TED Fellow Lucy McRae (watch her TED Talk) is a body architect — an artist who explores how technology and the body may someday meet and merge. Her latest project is a fantastical and frothy music video for “Dream a Little Crazy” by Australian band Architecture in Helsinki. Watch the mouth-watering video above, and then read all about how McRae and her collaborators wove futuristic ideas about synthetic biology, food-as-sculpture and 3D printing technology into a mad lab full of flying gloop and powder.
How do you describe to people what you do?
I do speculative story-telling. I create parallel, alternate worlds — underpinned by science fiction. The idea is to render possibilities to how technology will change, thinking about how people will embody the future in technology. But I do it in playful ways. In a way, I’m designing the connective tissue between science and imagination. I’m not a technologist, I’m not a scientist. I’m an artist inspired by scientific thinking, and I use that to steer the narratives of my films and concepts.
How did you come to collaborate on the video with Architecture in Helsinki?
A lot of my projects begin with serendipitous encounters, and this project was no different. I got an email from the band at a completely random time when I was at the LimeWharf, a cultural innovation hub in London where I’m now doing a residency. I’d been a Architecture in Helsinki fan for years, while the band’s lead singer, Cameron Bird, had seen my work, but had no idea who was making it. Then he investigated and saw that I was Australian, too, and was like, “Huh? Why haven’t we ever contacted her before?”
So he wrote to me and said I’d love for you to interpret the song. They had no brief, except that they wanted a surreal, infectious, absurd clip, and to have a strong synergy between the album artwork, made by this Finnish illustrator Santtu Mustonen, who hand-crafts analog, globby, dripping illustrations over sharp 3D geometries.
How did this lead to the concept of the biological bakery?
Our concept was to explore how synthetic biology might enter the home, but in a humorous way — using music as a superhighway to illustrate quite a complex idea. My collaborator Rachel Wingfield and I were interested in synthetic biology and the way food is industrially mass-produced, the way balloons or candies are made. We looked at how we could merge these industrial machines with the representation of the body. We started experimenting with the concept of printing the band’s faces with multicolored bacterial strands — using different-colored edible liquids composed of flour and water to symbolize this.
Everything in the film was edible. The band were scanned in Australia with a medical-grade 3D scanner, all the files were sent over to us in London, 3D printed and made into miniature versions in pop-confectionery.
There’s a scene where Cameron’s face-planting the band’s faces into corn flour. This is the way that candies are molded in factories: they create huge, big trays of corn flour, and they emboss, for example, Haribo shapes into the corn flour, and then the liquid is poured in. We piggybacked some of these confectionary techniques and made them for an installation gallery setting.
Two days after the music video, we re-created and built the whole set for a live event. We invited the audience to enter into this world, and we performed the scenes from the music video, exploding the liquid and painting this sort of fantastical tattoo skin over the body. In the end we were merging film and experiential art into the gallery setting.
Did the audience actually get to eat the props from the film? What were they made of?
Yeah, we worked with a chef at the LimeWharf and used the 3D-printed molds to make edible faces with a Prosecco, pear and thyme jelly. The audience members were eating the band. We made chocolate versions of the band as well. Everyone was asked to wear white, so it was kind of like this Willy Wonka–esque experience. Cameron was playing music, it was sort of like this chamber where this liquid was overflowing and spilling everywhere, and people were eating the props.
Now, back in Australia, the band has collaborated with a confectionery company, so the molds we made are being turned into lollipops, which they’re launching as part of their album release. It’s interesting how the evolution of this project started as a conversation, became a music video, then an experiential installation, and now a real-life biological bakery!
I’m interested in transforming materials, and food is a great material to sculpt. By representing the anatomy through food, it’s a way of experiencing sculpture in a different way. You can touch it — eat the contents of a gallery — breaking down the barrier of just being a viewer.
And you’re ingesting into your anatomy the anatomy that was represented by the food.
Exactly. And this points to the bigger picture of whether, in the future, we actually will clone ourselves, or eat ourselves in order to enhance our senses. So it’s kind of tapping into those different areas of research, but in a playful way.
