Johan Pijnappel and Vicente Carretón: Although you studied from 1986 to 1991 at the Faculty of Fine Arts at the University of The Basque Country and gained a Master’s degree at the University of Paris, Music was still your first choice, considering the fact that you followed courses from 1984 to 1989 at the Academie Jesus Guridi in Vitoria. What made you switch from music to visual art?

Francisco Ruiz de Infante: The conservatory was no place for music, at least, not for the music that I wanted to get to know. And move ... I didn’t move. Everything was, and is, a more or less synchronous event. I started with visual arts and literature and that led me to experimental film. Music came on its own, almost as something essential. At first I wanted to ‘make musics’ just like people ‘make sculptures’ or ‘make films’ but later, I began to get interested in the relationships between music and moving image, Music and rhythm. And this led to my deep interest around the idea of the ‘sound tape’ of a film and the ‘sound track’ of a space, things I am still involved with and which still inspire me. The world of the audio visual arts, that’s where I work after all, needs its own music, its own rhythm, its own temporary structure. It is this need that makes me exceedingly conscious of the ‘musical needs’ of my work and the necessity of images with my sounds. My collaboration with Jesús Gestoso and Ermeline Le Mézo marked the ‘area of sound’ as a kind of basic platform for experiments in my work. Sound is the key to almost all my audio visual sequences and the heart of my installations.
Concerning the way I work, I have to say that I am particularly obsessed with the rhythm and the echo between the various elements of my work.
(The fact that I use a ‘sound’ language to describe my formal intentions should not be seen as a demagogic trap.) To describe my ‘sound’ work I could say that I am obsessed with rough sounds and the repetition of elements. It is difficult for me to think through a work without taking account of the sound ‘weapons’. Even when ‘silence’ is the only correct solution for an installation, this comes from the fact that I want to accentuate the natural sonority of the location (showing the actions of a viewer walking in, the hum of the ventilation syvoice, the noise of traffic on the street).

FR: At first because it was so simple to use and so mobile. I soon realised however that that simple use was a white lie, and that it was the texture and the flickering pulse of light (I always worked with 18 frames per second with Super 8) where the real interest lay. Later, when I started working with more advanced video equipment, I noticed that constructing one texture or another was no problem. What I did retain from this ‘Super 8 period’ is that I always use small, non-professional cameras (which make possible a direct and simple extension of the ‘sight’ of the eye or hand), and at the same time I am fairly careful about the amount of footage I shoot. My move from Super 8 to video was particularly inspired by the fact that first the electronic and then the digital image gave me, and still give me, a greater control and range of manageability with the ‘construction’ of images which are different both at iconographic level and as far as texture, and time and space are concerned, from the ‘real’ image (learned as being real by the stereotypes of television and commercial films).
Another, deciding factor in my decision to change formats was the uncertainty about the distribution and the fragility of the carrier and being able to process the sound track so precisely with regard to density and synchronization. In short, there were clearly a number of technical inadequacies which made it impossible for me to ‘construct’ images and to develop sounds in the way that I wanted.
I go on rather a lot about the idea of ‘construction’ as opposed to the concept of ‘filming’ or ‘shooting’ because, when I changed to the video format, I soon became aware of the immaterial nature of the recorded image and the way in which it could be manipulated in the post production phase (something that for me is an essential moment in the conceptual design of each new project).
As far as the present day relevance of Super 8 is concerned, I think that, in my case, using a carrier with the smell of nostalgia (whether this is the Home Movies of the sixties and seventies or experimental film) could add ‘noise’ to the deeper meaning of my work which is already coloured by pseudo autobiographical images and with a number of cloudy nostalgic features which I don’t want to go into at the moment.

FR: The question can be answered in two sections. Firstly there is a ‘tradition’ of Basque cinematographers where the cultural context is more important for me than their work itself. It is true that when I first started, around 1984, when I began to be interested in making films, that I didn’t have many problems at the time when I came to be part of the various clubs of amateur cinematographers (both in the field of documentaries and of fiction); it just made everything easier since those who already had experience ‘knew how to do it’, that saved us a lot of time. It was there that I learned that there is a strange dichotomy between video and film, which I had difficulty understanding at first. I visited all the festivals in my area, (of course, concentrating on the ones you mentioned in your question, but also including the short but interesting annual cycles of independent American film, electronic music etc.) and in that way, even from that far off little provincial town, I could absorb, bit by bit, all the cultural activities; in a cluttered sort of way I saw things that completely perplexed me, but which always cleared the way for dialogue or discussion.
The setting up in 1990 of an experimental centre (the CINT) as the first step towards setting up a local television network (that still isn’t operating), put me in a position, Thanks to a few good friends, to see what was going on there, what the equipment was and what you could do with it. Many, long, ‘illegal nights’ resulted in my beginning to understand a little about the audio visual world of video (hands-on). A few years later, I started working as an official ‘invited artist’ (that is, during the day and without having to hide). Although it might be difficult to understand, this was without doubt one of the reasons why I left. My freedom was being threatened!

