enjoy this history of people making new things out of readymade structures. It is a way of working that is utilized by everyone from farmers to really influential makers like Bucky Fuller. The salvaged materials come in as both a way to build on the cheap and add interesting aesthetic information while at the same time maybe this adds an element of responsibility—through using materials that might be destined to sit in a landfill for years and years. I think all of the municipalWORKSHOP projects have this kind of lowbrow rural mentality meets refined NASA-ish thing going on. I am not sure exactly where this comes from, but it keeps showing up. 

 

LV:  Was it always conceived of as something transformable and mobile - qualities that certainly resonate on both aesthetic and practical levels? But even if it was to be "interactive," it would not necessarily have to be mobile or transformable—were those elements also always at play?

RS: It has always been thought of as being somewhat mobile. Again it is probably personal experience mixed with the way things are being built these days—the combination of I-80 stretching through where I grew up (always seeing RV’s, semi’s, mobile homes, etc. going down the road) and the real mobile culture that is prevalent in our lives today (people buying condos instead of homesteads and carrying iPods and mobile phones). Automobiles are increasingly transformable. And this isn’t necessarily anything new—there was a big “mobility” movement in the 60’s and 70’s in design—but I think it is just an idea that comes around every now and again for us humans. Wasn’t it Deleuze and Guattari that said something about humans being hardwired for a nomadic existence, that standing in the way of this is what caused wars? I could be totally wrong there, but perhaps that is why we continue to be explorers—wanting in our time to colonize Mars rather than the Wild West.

SH: I think the mobility has two meanings. First, the structure is small and has elements of campers, trailers, heavy machinery, farm equipment, and storage sheds, lunar pods—all of which are made to move around. Second, the modest architecture we were just talking about has a certain transient, temporary nature. Although it is grounded in its surroundings, it seems itchy, ready to change or be torn down—as if it may or may not need to be there forever. I think maybe it makes me feel better, when building a big outdoor steel sculpture, to think that it doesn’t command the landscape, but gently settles in—perhaps hovering—until it needs to move on.

LV: Did it feel at any point as if the practical—that this ultimately needed to function as a recording studio AND a bandstand—was going to overwhelm the aesthetic? How did you resolve those concerns?

SH: No way. If somebody wants to go into a big-league recording studio they are not going to put up with outside noise, whacky temperature changes, and messy cables everywhere. We are not trying to replicate the pristine recording environment—what we are giving is a unique space that is intended to transport the participant to a place where they are comfortable and inspired to create their music. Most people that have come inside to record comment on how comfortable they feel. The bandstand is intended to be a platform for impromptu and spontaneous neighborhood concerts. I’d like to see it used more on that level than for major organized concerts.

RS: We were pretty aware and careful about the practicality of the thing. I definitely error on the side of form over function but, in this particular case, both aspects had to work equally well. I don’t feel that we compromised anything on either side of the coin there.

LV:  What directs your motivation and your ideas when you recognize that this is going to be an interactive work utilized by the community-at-large? That at any given moment it could be presented at a different point in its utility—as a sculpture/as architecture/as recording studio/as bandstand?

SH: We like to make things that serve a purpose other than just looking good. With M.I.K.E. we just tried to make this as simple and as approachable as possible for people to interact with. That said, it is a sculpture, a studio, and a bandstand—that is what it is made to do.

RS: It also might be the overwhelming urge to want to please others. Making something that has multiple options for success is kind of nice—if someone doesn’t appreciate the sculpture part, maybe they like the recording studio. If not that perhaps they are into the bandstand. Part of that may also be damage control. If you build a transformable thing like this that is made for people to utilize, perhaps there is less of a chance of letters to the editor about how ugly and what an eye sore the thing is (a problem that never seems to go away in public art). So those are a few things—but the inspiration and conceptual side of it is simply making a utilitarian device, something similar to a large-scale Leatherman tool or something like that.

LV: In some ways, it is quite radical to propose a project such as this—something that is architecture but portable--that is sculpture and a studio. Can you talk about why this is the kind of work you want to make?