TED2014 Fellow Jorge Mañes Rubio is an artist and perpetual tourist who investigates invisible, forgotten places — Chinese cities submerged by the Three Gorges Dam Project, a little-known Pacific island paradise destroyed by mining — creating artworks that reimagine and revive these sites as attention-worthy destinations. Here, he tells us about his latest art project, in which he created a “new nation” in response to the social struggles of a small neighborhood in Amsterdam.
SOCIALDESIGNFORWICKEDPROBLEMS is a pioneering project that aims to research the impact that designers and artists could have if working together with governments and other political/social organizations. I was asked to team up with design studio Muzus and come up with a new proposal for Columbusplein, a public square in Amsterdam West. Politicians and social workers from the area were looking for a different perspective on how to tackle several social issues in the neighborhood, such as bullying among the youngest ones and the lack of a community spirit between all the neighbors.
The first thing we found out during our research is that the demographics in the area are quite unique, with a very multicultural and multiethnic population. Even if the new generation is born Dutch, they still find themselves growing in between different identities (Third Culture Kids TCK), creating a great deal of confusion specially among the youngest ones.
It is also important to say that more than 20 social organizations have been present in the neighborhood for many years, helping those families that struggle the most, and arranging all kinds of activities for kids and their parents. I was overwhelmed to see how much is done by them. But these organizations are also very heavily structured, with little interaction between each other, and showed very small room for changes.
We thought that whatever we would come up with should not only involve the neighbors, but it should also be welcomed by all these social organizations, and somehow reframe their work in a new way, bringing them all together under a common purpose. It all sounds great, but how do you do that?
The answer came to me while walking around Columbusplein’s sports field on a sunny Saturday afternoon. I couldn’t help but notice the beautiful effect that all the lines and colors created on the court. The analogy between this space and the plurality that inhabits the neighborhood was the spark that initiated everything. That image would later become the flag of a new micronation, a rich mix of cultures, colours, identities — all different but nevertheless intertwined as one. The neighbors would have the chance to create their own nation, their own history, their own identity, all from scratch, and the different social organizations would finally have a strong story that would tie together their hard work.
Amsterdam West received the idea with enthusiasm, but they also remained very skeptical about the viability of the project. A new micronation sounded like an utopia, lots of work, plus how this concept would address social issues such as bullying was not clear.
In order to give shape to this micronation, we created several events, the first one being a competition to create a national secret sauce for fries, the favorite local snack. There was a great response from the neighbors, both adults and kids, coming from all kinds of backgrounds (Turkey, Morocco, Surinam, Netherlands) and the inherent freedom of the event allowed us to observe the behavioral dynamics of the kids from a completely different perspective. Columbusplein was writing its own history for the first time, the winner of the secret sauce contest, a 9-year-old named Sophie, was featured in the nation’s first stamp, and now the secret sauce is being used in local restaurants and markets.
For the second intervention, I decided to step up the game, think big and create Columbusplein’s first Space Program. We thought space exploration and new technologies will be very important for future generations, plus all the important nations have a Space Program right? And we don’t want to stay behind! So together with some young national astronauts, we went to visit the European Space Agency in Noordwijk, where we learnt everything about the International Space Station, the way astronauts live up there, and got ourselves ready for our first mission, which I called Mission Kite.
One day later, kids were creating their own tyvek kites, featuring drawings from lunar modules, planets, space ships… After customizing and assembling them together, it was time to start the mission, and kites were flying in Columbusplein for the very first time. The reaction was great, and even police officers and social workers spontaneously joined the event. After a few minutes, a small group of kids who were mocking the participants had to sit down and watch the rest have fun, wondering why they didn’t join the workshop themselves. The Space program was important not only because it played with kids’ ambitions, but also because for the first time, social workers took ownership of the art project.
More ideas such as an alternative currency featuring social workers on the banknotes or a passport to keep track of citizens’ involvement with the micronation are already on the table. Social workers are being invited to readapt their activities under the Republic of Columbusplein’s perspective, and a new approach based on positive potential instead of problem-solving has been shaped. Amsterdam West recognizes the value of the energy and excitement that the fictional micronation’s concept has created in the neighbourhood, but is also asking for more time and a more detailed plan to evaluate if this new approach could be the right path to follow, and how to fully involve all the social organizations active in the area.
