Good evening everyone. 
Thank you for being here for this conversation 
with Xavier Veilhan as part of the Red Bull Music Academy of Paris. 
Tonight, Xavier Veilhan will not talk 
about his artistic career as a whole,
but about his relationship to music and 
the artwork he did around music and with musicians. 
We are going to discuss for about an hour 
and you can of course ask your questions at the end.
Xavier, good evening.
First of all, before I talk about your specific work 
and the work you have done with musicians,
I wanted to talk about your journey, 
your personal relationship with music,
the evolution of your tastes, and what 
specifically brought you to work within the framework 
that we’re discussing tonight: the music 
exhibition and your Producers series,
which consists of making statues 
of great music producers. 
I wanted you to talk about how you 
discovered music when you were a teenager,
how your taste evolved, and how 
your relationship was enriched over the years.
Well, even as a child, I came 
from a family of amateur musicians,
a large family,
so there were always lots of noises 
and sounds around me. 
However, I soon oriented myself in the direction 
of making things; I tinkered a lot. 
And so my relationship to music 
was initially more audience member and listener.
After that, in my early teens, 
I was interested in... 
well, when I was about fourteen 
years old, punk arrived
with a bang and that was quite 
important to me. 
There was a kind of joy, energy that 
is difficult to conceive today,
that led me to develop a huge appetite for music.
Since this was a period when I lived in the countryside, 
listening to the Hit Parade on the radio,
it seems as if it was light years ago. 
It was light years ago.
And so because access to music was more limited, 
it fuelled a greater appetite within me. 
After that, I went to Paris, and my 
relationship to music at that time changed, 
because there was a bit more going on 
– it was a kind of post-punk time. 
I was an art student, and 
there were many art school groups
- it’s a great tradition - 
and so I was kind of a fan of small bands, 
I was going from gig to gig.
I seem to remember that you worked 
as the art director
for exhibitions at a place called 
Les Cent-Vingt Nuits. 
Whoa, that was really something. 
It seemed to be a kind of nightclub gallery, 
in an apartment around Strasbourg Saint-Denis,
based on what we see in Eric Rommer’s 
film Les Nuits de la Pleine Lune.
From what I’ve learned, 
the music program seemed rather
audacious for the time. 
Did working there allow you to refine your taste, 
and break with other things you were listening to before?
The story is that when I arrived in Paris, 
I was a student and I was a fan of
a radio show called Conviction 
that came out on a free radio station
called Cité 96: it was the ancestor of Radio Nova, 
and so, you could say, of Canal+.
It was the beginning of the free radio era, 
which was also an explosive movement.
So in the early ’80s.
Yes, that's right, when Mitterand came to power. 
It's been a while, but I've been there. 
I was a student at an art school, 
when I met the people 
who were doing this show that I was a fan of, 
Théo Hakola and Thierry Planelle. 
I met them at a party. 
They said to me, ‘Well, if you're a fan of our stuff, 
do you want to do a show on art?’
And so I found myself thrown right into it, 
I even did the production of the show.
It was quite intimidating. And while I think it would 
be absolutely terrible to re-listen to these shows today, 
it gave me the opportunity to meet many people 
who interested me,
and to do interviews with artists who passed through Paris. 
And at the same time, that same year, this radio station 
created this nightclub that was just complete chaos.
Which lasted for only a year as a matter of fact. 
That's why it was called the Cent-Vingt Nuits 
(The 120 Nights): 40 weeks, 3 nights a week...
I think it stopped even after 80 nights. 
We were busted by our own security squad...
Unthinkable. But there was a lot of 
dancing on the tables, 
it was the time when they came out with these mixtapes… 
James Brown’s backing band – the name escapes me.
The J.B.'s
The J.B.'s. Thanks. 
So it was just pumping, people were dancing,
there was something that was pretty energetic.
Yeah.
And it was so much fun, 
there were so many concerts.
European new wave bands, TC Matic … I don’t know, 
that kind of thing.
Theo Hakola’s band, also known 
as Passion Fodder,
I could not tell you who actually played there, 
but it was hotter than a volcano.
In the series of producers that you have sculpted in recent years, 
there are producers like Rick Rubin,
who was initially known for rap, then went on to work with Slayer, 
and later on with Johnny Cash. 
How did you get to rap when you were listening to punk 
– it's two genres of music
that are obviously linked these days, but back in the day 
they weren’t necessarily connected? 
How did you end up discovering rap music?
Well, at this time punk was emerging, 
the disco era was ending. 
I didn’t have access to club culture 
at that time. 
I think I would have loved disco 
if I had gone to the right places, 
but I didn’t like it because for me it was the music 
that was playing on the radio. 
And then there was the group Kraftwerk, which is a group that has, 
on one hand, this repetitive, minimalist, dancing and hypnotic side, 
but on the other also taps strangely 
into all black-American or African-inspired music genres.
Eventually it gave rise to the block parties, 
the festivals, the samples, this whole story 
that still continues to this day: 
because hip-hop is like skateboarding, 
the thing that everyone thought 
was going to last two years.