RS: Radical, huh? Well, I think it is just the idea of the new object that is the motivator. You know, nobody wants to make something that has been seen a million times already—so with each project there is always an element of invention. How can I push this thing to be more than it’s basic elements? We talked a lot during the build process about how much easier it would have been if the thing didn’t have to open—if it could have just been a recording studio in a grain bin. But that is just kind of leaving the project in it’s basic form—a disservice maybe—if its going to be good, you have to push the idea to a point that it is new. So neither one of us had ever seen a recording studio, a sculpture, and a bandstand all wrapped into one spaceship-like grain bin before. So that makes sense to pursue as a viable project.

SH: I just think it is more interesting and has more levels than a static sculpture. But you have brought up a very important point here—one that I’m sure has a long discussed history in art/philosophy:  this structure is, simultaneously, an artist’s comment on the world and an actual living thing in the world. This I think speaks to both of our desires to be participants and observers, performers and recorders. For example, I designed M.I.K.E. because it is something I would want in my neighborhood—I like M.I.K.E.! That is a possible point of departure for all my projects—do I want this thing in my world? Would I like using it, looking at it? —And then balancing that with study of a given environment or a community and designing a project that you think will address a desire/need in that particular place.

LV: While I have not seen or heard you use the word "utopian" to specifically describe M. I. K. E., it does seem to embody a certain sense of that--more a sort of "practical utopia" with the use of salvaged materials, solar energy, and the idea that it can function in a variety of different capacities on both theoretical and conceptual levels. Can you comment on that categorization?

SH: And don’t forget about space travel! Space exploration is a paradox, because it is almost a rejection of the utopian ideal—let’s get out of here! And when we designed this thing we did have some fairly utopian conversations about the grain bin being a storage/vessel of energy and sustenance—and how music making might provide similar nutrition for the spirit. Also about the structures and the people of the Midwest and the Plains, settlers and homesteading, you know—the pioneer spirit. Covered wagons and spaceships. Barley and Tang!

RS: I guess I think about that in a real simple sense—that perhaps to me utopia implies making the community or world more ideal, or at least better if not ideal. So that is totally subjective but to me at least adding something like M.I.K.E. to the built environment is participating in that ideal built community. I would love to see communities that have things like M.I.K.E. all over the place. I guess that’s kind of what I picture when you say “utopia”—like a bunch of organic space ship houses—things that are real geodesic or look like that crazy thing in Brussels, the Atomium. I love that thing. It also seems to imply the future (which I don’t know why). We should really start building utopia now, huh?  Why wait? I guess maybe that’s why the Arts Center commissioned the project—there is a very utopian vibe with the mission there.

LV: Clearly the idea of a civic, community-oriented project is significant to you. That combined with the details of M.I.K.E. itself resonates with some of the aforementioned R. Buckminster Fuller's ideas about cooperation and sustainability relative to architecture, design, technology, the intermingling of disciplines, the intermingling of human beings, and nature. This connection would also tie you into the utopian/visionary ideas of other philosophers, social theorists, designers, artists, and architects. I absolutely see M.I.K.E. as having that kind of potential--as being a part of the dialogue of contemporary society on a broad scale. Do you? 

RS: Absolutely, although I don’t know if I can articulate what that is. It would be best to leave that up to people like you who know what they are talking about when it comes to philosophy and social theory. I would just say that yes, an intermingling approach to creativity is definitely the strategy that I am most comfortable and that I find most successful. It is just so much more fulfilling for me to meet and collaborate with architects, or machinists, or recording engineers, or construction workers. I would much rather be out amongst the people and the built environment. I don’t think we can really evolve as a people with a specialized view of things. There are too many perspectives, too many interesting viewpoints, including cultures, religions, etc. that get ignored through specialization. Clearly that is what our political leaders and governments are struggling with now—they don’t know how to interact with people that are different than them. I guess it comes back to that point of using the work to participate in society someway. But you know, you can’t get totally worked up about all this stuff, or you become paralyzed—so you do what you can, build a project and then move on to the next one, hoping all the time the work matters in some regard.

SH: Utopian/Visionary concepts, cooperation, the intermingling of human beings and nature—this is exactly what is happening through the music, inside during the recording process. It is not as if a polished band is coming inside to cut a record. What is happening, is that people are approaching this strange structure with curiosity—they walk up, they ask about it, they come back to participate, to sing and play and become a part of something bigger. In doing so, they have had a great art experience I think—where M.I.K.E. is the medium through which people connect, in ways they might not have without it being there.