General Hospital

A Portrait of the Artist as a Worker
Dieter Lesage

You are an artist and that means: you don’t do it for the money. That is what some people think. It is a great excuse not to pay you for all the things you do. So what happens is that you, as an artist, put money into projects that others will show in their museum, in their Kunsthalle, in their exhibition space, in their gallery. So you are an investor. You give loans nobody will repay you. You take financial risks. You speculate on yourself as an artistic asset. You are a trader. You cannot put all your money into one kind of artistic stocks. So you diversify your activities. You manage the risks you take. You would say it differently. I know. You say you suffer from a gentle schizophrenia. You are multiple personalities. You are a photographer, but also a DJ. You have a magazine, you are a publisher, but you also organize parties. You take photos from party people. You throw a party when you present a magazine, you make magazines with photographs of party people, you throw a party and you are the DJ. You have a DJ collective, so you can walk around at your own party, you talk to people and ask if they want to publish in your magazine, you make CD’s, you present them with a party, you make CD-roms with photographs of party people, you insert CD-roms in your magazine, you want your readers to listen to your music, you want your party people to read your texts, you invite those who write in your magazine to come to your parties, you make installations from photographs. You do interviews with people you meet, you do interviews with people you would like to meet, you tell the people you meet about your magazine. You distribute flyers announcing your parties in the bars where you meet people for an interview. You buy records in flee markets, you distribute flyers announcing parties in the bar where you have a coffee after visiting the flee market, you make videos recording how you destroy the records you bought at the flee market, you liberate your country from its bad music, you show the video in a gallery and you are a DJ at the vernissage where you invite people who wrote for your magazine and enjoy the party and being photographed. You invite other DJ’s to DJ with you, you are an MC and someone else is the DJ, you welcome the people who came to the party, you introduce people to one another. You are an artist and you are a mediator, you mix records and you want people to mix, you even mix photographs, you mix photographs of people you want to mix. You talk to the people you photograph, they invite you to their parties, where you talk to other people about photography. You make T-shirts with your name, you have people wearing those T-shirts, you make them swear to wear your T-shirt when they go to parties where you are not. You are everywhere and you make people wonder where you are. You are at home, you are working on your laptop, you are taking up all your e-mail conversations where you left them, you are updating people on your projects, you are doing projects all the time. You call for tickets, you call for a cab, you’re wearing two hundred pounds of materials from the cab to the train. You work in different places. You move. You move from one city to another, from one country to another. You take another cab, it takes hours to find your place in Istanbul. You make photographs and you ask others to make photographs the way you want it. You distribute flyers announcing the presentation of the magazine in clubs where you are having a party, you distribute flyers announcing a party you are organizing at the presentation of the magazine in a bookshop, you announce another presentation of the same magazine in another bookshop, you thank people for being there, you are introducing people you interviewed to one another, you invite them to come over to the party. You organize exhibitions, you invite people to present their work, you work with people on the presentation, you write announcements of the exhibition to the media. You present yourself as someone else than you are and you are the way you present yourself. You pretend and you are for real. You sing. You’re doing research on the swing. You make photographs from photographs, you put magazine covers in your magazine, you cover songs. You are an artist and that means it would be nice to get some money for all the things you do. You write for subsidies, you try to get grants, you talk with nice people who might lend you some money, you have a sollicitor to help you in order to get money from people who aren’t nice. You make dinner for people you introduce to one another, you discuss publication plans over dinner. You ask people to write about your work, you tell them how you work, you show them all. You explain them the basic facts of a young artist’s life. That you are an artist and that it means: you don’t do it for the money. That is what some people think. It is a great excuse not to pay you for all the things you do. So what happens is that you, as an artist, put money into projects that others will show in their museum, in their Kunsthalle, in their exhibition space, in their gallery. So you are an investor. You give loans nobody will repay you. You take financial risks. You speculate on yourself as an artistic asset. You are a trader. You cannot put all your money into one kind of artistic stocks. So you diversify your activities. You manage the risks you take. I would say it differently. You know. I say you suffer from a gentle schizophrenia. You are multiple personalities. You are a DJ, but also a photographer. You organize parties but you have a serious side too that publishes magazines. Just kidding. You give people photographs at parties. You consider magazines as an excuse for a party — kidding again — you collaborate with party people to create magazines, you throw a party and the DJ is a girrrrl. You’re lots of girrrrls. You walk around with no breaks at parties of Femmes