Yeah. 
And thirty years later, 
it's still pretty lively.
Indeed. I’ve spent a little time in the artistic field, 
and when you look at the relationship that artists have with music since, 
say, the seventies, there are a number of artists 
who are interested in the themes of pop, 
rock or, a little later, techno; 
others in the mythology of rock stars,
others who will work with the idea of instrumentation, 
or like Christian Marclay, with the medium of records and turntables.
We also have artists who are halfway between art, 
sound and music. 
With Producers, you give the impression 
that you are not working on a form of commentary,
or at least moving musical forms in the artistic field, 
but more on the basic relationship between the fans 
and their passion for music, and, in particular, on the producers. 
There is something mysterious about these producers.
Can you explain for us the reasons 
for this structural approach?
If you are in love with music, you can look for 
new stuff by label or by affiliation, or just say ‘well,
I am interested in this direction’. 
But we realize that there are also connections 
that suddenly become apparent: 
that behind this and that record
there is the same person, 
that here is Giorgio Moroder and so on. 
And here we explore music in a transverse way, 
it’s almost like having another map. 
What I find fascinating is this 
power that visual art doesn’t have.
Even if you do not listen to music, the moment 
you go to the supermarket and you hear a tune, 
you’re still immersed in sound. For example, the autotune 
is a sound in which we’re immersed in today. 
The idea of the relationship between 
de-humanization and voice. 
Ultimately, I do not know if there's a real idea behind that to create 
this general ambience, it's quite mysterious and powerful. 
And in addition to that, the relationship 
to music is something very cerebral, 
that is to say that you have the impression that it 
goes directly to the body, but obviously it passes through the brain.
This great power, the power to make you weep, 
to make you dance, to make you hysterical,
to give you goosebumps, etc.
This power is much more difficult 
to achieve in the visual arts.
But precisely because you’re a visual artist, 
you’re also interested in the problems 
concerning different concepts such as generics, 
de-humanization, or at least a new form of humanity.
As things stand today, does art and the visual arts 
exist outside of emotion when working on a visual piece?
Everything is a matter of, how to put this, 
there is a spectrum, a cursor that can be moved.
I am not too much into immersion, 
I believe in distance. 
What I really love is this mix of commitment and distance 
at the same time: kind of irony of the punks 
and the attitude of mods. 
There are musical movements that generate 
this kind of distance
that I like but give you a moment 
of real immersion at the same time.
For example, the first time I went on the dance floor 
when there was good quality electro, 
techno, house, things like that, 
there was this total physical commitment.
In fact, while we need a certain distance in order 
to observe things properly,
at the same time we must also have a certain amount 
of involvement, and the job of the artist 
is to remain focused on these questions. 
Everything is in the participation and at the same time 
in the understanding of the world,
by implication. 
Earlier, before I came here, 
I listened to “Computer World,”
and it was incredible. This was back in ‘74, ‘75, ‘76, ‘77, 
yet they were in today's worldview. 
And, they could only have reached this by keeping 
a certain distance from their own culture and contemporary music.
A somewhat scientific approach.
And at the same time, it’s physical: 
that is to say, there’s a response 
to this hypnotic side, that is close 
to a very strong physicality: 
the beating of the heart, the rhythm, the repetition, 
the functioning of the body.
Do you think that there is an equivalent 
for this in contemporary art? 
Can you think of any, or do you believe that a curator, 
a gallerist or a critic can play the role of a producer
by showcasing the accomplishment of these artists 
through certain installation?
This is a somewhat different domain, since the diffusion 
of the art object is with some exceptions that of a unique object, 
whereas in music you are in a logic of ubiquity, a mass market. 
The notion of the master, of the original, no longer has its place. 
It's a very interesting time, 
and we do not talk much about it, 
but for people who produce things like Jay-Z to Katy Perry, 
there is no difference between the original
and the thing that a guy in China 
or wherever will listen to.
So in art, there remains this difference, 
but in music, 
which has a stronger outreach, 
there is the power of the producer. 
And this impregnation is like a dye, it is like 
somebody could change the temperature or the rate 
of humidity, it is something quite magical, 
whereas with my art, I create it in my studio 
with my team around me, 
and to some extent they are all my producers. 
That is to say, I ask their opinion: 
there’s Alexis Bertrand, a scenographer I work with, 
we talk about things when 
I need an outside perspective, 
and it’s not at all the solitary 
work that some might imagine. 
But it's not quite the same as 
when Tony Visconti or Timbaland 
come along saying, “Here we go, 
that’s what we are gonna do.” But maybe I should try!
Actually, I would like us to speak a bit 
about some of the artists you sculpted, 
some of them were exhibited in early 2015 
at the Perrotin galleries in New York and Paris.
We have, as you just mentioned, 
Tony Visconti, Timbaland, Brian Eno, Lee ‘Scratch’ Perry. 
We also have the Neptunes, Swizz Beatz. 
There is also Rick Rubin, and, I don’t know if I have already said, 
Daft Punk, Zdar and some others that I forget. 
