GottaNew

Bedwyr Williams says The Gulch, his first solo show in a London institution, will be full of “theatrical moments” and “little embarrassments”. The Welsh artist has plotted an assault course of six immersive environments to lead visitors through the 90m-long, 6m-high sweep of the Barbican’s Curve gallery.Navigating absurd set pieces including a smugglers’ cove, an intimidating boardroom and a rocky ravine, “the audience will become performers”, Williams says. Contemporary art, he adds, also has a funny side. The exhibition is supported by Arts Council England and the Henry Moore Foundation.

Were you daunted by the Curve as an exhibition space?
It could be even longer or even taller, I’d be happy with that. Anything that allows me to make installations that are theatrical in terms of scale. For making a quest-type exhibition or a little journey, it was perfect. It’s about the same height as a theatre set.

The exhibition has a series of tricks in store for visitors.
It’s that kind of space because when you enter you can’t see the end of it. It makes you think about missing out on things. It’s not a shared experience kind of room. If a man has a heart attack halfway along it, the people at the beginning don’t know. They see the paramedics running and they don’t see him collapse. It’s a good space to goof around with a linear narrative.

What does the title mean?
A gulch is a dried-out crevasse or ravine. In the Beano there used to be a character called Baby Face Finlayson and he lived in Vulture Gulch, so it’s more of an American or an Australian term. For me the Curve, because it’s high-sided, is a kind of ravine. I like the sound of it.

You’re also writing and performing an audio walk for the Barbican centre outside the gallery.
There’s going to be dummy replicas of laptops and smartphones attached to the tables, maybe 100 of them, and you’ll be able to plug your headphones in. It will be a mix of field recordings using the format of a conventional audioguide and filling it with nonsense. It’ll be something to do with the people who hot-desk here, imagining what the water cooler conversations between them would be. I’ve always been fascinated with the Barbican. When I was a kid in the 80s all art centres looked like this—low lighting, people padding around in a very serious manner. It’s pregnant with potential.

Why did you become an artist?
Being an artist and working across media, you can pretty much have a stab at anything. I write, I take photographs, I draw and perform and I collaborate with people who do all those things. But even though you can do anything, artists still follow a lot of conventions. Young artists still make little shows with plinths and there’s a way of looking at these things. I’m not interested in doing that and that’s why I like working with theatre makers. I like the artifice of the theatre. People still ask me to make more of these immersive things, but I’m not doing it for any academic reason. I liked model trains as a kid and I like making miniature landscapes.

Was it always your intention to introduce comedy to contemporary art?
Even when I was 18 doing a foundation course in north Wales I remember thinking it was daft that it’s all so serious. How come art is allowed to be sad but not funny? You do a performance and in an art situation as opposed to a comedy club people would put up with anything. I can’t help but mock that freedom. The art world is very pompous, so it’s completely ripe for it.

How do you define the British sense of humour?
I think the British sense of humour is very special. When I’ve spent extended times overseas it’s the thing I miss the most. It’s fatalistic and self-deprecating, a little bit pompous but able to laugh at itself. There’s a kind of disquiet in Britain all the time, like a really rowdy pub just waiting to boil over.

You represented Wales at the Venice Biennale. What does Welshness mean to you?
I don’t reference it in my work to make any political point but I love having that take on being British. I learnt English when I was five and think it’s amazing how much you can do with it as a language. I can’t imagine making work without using language.

Has Brexit had any impact on your work?
Maybe. I’m making a new work for Artes Mundi in Cardiff about a fictional city built in the mountains in mid-Wales. It’s hard not to think about what’s happening. I think it’s actually quite an exciting time to be an artist, also because I don’t live in London. Apocalyptic films always start in the city and then flee to the countryside. It’s when you get into the ‘burbs that you get the true horror of it. Observing Brexit from north Wales has been quite weird. It would have been depressing in London as well but at least you can go for tapas or something.

Do you prefer to work away from London?
Yes, it suits me. Also as I’ve got older, I think I’ve found a way of working that gets all my little interests together. That’s satisfying because then I can concentrate on making [video installations] as good as I can, instead of agonising about the form of it.

more...