with Fatal Breaks and you are so shy you don’t even dare to order a drink, you go home with two hundred pounds of CD’s, you sell them at another party, you put photographs of party people on CD-roms you insert in your magazine, you invite those who write in your magazine to come to your parties, you make photographs of installations, not to mention what you expect from your readers and listeners. You meet people for interviews, you do interviews as an alibi to meet people, you tell the people you meet about your party life. You distribute flyers announcing your magazine in the bars where you meet people for an interview. You buy records in second hand shops when it is just too rainy to go the flee market, you distribute flyers announcing parties in the bar where you have a nice hot cup of tea after shopping, you sell the videos recording how you destroy the records you bought at the second hand shops or at the flee market to a museum, you liberate your country from its bad taste in general, you show a video in a gallery and you are the DJ at a dernissage, or a finissage, or whatever it is called, where you invite people who make photographs and enjoy writing critiques on the magazine. You want your fellow DJ’s to have a break, it’s your turn now and you take the mike to welcome all the people who came to the party. You are a remediator, you remix records and you rewant people to remix, you even remix photographs, you remix photographs of people you rewant to remix. You rephotograph the people you retalk to, you retalk to other people about photography, again. There is this T-shirt with T-Ina on it, and there is this funny guy you want to swear to wear your T-shirt when he goes to parties on his own. You are nowhere and you make people wonder where you might be. You are not at home, your answering machine is answering for the multiple personalities you are. You just got off, you took a cab, you’re wearing fifty pounds of material from the cab to the airport. You’re leaving Berlin. You’re coming back soon. You’re always on the move. You take another cab, it takes less time to find your place in Istanbul now you know your way. You make photographs and you ask others to make photographs the way you want it. You interview the people you asked to make photographs, you transcribe the tapes of the interviews, you type the transcriptions of the interviews and get them published in your magazine. You invite the people you interviewed to the presentation of the magazine, you distribute flyers announcing your parties at the presentation of your magazine in a bookshop, you distribute flyers announcing the presentation of your magazine in the club where you are having a party, you announce the next party at your party, you apologize the people who couldn’t make it, you are sharing addresses, you promiss people to send them invitations. You mediate between the media and the artists in the exhibitions you organize, you make arrangements for interviews, you invite critics to the opening, you make copies of critiques of the exhibition, you send them to the artists in the exhibition. You represent yourself as someone else than you are and you are the way you represent yourself. You pretend and you are for real. Things may vary. You’re doing research on the military. You make photographs of soldiers, you make photographs of artists. You are an artist yourself and that means it would be nice to get some money for all the things you do. Sometimes you get subsidies, it’s great to get grants, you know this nice guy who might lend you some more money, you still have that sollicitor who helps you in order to get money from people who just happen to be very very bad people. You make dinner for people you don’t need to introduce any more, you discuss publication plans over dinner and there is still some wine from last time. You ask people to write about your work again. They know already how you work and what it means to be an artist: that is that some guys think you don’t do it for the money. Yeah, right. It’s a great excuse not to pay you shit for all the things you do. So what the fuck happens is that you, as a fucking artist, put fucking money into projects that others will show in their fucking museum, in their shitty Kunsthalle, in their sexhibition space, in their gutter gallery. So you are an investor. You give loans nobody will ever ever repay you. You take fucking financial risks. You speculate on yourself as an ‘artistic asset’. Don’t you see? You are a trader! You cannot put all your money into one kind of artistic stocks. So, well, you ‘diversify your activities’, as they would say. You manage the risks you take. Great. You would say it differently. Don’t tell me that. You say I suffer from a very unpleasant schizophrenia. That I am multiple personalities. Well yes I am. Didn’t you know that before? I am a philosopher, but also a writer. I am an editor of a magazine and I invite people to write for this magazine. I occasionally work with artists on projects that end up in exhibitions where I meet people who ask me to write about their work. Sometimes I do it for free. Because you know how hard things are for an artist these days. You don’t do it for the money. That is what some people think. It is a great excuse not to pay you for all the things you do. So what happens is that you, as an artist, put money into projects that others will show in their museum, in their Kunsthalle, in their exhibition space, in their gallery. So you are an investor. You give loans nobody will repay you. You take financial risks. You speculate on yourself as an artistic asset. You are a trader. You cannot put all your money into one kind of artistic stocks. So you diversify your activities. You manage the risks you take. You would say it differently. I know, but I don’t use the f-word. You say you suffer from a gentle schizophrenia. You are multiple personalities. I think I understand.

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