What is striking in this choice is that 
you have chosen both people who are producers, 
on one hand someone like Quincy Jones, 
a producer who is first and foremost a musician 
with enormous technical expertise, and then on the other, 
you have people like Rick Rubin, 
who has this reputation of musical 
genius but who doesn’t touch machines.
Were you able to talk to them when you met them?
Maybe you want to use this opportunity 
to explain to us a little bit how these meetings were conducted. 
And then my second question is: 
Did you deliberately choose 
a fairly broad range of producers 
to look at different ways they work, 
or was this choice influenced by your taste? 
Can you first explain how these meetings 
happened,
and then which process you 
followed at work?
Firstly, I never expected that 
it was going to work so well. 
I was almost overwhelmed, as for some 
of the people you have mentioned, 
I have already done their portrait but 
I didn’t have the occasion yet to show them their statue. 
There's also Trevor Horn, Lee ‘Scratch’ Perry, or Nigel Godrich.
It was basically a great scheme 
to meet my heroes,
a lot like when I did my previous architectural 
exhibition series Architectone.
In this way, I created a ploy to find myself 
in these houses,
it was like I had done all this to find 
myself in Malibu, at Rick Rubin’s.
There was… Stéphane was working with me, 
and we were at Marc Teissier Du Cros’s 
house with Guillaume, who also works with me.
Marc Teissier Du Cros, the artistic 
director of the label Record Makers.
We found ourselves in these situations 
that I couldn’t believe were happening. 
Like the journey of the combatant before he departs, 
it is daunting, 
but once you have started, it seems easier. 
And it was relatively simple, the complexities 
involved approaching people via the right contacts 
and explaining the project the right way, 
finding an attentive ear. 
And then finally, I think that there was a certain satisfaction 
from these people to be understood as I understood them, 
that is to say as those who are the biggest 
fish of this particular pond, yet not the focus of it.
They are never really identified, in fact.
By the general public, at least. 
There are certain music geeks who know them, 
but most people remain ignorant.
Apart from Daft Punk, they are mostly 
artists who work behind the scenes.
Neptunes and Daft Punk were very interested 
in being contacted for their work as producers. 
One occasion was funny for example because 
we were in L.A., and we were at Pharrel’s.
Well, it's complicated to get to do the 
portrait of Pharrel in the first place,
it's pretty tricky, but at the same time it got done, 
but after that we had another problem because we also had to get Chad Hugo. 
And basically, for a moment I had to explain 
to the people who worked with Pharrel 
that I wasn’t interested in having Pharrel alone.
Still, I think that he understood this, 
and for him it was more rewarding 
to have his portrait made 
as a producer than as an artist. 
It was kind of the exact opposite of the usual stolen selfies story, 
which is the kind of thing he has to put up with every day.
Exactly. As I said, these are not people 
who are necessarily very well known, at least visually. 
We see their name, but to have someone who... 
Well, it’s been explained to me a little about 
how you do it: you work with 3D scanners. 
So the process takes a while, in fact…
Thanks to technological progress, 
it is getting increasingly shorter. 
When I did this seven or eight years ago 
with the architects for an exhibition in Versailles, 
it took almost an hour. Now it can take 10 minutes. 
But then take Lee ‘Scratch’ Perry 
– he has a lot of jewellery. You have to go into the details, 
you have to look for the CDs glued onto the moon boots.
And he must keep still…
The subject needs to remain motionless, 
and when you can’t speak, something weird happens. 
We would get these moments of communion, 
especially with Rick Rubin,
who has this incredible Sonos 
music system at his home. 
We were at his home in Malibu, 
and the house is really something.
Apparently he had this place custom built. 
We had a very precise time slot, 
but at the same time it was really friendly, it was cool. 
And he played stuff that sounded exactly like Pondium,
which come out in the ’70s, 
on his iPhone that was then played 
on this Sonos with a sound that completely 
immerses you. So we were in a kind of euphoria, 
even when we were saying, “Guys, 
we’re not going to have a second opportunity to make this portrait, 
let’s not mess up on the technical stuff.”
It was a mix of concentration and... 
I do not know, it was very beautiful indeed.
And he did not perceive you as a photographer, 
as an illustrator or portraitist who just came around to do a photo shoot. 
You told to them that you wanted 
to make statues. 
How did they react? 
Were there some that were somehow shocked, 
saying things like, 
“Who are you to make a statue of...? Why bother?” 
or was there some form of understanding right away?
I think they understood the good intention behind 
it and a genuine interest... 
I don’t know how, but I was surprised how well 
it actually all worked out. 
We also got pretty lucky, Quincy Jones for example, 
when I went to see him I told myself, “It’s never gonna work.” 
The only one we did not get was Dr. Dre, or RZA...
I am also a big fan of him. 
But Quincy Jones for example, 
it was a really funny situation. 
He goes to the Montreux festival every year, 
and this one time they took an intern who was French, a young guy called
Thomas Duport, they actually hired 
him after his internship. 
And it turned out that this guy knew my work 
and was very fond of it. 
When he received my mail, he told Quincy’s team 
that the idea is great and that he should do it. 