My work as an artist is to imagine a different world, and create little bits of it. The micronation concept allowed me to do so, and allowed the kids and the workers in Columbusplein to be part of it. The micronation of Columbusplein is an art project for the neighborhood, but that doesn’t turn it into community art. Projects like this open new possibilities that might expand the future impact of artists on social issues, going beyond the pre-established white cube context.
SOCIALDESIGNFORWICKEDPROBLEMS is an initiative by the New Institute, Twynstra Gudde, social designer Tabo Goudswaard and Doen Foundation.
The micro-nation of Columbusplein was created by Jorge Mañes Rubio and Muzus with the support of Amsterdam West.
All images are by TED2014 Fellow Jorge Mañes Rubio. To find out more about his work visit www.seethisway.com
Artisphere curators Ryan Holladay and Cynthia Connolly, with artist Alicia Eggert, center. Photo: Artisphere
Just a week before TED2013, Alicia Eggert — who makes kinetic sculptures investigating the nature of language and time — and musical artist Ryan Holladay made contact for the first time. They had never met, and neither of them knew they had each been selected as Fellows. Now, Holladay is co-curating Eggert’s largest solo exhibition of kinetic sculptural art at Artisphere — a 52,000 square foot arts space located just outside Washington DC. Here, Holladay and Eggert chat with each other about their work, their process, collaboration, and life. For more on Eggert and her work, visit her Fellows Friday interview.
When I’m not working on my own work with my brother, Hays, making sound-specific installations and GPS compositions with BLUEBRAIN, I have a wonderful job working as the curator of new media at Artisphere. I was sitting in the Artispace office with my co-curator, Cynthia Connolly, when an inquiry came in from an artist named Alicia Eggert. She lived in Maine, taught at Bowdoin College and had won numerous awards and grants. But this had me pinching myself: like me, Alicia was a 2013 TED Fellow and she, too, would be speaking at the conference the following week in Long Beach.
As it turns out, Alicia is one of the most talented and inventive artists I’ve come across in some time. With a diverse body of work that ranges from simple modifications of household items to highly complex interactive sculptures, this is an artist with a highly developed vision. Alicia and I quickly struck up a friendship at TED and began dreaming about what we could do together.
After TED, Cynthia and I began discussing the best way to bring Alicia’s work to Artisphere. As curators at a sizable arts facility, we have the privilege of programming a number of spaces of varying sizes throughout the building, but it quickly became clear to us that this was an artist that was ready for something big. And so, after many months of preparation, we are excited to present Alicia’s largest solo exhibition ever in our flagship space, the Terrace Gallery.
Ryan: So you’ve just finished a marathon of an install. Is that a process you enjoy?
Alicia: I have a love/hate relationship with the installation process. In some ways, it stresses me out, because so much of my work is kinetic, and I’m always afraid it’s not going to work properly. And there’s always the chance a neon letter will break if you just look at it the wrong way. But I really enjoyed the installation at Artisphere. First of all, nothing broke or went wrong. But more importantly, it was fun to work with you and Cynthia, and to engage in a dialogue with the two of you about the work and where it should be placed in the gallery. It gave me a new perspective of my work.
R: I can imagine with so many moving parts there’d be a level of anxiety — the feeling of anything that can go wrong will go wrong. But now that it’s all up, it must be a relief.
Installation view of Alicia’s work in the Terrace Gallery at Artisphere. Photo: Artisphere
Everything You Are Looking For (2012). A neon sign whose jumbled letters slowly reveals the phrase “Everything you are looking for is invisible.” Made in collaboration with Amy Jorgensen. Photo: Alicia Eggert
A: Is your working relationship with each artist completely different?
R: Every artist is different for sure. And with new media work, it gets a bit tricky sometimes. There are artists who have all their ducks in a row. Then there are others who may be experimenting with some new technology for the first time, and it doesn’t work exactly how they planned and we find ourselves in triage mode hours before an opening. I once had to do a Skype session with an artist in Japan as he walked me through taking apart and reassembling his work.
A: That sounds incredibly stressful. But it’s great that Artisphere is willing to work with artists who are taking risks and exploring unfamiliar territories.
R: I liked walking into the gallery and hearing you listening to that Haim record! Do you usually listen to music when you work?