FR: Let’s just say that it’s exceptional, but easy to explain. Early on, I started working very fast and many of my visual projects which involved very specific locations, were only meaningful if they were presented in public. That’s why I put a lot of energy into constructing the right contexts to create the relationship between space, maker, work and viewer, that had interested me. Although many of these presentations were very immature and in many cases even shameless (some of them I didn’t even mention in the successive versions of my curriculum), I learned a lot from this effervescent phase of exhibiting.
As far as my audio visual work goes, the fact that I worked with Super 8 (which permitted great autonomy in the production, as I said earlier), and the fact that I had good friends who believed in me, meant that I could experiment more or less freely and could produce a lot without inhibitions. In any case, there is something in my character that drives me to work in a frenzied manner (which is sometimes an advantage ... but not always).

FR: El Reformatorio (falsos gemelos) (Reform School [false twins]) was my first large construction in the field of audio visual installations, and the only one that was exhibited at three different locations (Geneva, Madrid and Mexico D.F.). Without doubt, I can say that this work opened an important phase of my career. On the one hand, it was the first installation where the physical experience of the visitor formed an explicit part of the work, and at the same time, the complexity of the structure of image and sound confronted me with the fact that I had to solve the eternal problem of how to integrate time into a spacial work (although that is an elementary ‘problem’, it is still extremely difficult to resolve).
The fact that it was built three times and that each occasion was a new and total experience (both practically and at a conceptual level), meant that I intuitively felt that I wanted to give a unique character to each new construction (from that moment I have never again shown the same work twice), and I tried to accept that the place where a work was exhibited was the basic element for its construction.
As could be seen in El Reformatorio, I am still very interested in the idea of the ‘starting course’, an idea that becomes more explicit in my projects. Tunnels, corridors, doors, tricks that make it impossible to get a rapid overview of a work ..., they are all elements to get the viewer moving within the work; they are integral parts of my language which completely respect the polysemy. But still, to talk a bit more about the parallelism between El Reformatorio and my present interests, my relationship with audio visual time and the intervention of the viewer inside the work has changed. In fact, for four years now, none of my installations have used texts on the sound track (something that creates a linearity of progression that interests me less these days). My experiments with the relationship between text and image are concentrated more on work with single channel video. Actually, my next video project Cuaderno de campo (Sketch book from the field) will be another ‘text’ work.

FR: Childhood was and is one of the most important themes of my work, but, like all ‘great’ themes (obsessions), the way in which this is dealt with in each new realization changes and offers a new perspective for reflection. Childhood is that strange lost paradise (I say strange because of its hazy nature, its aspects of forgotten and rediscovered memories according to moral yardsticks). Lewis Carrol, Marco Collodi and his complicated Pinocchio, our dear Rousseau, the oulaw world of Tarkovski, Kantor’s leaden baggage, the building blocks of youth with Deleuze... They all show elements of this perspective surrounding childhood that interest me so much. It is certainly the case that the childhood I am talking about, is an ‘adult childhood’, of which we could say that it is sometimes deliberately irresponsible and at other times unconsciously very alert. A childhood that plays with innocence, that knows secrets about the illusion of purity, that asks annoying questions knowing that they are annoying, that jumps at the noise of bombs, but that perhaps is also able to throw them itself ..., a contradictory childhood, but clear in one thing, it tries to unmask ‘those who lay the traps’. Nearer to Pinocchio than Mickey, to Cinderella than to Sleeping Beauty, to Kafka that to Yogi Bear, to Blade Runner than to Rambo, to Müller than to Kundera, according to the thematic line of my childhood, a path running parallel to that from some children’s stories (which are always more adult that they seem, by the way), and which both contain and question ‘God’s law’, that is, the law of those who control power, but who question it at the same time.

I try in any case to hold both a mask and a mirror to the metaphorical world in which I move; a necessary detour to be able to speak of certain realities, utopias, fears ...

FR: This question is more complicated that it seems at first. I could answer it in the first instance in a direct way and without further explanation. Yes, I do have a ‘certain’ relationship with that generation of artists, and yes, I believe that art has the possibility of being heard in the field of politics to ‘change the world’.
But these answers don’t mean very much as long as we do not define what the field of ‘politics’ actually is, and, according to me, that is much more complex and more comprehensive that some artists and curators would like to believe. When I hear some of the reactions to my videos like Yo soy de la Gran Europa (I come from Great Europe) or Los Lobos (The wolves), or the series of installations like Les sons de survie (The sounds of survival), I am very conscious of the weapon that we artists have in our hands.
Like every public person - and despite the sad fact that very often few members of the public turn up, or that those that do already belong to the art circle - we still have the possibility of consciously using our podium. We are a kind of strange guerrilla fighters, at first not very efficient because of the cultural need of constructing a language that fits with the formal or aesthetic questions of life, but with the possibility of a delayed explosion. I think that it is always worthwhile to get discussions going, to ask difficult questions. Aesthetics, ethics, politics, sociology and poetry have much common ground, and it is all about constructing and analysing elements in order to provide new solutions.
Since we artists are always and unavoidably immersed in social, cultural and political events, we cannot now - and perhaps never will be able to - remain isolated from the wider context in our work.