So when they answered yes, we were very surprised 
that they actually agreed. 
And then, when Quincy Jones arrived, 
it seemed we had known each other for 15 years. 
He told us about Paris...
Was that in Los Angeles?
Yes, at his house. 
It was so completely, typically L.A., 
even when I think about it today 
it feels like a dream. It was totally surreal. 
OK.
Let’s go back a bit to your work with musicians 
that you have been doing for a little less than 10 years,
well let’s say about a decade. 
Can you tell us something about your work with Air, 
what you did with them and how you ended up working 
with them on several projects?
Air, I didn’t know them in person, 
but I loved their music right away. 
Their debut album Premiers Symptômes 
was really a revelation for me. 
This was the moment when I met Marc Teissier du Cros, 
who was kind of the third member of the group.
Their manager.
Who was working for a label called Source.
Oh yes. So it was really in the late ’90s
Yeah. Source was a part of Virgin, 
the most vanguard label of that time. 
The laboratory.
I have a very great friend, Nathalie Noënnec, 
who worked with these people, she took care of the artists, 
and so I was frequenting them, 
but the funny thing was that even at the time, 
when you were saying you were making art, 
people would be like, “So does painting work well for you? 
What is your genre?” This did not correspond 
to the reality of my profession at all. 
There was this kind of misconception, 
and the music industry was very strong back in the day, 
we made clips for 1 Million Euros, 
well let’s say millions of Francs maybe. 
In short, there was an interesting polarity, 
and the relationship between visual art and music 
was not at all what it is today. 
Since then, the music industry has completely collapsed. 
Right now it is about ready to recover. 
And today a lot of musicians claim 
to make contemporary art. 
When you look at what Kanye West 
is doing or in another genre, Frank Ocean.
There seems to be a desire to do contemporary art.
This really surprises me, as a matter of fact. 
But it is great, it indicates some interest. 
Whereas there was rather more suspicion 
when I started to make art, today 
there is a more positive attitude towards it, 
which is amazing and I hope to be able 
to benefit from it. 
But back then, I worked a lot on clips 
that didn’t see the light of day in the end. 
It was really very demanding. 
And then after a while, 
I got a little fed up 
and I said to myself that I’ll just do my own thing, 
I’ll listen to music and that’s it.
And then, Air asked me to create the cover 
for a record called Pocket Symphony 
and from this moment on, everything 
happened in a very fluid way. 
I was a big fan of Sébastien Tellier, especially 
his first records, and when I was doing a project for a brand 
I got the opportunity to choose a musician. 
I approached Sébastien and he created this absolutely magical soundtrack. 
Sébastien and I became friends afterwards. 
In fact it was a like the Bouroullecs, who work in the field of design,
people I admired before meeting them 
who became friends afterwards. 
So it's kind of a dream scenario. 
And Sébastien is a very rich personality, 
a very prolific and creative person, 
who has a generosity… 
And so we started to do things together, 
we got along very well,
and I offered him to play 
in a film called Furtivo.
A film that you produced.
Yes, because I also make films. 
It's confidential. 
But I really get to do what I want and people like Sébastien are the same, 
they do exactly what they want to do.
You have also worked in another musical genre 
with a composer called Éliane Radigue,
whose work is, to explain it very quickly, 
a form of contemporary music 
that she composes directly for loudspeakers. 
Most of the time they are not really orchestral works. 
The piece you have worked with her on, 
on which you offered to do a kind of supplement,  
or extension, is called “Systema Occam.”  
Have you been interested in her for a long time? 
How was your encounter with Éliane Radigue?
I found that in all the hip-hop stuff I listen to, 
I like the linear bass, 
I like the drone, I also like Celtic music, the Breton bagads 
when the bass line drops it is like on the dancefloor, 
there is this power of the drone effect. 
I like Sono. There are common points 
between all these kinds of music, 
and Éliane Radigue, she is on the top of this pyramid. 
She is both the base and the summit, in short 
someone very important.
Who began in the ’60s, or even ’50s.
In the ’50s, yes. She is a lady of about 
80 years or so, isn’t she?
84. Yes, I am a very fortunate... 
I am 53 years old and I get to work with people 
like the architect Claude Parent who just died, 
at the age of 93, or the likes of Éliane Radigue who is 84. 
It is really interesting because you get to encounter 
artists who have developed things, 
who didn’t just work for eight years, 20 years, 
but who have been doing things for 60, 70 years. 
It's amazing to see where they still want 
to go after all this time.
Without going too far into an academic thing, 
they don’t reproduce at all what they have done before. 
In the case of Éliane Radigue, it is quite striking to see that...
And what is also hard to understand is, 
when you say that her concerts are only on tape,
you get the impression that it is for show 
but in fact it's just that when she worked in the ’50s, 
using wave generators, frequency generators… 
You have to imagine a synthesizer 
but without a keyboard, in which one introduces a frequency, 
and which one will treat. So how do we restore that? 
There are no digital tools to store it 
so she records it on a tape recorder,
and the way she can control it best when playing 
it live is to use this tape. 