A: It depends. If it’s a familiar, repetitive task, I love listening to music or even watching a television show. For example, when I was working on the wiring all of the “Lost Gloves” in my recent artist residency at Sculpture Space in Utica, NY, I watched a few episodes of Breaking Bad. But when I’m doing work that requires any kind of problem solving, I prefer to work in silence.
R: One of the things about making music is that you can’t listen to music while you’re working! I get jealous of painters or architects who can get to work and go through the entire Kate Bush catalogue on Spotify. Sometimes when I want to listen to NPR or a new record or something I’ll play Super Mario 3. I’ve played that game so many times, it kind of puts me in a trance where I can focus all my attention on what I’m hearing.
A: I can totally relate. I can get into a similar trance-like headspace when I’m driving. I get some of my best ideas on long-distance road trips.
R: Language seems to play a big role in many of your pieces. You seem to play with our notions of how language is used and often overlooked, for instance, drawing attention to how removing one word from a simple sentence can change its meaning significantly (‘You Are (On) An Island). Do you ever think about how your work might effect someone who isn’t a native English speaker? And have you ever considered working with other languages?
A: I feel lucky that my native language is one that has become so universal. I often wonder how my work would be different if English wasn’t as widely spoken as it is, because it’s always been very important to me that my work is accessible to as many people as possible — something from my Evangelical Christian upbringing that I’ve carried over to my practice as an artist. I would love to be given the opportunity to work sculpturally with another language, especially one that’s completely different from English visually, like Arabic. But I don’t think that’s something I would pursue on my own without a specific reason, like a commission.
R: Well, as the saying goes: “سيحدث ذلك عندما يكون من المفترض أن يحدث.”
Detail view of AHA (2013) installed in the Terrace Gallery at Artisphere. Photo: Artisphere
Present Perfect (2013). A rock sits on the keyboard of an open laptop, typing the letter Y into in infinity in Microsoft Word. Photo: Alicia Eggert
A: I’m really curious about your collaborative process. I love collaborating with other artists on visual projects, but I wonder how the process is different with sound.
R: Hays and I are sharing ideas all the time. Now that we’re living in different cities, everything has to be done remotely. So whether that’s some conceptual art project or an actual melody, we generally have these open lines of communication over the phone, text, email and Skype where we bounce ideas off of one another. I think we look for a reaction from the other to see which ideas might have, legs and that’s usually how we start. But, you know, we’ve worked together since we were, kids so I don’t really know any other way of doing it, honestly. It’s fantastic in some ways because you can move really quickly and it’s kind of like having two brains working at once. But on the flip side, if a disagreement turns into an argument, it goes nuclear very quickly. Siblings know exactly what buttons to press. How does it work with Mike [Fleming, Eggert’s partner] when you two collaborate?
A: For Mike and me, every project seems to evolve out of a conversation. Eternity started with a car ride. We drove past a church that had a big sign out front saying something about spending eternity in heaven, so we started to talked about that word and what it actually meant. We decided it would be a fun word to mine for an art project. Then we just started brainstorming, bouncing ideas back and forth about it. I forget who came up with the idea to use clocks to spell it, but I remember us both saying, “YES! That’s it!” And then it took months to figure out how to actually do that.
R: Isn’t that the best, when you can’t remember who actually came up with an idea? I feel that’s a sign of a healthy collaboration, where your brain has sort of relinquished the need for ownership or something and who initially birthed the concept or a part of it seems unimportant.
A: I totally agree. You have to totally let go of your ideas, and completely give them to the other person to see where they can take them. But having a collaborative working relationship with someone you love can be challenging. It’s important for Mike and me to maintain a part of our relationship that doesn’t have to do with our work, so it doesn’t feel like we’re just business partners, so we can salvage some romance. Do you and Hays have to worry about similar things, or no?
R: Well the romance died years ago with Hays and me. No, but to be serious, I think there was a period of time when I wasn’t sure if we were going to be able to work together in the future. We were always able to get down in the dirt and argue about ideas and have that be separate from our friendship. But there came a point where that seemed more and more difficult, and the distinction between our personal and working relationship became less clear. And I felt like, as much as I loved working with him, it wasn’t worth damaging what had always been a really close relationship.