As far as the generation you mentioned is concerned, and without going into too much detail, I would like to say that Francesc Torres’ work, at least his installations, possesses an efficiency that fits more with the spirit of the Americans that the Spanish. This efficiency is something that you can’t find in the dispersed way in which my work is created. But I am impressed by his irony and his ability to construct images.
Muntadas is without doubt a ‘master’ (and not just in his work, but also in his enormous educational qualities). With short intervals, we have had a most fruitful relationship for many years. His works are particularly involved with the concept of ‘Memoria’ (memory), that is closely related to the idea of an ‘Archivo Historico’ (Historical Archive) of videos like ‘TVE primer intento’ (TVE first attempt) and his study of the language of the media as a means of power, something I consider to be doors open to contemplation and which you can’t just pass over. Isn’t ‘Memory’ on all levels after all also a political space?
Memory conceals not only the intentional and the unintended, but also the dangerous ‘memory faults’ (both in individual and historical contexts) of every new age (year in, year out things happen again and again and are again forgotten, they are remembered, rehabilitated and rejected once more ...). In my work, the use of the childhood universe as a platform (as I mentioned earlier) allows me to hold my own at the dangerous level of ‘supposed innocence’.
My work can undoubtedly be ‘read’ in an entirely different way when a number of historical events from the last few years are analyzed: the festivities around the fifth centennial of the discovery of America, a number of scandalous social laws which have been enacted in France, the first practical application of technological warfare, the violently forced annihilation of a number of peoples, (from an autobiographical point of view, this ‘lecture’ can be augmented when people know of my Basque background or my status as a ‘cultural immigrant’ in France).
It can certainly be true, as you said in your question, that my work lies within a poetic perspective. Personally, I do not believe that art is an area where things should be made explicit, but more a field of interventions that can be very efficient if they involve the subconscious.
As you know, the pressure from romantic references (in its deeper meaning) and the aesthetics of catastrophe, which saturate nearly all my works, is expressed in installations in which no definite borders can be laid down between what has been destroyed and what is being constructed. As far as I am concerned, that is precisely the confused political situation in which we find ourselves at present. I am not sure if we are walking on ruins or foundations, and that understanding creates a situation of disquiet and distrust.

FR: In this case no. For some time I have been developing my installations both in established exhibition spaces (museums, galleries, art centres etc) and in more unusual spaces (a factory, an abandoned house, a stairwell, a landscape, a room in an apartment etc).
To design a new project, I take general account of the aspects of physical nature (the architecture), of the function and of the context within which the work will be constructed and exhibited.
The chosen spot is already determining for a number of directions in the work, and something I always try to do is to leave the space unaltered, and after a period of confusion, I can start work ‘by following the flow’ of what, to my mind, the spot itself brings.
As well as the problems mentioned already about the space, the fact that I am working in a museum gives me additional, practical problems. What works do the viewers see before they see mine when they walk logically through the museum? Will there be much noise disturbance since it is an exhibition of installations by various artists? Are there very strict safety norms? Will these norms have a negative influence on the creative process?
In any case I can say, and now I am talking specifically about the Stedelijk Museum, that the walls (and in particular, the ceilings) are fortunately not as neutral as they seem at first. The enormous windows, together with the rhythm of the small and large rooms that run into each other (based on a geometrical division of the space), make it possible to imagine ‘worlds’ for yourself that have nothing to do with clean white rooms of a sterile, impersonal museum. But if we leave the pure architectural details aside for a moment, and concentrate on perhaps a more interesting area, it is certainly true that the fact that you are exhibiting a work in a museum, immediately determines the context of that work and, to some extent, ‘institutionalizes’ it (and it’s there, where the complicity between maker and viewer should demolish barriers). And it is clear that the fact that the exhibition is to be held under the auspices of the World Wide Video Festival, also sets the tone for the viewers who are familiar with the line the festival follows.

FR: ‘The World of Art’ as you like to call it, is not a priority in my view of the ‘role of the artist’. Until now, the doors, as far as the development of my work goes, have opened and closed, depending on the various contexts and the persons who have been interested in my work and with whom I have had the chance to work. Work, and a continual contemplation (whereby you have to keep your eyes open both inwardly and outwardly) are in my view good strategies for staying nimble.

‘The world of Reality’ with regard to artistic creation interests me much more actually. My experiences in the prison in Metz consisted of various interventions in which I could present my work, and another series of videos as well which were selected according to theme. The dialogue with the public arose there in a remarkable, but very fruitful way; the fact that the doors are closed in a prison, paradoxically enough, produced an atmosphere of great freedom for discussion. During these experiences (with adolescents, or in places where, normally speaking, the contact with modern art would seldom occur) I was able to ascertain that there was the same hunger for dialogue, the same need to express doubts, accUSAtions, applause, vital questions ..., and that is something which enriches you and opens the right doors for you.