And in the same way, today she composes on demand for certain musicians 
who will fall on their knees to do things for her. 
While she was only composing electronically at first now 
she composes for classic instruments. 
And so the way she composes for them 
is by discussing with the interpreter 
and the interpreter, once the piece 
is finished by mutual agreement, 
becomes the carrier, the transmitter. 
He can for example choose to play it shorter, longer or stronger.
But it's very logical, it's an organic process.
You must also think what it was like
in the ’50s for a woman in the field of creation,
a time when some people wouldn’t consider what she did
as important,
only because she was a woman.  
And so she stayed in the shadow of (Pierre) Henry,
of (Pierre) Schaeffer, 
people who were developing things 
and she was their assistant. She was given 
a tape recorder as a present and used it
to start developing her work. 
A little like a hidden treasure, 
she continued to work, and to preserve 
her work in a perfect way. 
She is very radical too, you have to approach 
her in a very subtle way, I have done stuff with her, 
she is very attentive to the acoustics, 
and if she is not satisfied, she is not satisfied, period. 
And so I learned a lot with her. 
It's a very special type of music, 
because you cannot really listen to it via headphones, 
you cannot listen to it while driving, you cannot listen to it on the radio. 
One of her great qualities is this strong attention and focus.
Which is related to a specific place. 
Exactly, and so I created a sort of show,  
an introduction for a harp piece 
called “Occam.” 
In some way it is a kind of juxtaposition of my visual universe, 
the activation of the studio, 
and of her music piece, which is absolutely magnificent, 
extremely meditative and quite demanding.
You have to understand that is it a bit like the difference between observing 
an optical tool, such as binoculars, and using them. 
That is to say that you actively choose to dive into the sound, 
it is an invitation to really get inside the sound, 
as if it was a material, a substance. 
But that is also what you do 
when you listen to a good dub bass or a techno drop.
You cannot be passive, right.
No.
And the work that you have done with her 
around this
did it aim to make this music, which is rather 
intangible and challenging, more accessible?  
Did you feel that through working with her, 
she was able to reach people she otherwise could not have reached?
No, because in the end we played this show about 15 times, 
which was very surprising for me. 
But the audiences are really tiny,
since it's acoustic music that needs to be heard in an immersive way, 
in high quality. There are only about 100 people each time. 
What is also interesting, when you are traveling 
the world for this show, which was half a concert, 
half a show, you get to meet an audience 
that are all absolute fans of her work. 
It is a sort of global village: that is to say, 
there are very few of these people, but you can find them everywhere. 
Earlier on you were talking about the fact 
that music was available everywhere, 
ubiquitous, and that art was a little more difficult 
to expose in a certain way,
or at least to diffuse. 
Is it something you envy musicians for, 
or would you as an artist 
like it for your work, or the work of others, 
to become more accessible, 
more available… Well, not in supermarket of course, 
but in the urban environment,
in the streets? Is this something that is important to you, 
do you think that art has to keep a form of, 
not elitism, 
but kind of exception that can not 
translate into mass appeal, like music?
Oh, there's plenty of room for discussion 
in this question here. 
First of all, art is not culture. 
There is a difference, it often gets mixed up. 
The Ministry of Culture represents art in France, 
and art is something that escapes culture. 
Besides, art has become something 
in which elitism doesn’t have a place anymore. 
The world of art has changed so much nowadays 
that if you go on a Saturday to Le Marais, 
you can see things of great quality everywhere for free.
New or old.
With certain requirements, certain investments. 
It's free, you can an visit any type of gallery. 
Well, people don’t do it, as they are a bit intimidated 
or because they don’t come to this area 
or whatever, but it is possible. 
Sometimes I have 3000 people 
at an exhibition, at an opening,
so you can almost compare it to a big concert, 
something massive. 
At the same time we are very lucky, 
as we stay in an area 
where you don’t have this problem of celebrity hype, 
and that is a very good thing.
With a few exceptions but well, 
generally speaking. 
Yeah, but even Jeff Koons or Murakami, 
they're pretty quiet.
They don’t have any bodyguards.
Yeah, you can’t compare it at all to how someone 
like Justin Bieber is living. 
Speaking for myself, it's very far away from 
that and I'm very happy that it is away from it. 
On the other hand we get a lot of attention. 
You can do great things when you're an artist, 
very quickly you can go to places, 
meet amazing people etc. 
It's kind of letting go, sometimes 
you even wonder why, wonder how.
It’s a great opportunity that I enjoy a lot. 
I take advantage of it to meet people.
Architects and producers in particular.
And we have really interesting discussions 
after that, and I see it as a sort of privilege, 
a form of responsibility in itself, 
by being present for example. 
When I launch an exhibition, I go all in: 
I fully commit, I am there. 
It's all a bit symbolic. Being there during the opening, 
and then after that, coming back from time to time, 
unless you happen to be abroad 
and have to go home after the opening night. 
But this whole thing is very different 
from the music world. 
Of course there is the concert, 
but unfortunately you won’t have Stevie Wonder 
sitting next to your turntables 
every time you put on his record. Unfortunately. 