What changed, I think, was when we started working on these location-aware compositions because we were starting from scratch and creating something completely new that neither of us knew anything about. We were learning about software development, about landscape architecture, about interface design and so on. And so it became this feeling of discovery that I think had gotten lost somewhere along the way.
Ryan and his brother Hays performing at the Sweetlife Festival wearing masks of one another’s faces, designed by Kashuo Bennett. Photo by Margot MacDonald.
A: You were in new territory together. I can see how that would change the rules. I think that’s when collaborations work best. Can you tell me a little bit about what you’re working on right now?
R: Well, as a curator at Artisphere, I’m working on a number of projects, including putting together a sound exhibition in the Terrace Gallery for next summer. I’m trying to bring TED Fellow Christine Sun Kim down for that one! As for Hays and me, we have about 10 projects we’re working on together right now, little ones and big ones. We’re finishing up a new record — a traditional, start-to-finish linear album — that I’m really excited about. But we’ve been talking about releasing it in a different way than we’ve done before. I feel like it’s a bit early to explain much more, but I’m really excited about it. We’re also starting to transition into a slightly different way of doing these location-aware composition apps, doing them as commissions for spaces and museums, which has been fun. Hopefully we’ll have three of those done in the next two years.
A: Wow, and I thought I was busy! It sounds like you have your hands full. I can’t wait to hear your new album.
R: Considering how carefully you chose words and how prominent they are in so many of your pieces, the pressure to pick a great baby name must be high.
A: You would think so, right? But I’ve been so busy working on this show at Artisphere that I regret to say I haven’t had much time to think about what’s coming next. I still can’t believe I’m having a baby! But it will certainly be my most exciting collaborative project with Mike to date.
R: My money’s on Eternity Eggert. Has a nice ring to it.
Everything You Are Looking For will run until February 2nd, with an opening reception on Thursday, December 5th. Artisphere is located at 1101 Wilson Blvd. Arlington, VA 22209.
Bahia Shehab is an Egyptian artist who, at TEDGlobal 2012, shared her love of the Arabic phrase “No and a thousand times no,” boldly revealing that she had been stenciling the words on the streets of Cairo following the revolution of 2011, saying “no to military rule,” “no to burning books,” and “no to violence.” As protests were revived in Egypt this week — and as President Mohammed Mursi was ousted and his constitution suspended — we asked Shehab to share what she sees happening in her country, during what she calls an “exhilarating, anxious, and exciting time.”
After last summer’s democratic elections in Egypt, I thought that I would never have to take to the streets of Cairo to spraypaint messages again. But Mursi lost the sympathy and support of the Egyptian people in November of 2012, although the rest of the world unfortunately did not notice. A flawed constitution and a series of dictatorship declarations by the president inspired millions of Egyptians to take to the streets on December 7, 2012. His actions made me go down again to Tahrir to paint the following message on the road leading up to the square: “We are back. No to a new Pharaoh, No to Mursi.”
What happened this week in Egypt is not a surprise to the believers in the revolution in this country. Tamarod is a grassroots movement that has been collecting signatures of people who did not support the Muslim Brotherhood regime for the past two months. Twenty two million people signed the petition. Thirty three million people are estimated to have protested on June 30 and July 1 all over Egypt.
This time around, I decided to finish my work on the street before the rallies. I was sure the squares would be full and I just wanted to enjoy the euphoria of the revolution — I did not want to spray. So I went to work on June 7, aiming to feminize the act of rebellion with my art. “Tamaradi ya Outta” or “Rebel Cat” was a call to women to join the revolution. I feminized the verb “to rebel,” so more women could relate to it, and I added the word “cat,” a howl that men sometimes call to women on the street. I painted the cat with a halo in many colors along with the slogan.
We Egyptians are not naïve enough to believe that things will become better overnight, the minute we elect a new president. We all agree that we are in a constant state of learning. Everyone learned a lesson in the past two years. The army came to understand that they are not fit to rule over civil society. The police learned that they need the support of the people. The people learned that those who buy their voices in the ballots for a bag of sugar or a bottle of oil will not necessarily have the best interests of the country in mind, and that religion should never be used in political agendas. But the most important lesson of all was clearly laid out for any future president of Egypt. Anyone who is going to sit on that chair knows now for certain that the real power is with the people. The Egyptian people will never leave the squares again.