To come back to these differences between pop music 
and contemporary art, 
there are two things I would like to ask 
you about.
I spoke about it earlier on, but there 
are quite a lot of artists of your generation, 
or the one above, that had a particular relationship 
to music. Not exactly frightened,
but not exactly direct or outright either. 
They rather took up certain linguistic 
or visual elements, but not necessarily 
the ones of pop culture, 
as they all came from a certain form of academism, 
sort of a cultural elite. 
Today, on the other hand, you get the impression 
that there are tons of people, 
young artists of 25, 30, 35 years of age. 
I am thinking about somebody called Cory Arcangel, 
who has done an installation 
around a particular synth, 
a Japanese one, from KORG, 
that he really closely studied to build a performance around it. 
Do you follow these artists? 
There are plenty, Cyprien Gaillard with 
Koudlam, there's Camille Roux with Joachim. 
It is something quite natural because 
you can find some sort of response, 
a symmetry, something that really fits. 
And then I believe that there is a synergy 
when it comes to temporality. 
When you visit an exhibition, there is no time limit. 
When you listen to a song, the person 
who wrote it indicates the tempo. 
So it's quite different, and these time-related 
issues seem somewhat anecdotal 
but the digital movement makes these issues related 
to time more and more vivid and contemporary. 
When you think about the edit, 
unfortunately that doesn’t really exist in French 
as it is not really the process of editing but rather the choice
of how you handle it, and the attention as well as the time. 
So these questions are really accessible 
in the very natural relationship 
we have that differs from visiting 
an exhibition, 
watching a theatre piece or a movie, 
or listening to music.
And do you think that future works by these 
young artists and artists in the future itself 
will adapt more to the perception 
of the future generations? 
Do you basically think that 
we will be able to watch a piece 
like we listen to a a song today,
with the same immediacy? 
Do you think we will get to a kind of convergence 
between these channels, 
or do you think that this is something 
that will always be linked 
to the subject of the contemporary 
art object?
I am not sure, but I have noticed 
a kind of impression 
that the phenomenon of vision 
is a frequency,
the phenomenon of hearing is frequency, 
when you are listening to music or looking at an image, 
whatever the medium. 
And when it is digital, there are the pixels, impulses. 
So we are in a moment when, on the one hand 
there is the existence of these frequencies, 
on the other hand their numerical transcriptions, 
and this digital transcription becomes more general and sort of amplifies. 
So we are in this magma in which the question of choice,
the question of what will guide us to one thing 
or another becomes increasingly important, 
so we will have more and more need to register 
the subgroups that we have chosen. 
And so what's great about it is that it's new, 
and I love new things. 
At the same time there is a dizzying 
dimension in all this, 
and I think that art, you asked me if it should remain 
linked to a form of elitism, 
absolutely not, it is just a matter of means. 
That is to say that today, it’s for sure, 
the experience that one can have of a piece of art is different. 
I look a lot at Instagram for example. 
With all its limitations, 
I find it very interesting, especially the fact 
that everyone has pretty much the same tool, 
which is a smartphone. 
Well, at least in certain regions of the world 
and with a certain standard of living. 
Let's say that before, people had many different tools 
and today they all have the same tool.  
And this is pretty interesting. It makes every creator in some way equal. 
It is less the tool that matters but more the way you look at things. 
I shot my last movie using iPhones, four iPod touches to be precise. 
The quality is amazing, we just exchanged the lenses. 
There's this kind of common digital channel that has an impact 
that I can’t even define, but is has a huge impact. 
For example, one thing we didn’t have 
at all when we were 20 
was that when you looked at an image, 
it was composed of different parts. 
You looked at an image, that was it. 
Even after pointillism and impressionism, 
it remained a whole. 
Today, any child understands 
that any image is composed of different parts, 
of pixels, of picture elements.
And that it can be taken, distorted, with tools 
that are accessible to everyone these days.
The second question I wanted to ask you concerns 
the opposition between art and music. 
It came to my mind during an encounter 
with Yves Michaud, 
who reacted to an article about music criticism written 
by a German author and art theorist called Diedrich Diederichsen. 
He explained that nowadays, with this immediate character of music,
the duty of a music critic 
is to detach completely from current events, 
to be able to speak for example 
about a record a year after its release, 
to be able to write extremely long pieces 
and not follow the dictatorship of “must publish the review 
right after the release,” etc. 
And, amongst other things, to break free 
from the commercial pressures record labels apply. 
Yves Michaut responded to this rather firmly by saying, 
“No, this is a utopian ideal and completely off track, 
as art criticism has always been linked to commercial interests. 
Within a market, it is a market, and it does not make sense 
to ask critics to get out of this universe.” 
I replied to him that back in the day, 
these two markets were extremely different,
as records were produced in series, 
whereas a piece of art is unique. 
He didn’t really want to listen to me, 
so I would like to know your opinion about it. 
Do you think that art critics can still really 
influence an artist’s reputation today,
the image of an artist and, if so, in music criticism as well? 
Because I believe that you read a lot of magazines 
and books about music, so is this something 
that can be influential as it is in art? 
First of all the role of the critic is not necessarily 
to say this is good or this is bad.
It is an analytical role, which allows 
us to clarify things. 
Right now I am reading this book written 
by Alex Ross called The Rest Is Noise. 
It is interesting, it shows the vision of 
an American on the music of the 20th century. 
Suddenly I am discovering things, that is to say, 
I have always perceived classical composers of the early 20th century
as sort of isolated cases, and suddenly I am beginning 
to understand that there is a network, the origins of jazz, 
and the popular dimension 
that great music had at the time.
I think that criticism can 
be full of different things.
I think it would be interesting to come back with articles 
about things that have happened a long time ago, 
as they do in Audimat magazine for example. 
But this also applies to the rest of the news. It is always interesting 
to come back to a topic or event one year, two years or 10 years later. 
It is not really a debate, we cannot deal 
with these issues in an isolated way. 
The art market, the record market, everything is linked 
to technology, the evolution of the world as a whole, 
and issues that go far beyond these isolated poles. 
This gives a lot of power to criticism. 
Today, one can easily make art outside of any market, 
it’s not the same as it has been, 
but one should not believe that this 
is the only way to do things. 
When we look at the differences in education 
that exist between different countries
or continents, we see that there are 
different ways to do things, 
there are different channels you can pass through, 
there is the internet but also the economy. 
But it is absolutely possible to make art without passing 
through the internet or the market economy. 
You just have to choose a form of art 
that is inexpensive to create. 
I have done artworks that weren’t very 
expensive to produce, I have done things
by sticking three pieces of wood together.
For me there is really no difference.
You will represent France at the Venice Biennale,
in May next year. 
Can you tell us a few words 
about what you have in mind 
without necessarily going into details? 
Will there be a link to music?
Yes, it's a project called the Merzbo Musical. First of all, 
I am very happy to be able do this project. 
To be invited to the Venice Biennale
is a real honour, a sacred thing.
But instead of making it something 
really competitive, or a consecration, 
we just go there to spread our know-how. 
What I would like is a slightly more prospective dimension, 
so it is a somewhat risky project. 
The name Merzbo derives from a piece by Kurt Schwitters, 
a German artist of the ’20s, 
who came from Dadaism and 
went into surrealism, 
and who invented this form of structure 
that we call installation art,
by filling his apartment and that of his parents with sculptural 
forms that transformed them into a kind of cave. 
So this cave was transferred into the 
French Pavilion and the Giardini in Venice, 
a very important place, 
since Venice isn’t just any city. 
The installation will be there for six months 
and the idea is to transform it into a recording studio, 
just like these beautiful recording studios they had in the ’60s or ’70s, 
as if it had suffered a massive earthquake 
and had been completely destroyed. So it will be a place where you 
have to pay attention where you place your foot,
where you can get lost easily. 
And inside this space, there 
will be musicians who will work, 
and who will use this studio to record music, 
not to do concerts. 
They are there to develop things, 
there will be an experimental dimension, 
and the idea is to move the musical 
field into the field of visual art, 
or vice versa, and to give it a certain colour.
But the studio will be fully operational, 
and the different musicians who will participate 
will leave with their hard disk 
or their Analogue tapes. 
They will be free to do whatever 
they want with it. 
And within the scope of the musicians, there will be well-known 
people and people who are less known, 
people who come from far away, people 
who come from the island next to Venice. 
It is kind of a great adventure, we’re working with 
over a 100 people on this project. 
In the end we will be over 200 people involved. 
An adventure far from the ordinary,
and so far quite joyful, 
so I hope it will stay like that. 
This will be my last question: who are the musicians 
you would like to work with in coming years? 
Whether it's for sculpting or for projects like 
the ones you have done with 
Éliane Radigue or Sébastien Tellier?
Frank Ocean, yeah, that would be great. 
What I like is Odd Future, these dirty kids, 
with their bad language, 
who just make a mess wherever they go. 
I already adored them at this July 14th gig three years ago 
when he did his coming out, 
as I think that this is a really big deal
in the world of hip-hop, that is so macho 
and full of homophobia. 
Well that wasn’t very long before the release of his album, 
so it was also a bit strategic.
But even better. Then, when I saw Frank Ocean singing 
“Bad Religion” on Saturday Night Live,
I was simply blown away. Within two minutes he managed to change 
the atmosphere completely, and this is very astonishing for a TV performance.
It was as if he took a shortcut. 
But you know what, I don’t think 
I would be able to work with him at all, 
I don’t really know what more 
I would be able to give to him.
Anyway, I would like to work with Bob Marley, 
I would like to do something with Pierre Boulez but well. 
No, there are actually a lot of people, RZA. 
What has actually changed these days is that I know it could be possible. 
But the question is rather how to approach 
the working process with these collaborations. 
I also work with dancers, soon 
I will film Marie-Agnès Gillot and Dimitri Chamblas. 
A small shoot 
on a performance they made. 
The idea is really to only intervene when you feel that you have got 
something to say, to contribute, and with many artists,
you have to pass a certain stage I guess. 