One of the reasons I decided to target my work at women this time is the aggressive, organized, and targeted sexual harassment campaigns that were employed by followers of the Muslim Brotherhood to intimidate the women of Egypt from going down to protest in the squares. They tried to intimidate half the population to keep them away from the street. But the women of Egypt are the heart of the revolution. On June 30, 2013, women went down with their children to the squares in their millions and, after seeing that, I knew we couldn’t lose. The most beautiful scene from Tahrir this time is the women’s zone that is surrounded by men to protect them from any harassment. The most beautiful chants came ringing from this section, from the voices of these women who know that they are the core of the revolution.
On June 7, I sprayed another message, a message to the men who want to silence and intimidate the women of Egypt. A message to the men who claim that the voice, the hair, the body and the face of a woman is an “awra”, a shameful thing that should be covered. I sprayed a big brain composed of naked women body parts with the message “Mokhak Awra.” “Your brain is shameful and it should be covered.”
Freedom is addictive. After the events of the past three days, I am sure that no one will stop going down to the streets again to express dissatisfaction. Keep an eye out for Egypt in the near future. The land of the pharaohs will not produce another dictator. The time has come for the land of the Nile to produce a new breed of pharaohs; pharaohs of democracy, pharaohs of culture and pharaohs of knowledge.
This weekend, thousands gathered in Washington, DC, to help lay one million handmade representations of human bones — 1,018,260 bones, to be exact – on the National Mall. This breathtaking installation created a haunting river of bones leading to the US Capitol, and represents the culmination of a nearly five-year social activism project imagined by TED Fellow Naomi Natale. The mass grave makes a dramatic petition against ongoing genocide and mass atrocities in Sudan, South Sudan, the Democratic Republic of the Congo, Burma, Syria and Somalia.
Anita Doron’s first feature film, The Lesser Blessed, is a love story that takes place in a remote community in the Northwest Territories. This moving film is being released theatrically in Canada today, and will arrive in the U.S. on June 13th. As it opens, we asked Doron to tell us about the film, her path from poet to filmmaker, and about her absurdist life as a nomad and mother.
What is The Lesser Blessed about?
It’s about a 16-year-old Tlicho kid — Tlicho is a First Nation in the north of Canada — and it’s based on the novel of the same name by Richard Van Camp. Larry Sole, the hero of the story, has to face down the devil right in the eyeball before he can set free his romantic heart. It is also a teenage love triangle. I cast a first-time actor from the Northwest Territories after spotting him in the school hallway. We had a very intense shoot with fires and wolves, Benjamin Bratt, knockouts, first-time kisses and all sorts of insanities. We barely survived, but it was glorious.
You started as a filmmaker from a very young age.
Yes. I made a film — or I tried to make a film — when I was 12 in Eastern Europe. And I got in trouble. There was this river in our city, and people lamented: “Oh, we used to swim in this river at one time. Look at it now, a sewer.” My friend’s dad had a Super 8 camera, and we started sneaking around trying to film factories dumping into the river and interviewing people about the river. Only drunks would speak to us on camera. But yeah, we got called into the deputy mayor’s office and told to stop filming. We were two 12-year-old girls with a little Super 8 camera, and it was hilarious. But we frightened them. There was no turning back after that, because I saw how powerful filmmaking can be.
Actually, as a kid, my first creative expression was through poetry. When I was five, we went to the Black Sea and I was mesmerized by these glowing underwater bugs at night. I wrote a poem, and I saw my mother touched by it — and she is a woman who is very careful about showing excitement. So it meant a lot to me. I kept writing, I couldn’t help myself. I was in a young poets group, and the poem was published in the regional paper. Once I wrote a poem about passers-by and the paper got a lot of mail with people complaining that a kid could not have written this poem, they must have cheated. I remember being very confused by the allegations — there was nothing complex in that poem, just an observation of faces on the street. Hungarian is a great language to write poetry in, you can really lay and twist words and concepts around, get elliptical and flavorful. When I discovered filmmaking, it was a natural transition. I don’t write poetry anymore but, to me, filmmaking is poetry.
How did you find the story for The Lesser Blessed?