I would love to work with Sébastien again, 
because even though we already have a long history, 
there are still so many interesting things we could do. 
So there are no artists right now
where you’d say, “I’d really like to do 
this with him (or her)” because it will work…
The reason why I am not thinking about this now 
is that I am currently working on a project 
that will involve 100 musicians. 
So it really keeps me busy. 
Will it be solely musicians? No visual artists?
No, only me. And lots of other people! Well, 
it is sort of an attempt to reach symmetry between two universes.
It is really about sound and image. 
I don’t want to make something that is 
some kind of weaker compromise of the two. 
What I am really interested 
in music wise at the moment, 
I don’t know what we could do together, 
but Gucci Mane and people in Atlanta. 
Young Thug. There are plenty and I find it very interesting 
how things have slowed down, 
“dead ended” as you would say in the south (of France). 
And there is a kind of very strong melancholy 
that you wouldn’t expect in this place, 
the kind that we know from bands like The Cure, 
that suddenly emerges in hip-hop as well. 
Thank you Xavier Veilhan. Now it's your turn 
to ask Xavier any questions.
Hi. 
For this Producers series, you chose not to work 
with profiles as you often do. 
Instead you made 3D impressions 
where you left the striations clearly visible. 
I found this interesting because 
it maybe allowed us to feel the vibration of the sound, 
as it is very difficult to render in sculpture, 
or in visuals arts, like for example 
with Munch’s The Cry
where you can really see the vibrations.
It also made you think of the micro grooves 
of vinyl, which you obviously appreciate. 
Was this simply a technical constraint 
and my interpretation is totally farfetched,
or was this a technique you had in mind
for other artwork? 
Well, the profiles are my “hit.” It's like guys on tour, 
when you ask them,
“Do you always sing the same song?”
Yeah. This is what intrigues people but if you are 
looking at my work as a whole, it’s only one part of it. 
So what interests me most here is to get as close 
as possible when representing these people.
For me it’s mandatory to represent 
them in a more or less realistic way. 
Obviously you recognize them a lot better. 
What I wanted was to approach the human 
figure in a very delicate way. 
That’s why I didn’t use the axe too much. 
This is indeed a contrast to vibration, 
but not a direct evocation of this frequency of sound. 
It is rather a sort of blur that you apply 
to the human body, that is to say, they are statues, 
they are representations, and therefore 
you can confirm that they are material 
and not exactly a replica of the person, 
so rather an intermediate object 
that is halfway between a real person 
and an image that is two-dimensional, 
so something even more abstract, halfway indeed. 
Thank you!
You are welcome. 
Thank you. I have a question regarding 
your work around music, as well as your work with musicians. 
Would you have had the same approach 
if you had worked with writers or painters?
In fact with the painters, I've never really thought 
of it as a matter of fact, 
but there is kind of mythology around them. 
When journalists come to interview me, we are sometimes 10 people 
at the studio but they only want to talk to me, only see me. 
It’s teamwork, yet it’s a paradox 
as everything that is released is published 
under my name and signed under my label. 
The same applies for film directors. 
What I want to say is, that it would be interesting to portray 
this team work given that I was interested in this genre. 
To give you an example: If I was working with filmmakers, 
it would be fun to present the whole cinema crew instead of just the director himself. 
I have made several portraits of musicians, 
but they were mostly producers 
and what I found interesting about them was this sort 
of separation between the artist’s work in the studio, 
that is sort of sheltered from the outside, 
and the producer’s work. 
This made me feel some kind of sympathy. 
Having said that, I am asking myself 
a lot of questions about how to celebrate the human figure 
as this was often done with dictators, 
this form of glorification that you wouldn’t want to get close to. 
And this question of representing humankind, 
or a person, or a human body, is so significant today. 
In general, but also from a religious 
point of view or a digital perspective. 
Take virtual reality for example. It will make us dive into a world 
where we erase certain limits between what is real and what is not. 
Today it is quite interesting for an artist to think 
about how to compare yourself to the likes of 
Uccello or Bernini, how you position yourself  
in regards to these questions that are very much linked 
to the contemporary world, especially when you look at 
the development of technologies.
But excuse me, this might be slightly too broad an answer 
to a very specific question that I pretty much avoided. 
Generally speaking we live in an absolutely 
incredible time, we are accelerating, 
and the question of where we go becomes much more important, 
because we go from 10kmh 
to 200kmh, so everything goes very quickly. 
And I think that artists play an important role 
when you look at these issues, 
they indicate a very deep direction 
when we try to understand this context. 
It is a context that is very hard to understand, 
there are a lot of false pretexts, a lot of dead-ends. 
And so, the role of the artist in general, and also the one of a musician,
is to try to understand that through 
the transcendence of art you can make things 
understandable that you cannot explain. 
It’s not because you can’t explain them or that they are just a mystery, 
it’s also that these things take too much time to explain.
And if you listen to a Portishead song that touches you deeply, 
I think there is a capacity to transport 
this comprehension to a reality or a context 
that weighs more than trying to analyse reality. 
Thank you very much! 