I was at the Banff Centre for a filmmaking workshop and became very good friends with an artist named Shelley Niro, and she gave me this book. She knew Richard, and she loved the novel. I fell in love with it too, of course. I wrote the script and got lucky enough to find Christina Piovesan, a producer who had just finished studies at UCLA, and was looking for exciting new projects. (Since then she has made Amreeka and The Whistleblower.) This wasn’t an easy project to fund and get going because it was, without getting too political, a struggle. People would question, “Why are you making a story about a First Nations kid?” And I would say, “Why wouldn’t I?” I love the story, I understand the world and I think it’s one of the most original characters in Canadian literature I’ve come across. He happens to be Native. I identify with him because of who he is.
Where did you film it?
We filmed it in Northern Ontario. It was a logistical impossibility to actually film it in the Northwest Territories because there is no proper infrastructure for filmmaking, and it would have doubled our budget to fly everything up there. It takes place in the winter, so shooting outside in minus 40 would have been torture as well. The desolate, cold, northern landscape was quite close in feel where we filmed. We searched for a long time, too. I didn’t want to compromise and make it look like the north; I wanted it to feel very remote and northern.
The authenticity was brought by the lead character, played by Joel Evans, who is a first-time actor from the very town Richard is from. We did a 550 km casting road trip across the Northwest Territories from high school to high school of different communities because I really wanted to cast from the north. I’d been in the Northwest Territories when I was writing the script, and I met a lot of kids who could be right for the part.
I actually did this through the encouragement of my partner, TED Fellow J. Adam Huggins, who had gone out around the world to cast subjects for his documentary photo essays and believed we would be successful. We took our baby boy along with us, and it was quite the circus show. But we succeeded! On the very last day, as we were leaving and I was considering some kids for call-back, I saw this kid in the hallway cracking jokes and looking exactly the way I had envisioned this character in my head for six years. He didn’t bother coming to the audition because he had a math test and better things to do. But once we pushed his math test and I gave him the script, he nailed it. He’s amazing. He’s a really talented, wonderful guy.
For four years, artist Naomi Natale’s social art practice, the One Million Bones project, has used education, hands-on artmaking and public art installation to raise awareness of ongoing genocide and mass atrocities. On June 8, Naomi and the One Million Bones team will be joined by thousands of volunteers to lay down the one million human “bones,” which participants have made by hand, on the National Mall in Washington, DC — creating a striking visual representation of conflicts we cannot continue to ignore.
Here, we chat with Natale about where the idea for this fascinating demonstration came from.
You’ve been working on the One Million Bones Project for a long time, and it has grown from an idea into massive, global art project. How did you get here?
My background is in art and photography, and I’m especially interested in the intersection of art and activism — particularly the ways art can be used to bring issues that are physically far away close to home on an emotional level. I am deeply committed to the issue of genocide and mass atrocities, and One Million Bones is my way of addressing that.
One Million Bones called for individuals all over the world to create an artistic representation of a human bone, which would then be installed on the National Mall as a visible petition and symbolic mass grave. The installation will be happening June 8 through the 10, 2013.
There have been years of activity leading up to this moment. Tell us about the grass-roots education effort involved.
One of the biggest elements of the project has been the educational component, because so many young people and adults simply don’t know what genocide is — let alone that it is happening today. My concern is, “How will we ever know or look for solutions to an issue if we don’t know what it is and that it is happening?”
We designed curriculum from preschool all the way up to high school so that educators can bring the material into their classrooms in an age-appropriate manner. At the younger age levels, we talk about issues like values, ethics and respect. We talk about virtues and how our bones are like our virtues: they make us who we are though we can’t see them.
For older age groups, we talk directly about genocide and how we can take responsibility as consumers and voters — that our voices matter. The bones they make becomes a symbol of our voices. We then direct students to other organizations that are working on these issues on a deeper level in hopes that this sparks an interest in future activism.
This is a really difficult issue to bring into a classroom. We’ve heard this time and time again, with all the schools that we’ve been working in. But the fact that there’s an activity at the end really opens a space where students can learn about the issues, process them, and then put the intention for change into a direct action. The action piece is really important with an issue this difficult, because otherwise people can be paralyzed by that information, feel completely overwhelmed and want to turn away.
In April 2012, 50,000 bones were laid in Congo Square in New Orleans. Photo: One Million Bones