Last month, the Watermill Center in
Your history with Robert Wilson was long and wonderful. Can you explain why you were barking at each other like dogs? What other unique ways have you connected?
I’ve known Bob Wilson since I was born. In the months before I could talk, he would sometimes call home, ask my father to talk to me, and bark into the phone, and I would bark back. This nonverbal communication may take some time. It was just fun and an escape from rationality. A common practice in Wilson’s world. We often use it in our collaborations, for a similar purpose, during the rehearsal process while co-directing a work together, and even on stage once while performing together. Sometimes, it was simply a matter of making the moment more special or redirecting attention. Sometimes they had a more subtle purpose, such as calming disagreement, expressing doubt, or encouraging a bolder approach. Much of his communication with his collaborators was nonverbal. His silence was as revealing as his words, and not just as negative. In most cases, the silence was constructive. One can understand a lot of meaning in that. We also used eyes. Bob and I usually understood each other’s thoughts by exchanging glances. Then one of us simply says, “I see,” with a sly smile.
You grew up in a very creative family. Your father is an actor and director, your mother is a fashion designer, and your sisters became painters and opera soloists. Was there a moment when you thought about doing something outside of the arts, or was it inevitable?
I thought about doing other types of work, but it was always related to the arts in one way or another. I didn’t try hard to escape. Most importantly, I owe my parents a lot. Despite their modesty, they gave us a stunning showcase of pioneering artists, both well-known and completely unknown. They brought us to museums, theaters and operas. Sometimes we would travel to see an exhibition in another country. We didn’t have a TV for a large part of our childhood and mostly watched artists’ films. My father taught me a lot about theater, and I worked hard with him. I was 10 years old when I went to the Watermill Center for the first time. I stayed there for a while, without any family, working with Bob Wilson and other great professionals on a new production. Thinking about it now, my parents are incredibly free spirits. They allowed me to have an experience that most parents would fear.
In 2015, I directed the world premiere of an opera at the Unfinished National Arts Schools of Cuba, using actual buildings as scenery. I have curated work at Columbia University for the Performa Biennale, the Opera of Avignon, and the Théâtre de la Cité. What are the challenges and rewards of programming in a non-traditional space, like the Watermill?
I’ve always been interested in the impact of framework on work. When I was 21, I was performing in the French national company Comédie-Française, and at the same time, I enjoyed performing in alternative venues or working as a lighting technician on tour. As a director, I have had the opportunity to work in traditional theaters and play with the amazing possibilities that well-funded institutions offer. But the on-site explorations also shaped me. They allowed me to question theatrical form and vocabulary in a deeper way. This is what we offer at the Watermill Center: a laboratory where artists can immerse themselves in a unique and stimulating environment and create works they would not, or could not, create in a traditional space. It is also interesting to bring works that have been in theaters or museums and watch them grow or deform at the Watermill. Often, we welcome the first steps of businesses that will then be established in more traditional spaces. It is like building self-sustaining bridges, so that shapes find their truth, regardless of context.
I have just completed Wilson’s unfinished production Seven isolation at the Kaunas National Drama Theater in Lithuania – a piece she describes as being shaped by the experience of standing beside a departing comrade. How did you manage to straddle the line between honoring Wilson’s vision and asserting your own direction? When did you know you were going to make the Charles Schemen decision versus the Robert Wilson decision?
We’ve started Seven isolation Along with Bob Wilson and a valuable team of long-time collaborators. As always, he started with pictures, references, and sketches, while I delved into the concepts emerging from the textual material. By the time we began the first short phase of rehearsals, he knew his days were numbered, yet he redoubled his efforts to begin this first drawing of the piece, as a gesture beyond death, like an artistic certificate. I sat next to him, knowing that he would not see the creativity of the work, and without the possibility of sharing it with my colleagues. Once he died, I redirected my adaptation of Milosz’s texts and continued the direction, aiming to pay tribute to Wilson’s poetic definition of theater and reinvent the relationship with space and time, which found incredible resonance within Milosz’s poetic and metaphysical texts.
At some point in the creation process, it became clear that there was only a certain limit to which I could fill the frame he had left. Since there is only one Robert Wilson, some of the work I will make will be a kind of imitation of his style, which will inevitably end up being a faded copy. Wilson often surprised us, collaborators, audiences, and even himself, by confronting and transcending his signature style. He also often liked to be surprised by what I could bring to his work.
Therefore, I began to influence his form with more personal and unique aspects, such as counterpoints, making the work a form of dialogue between his work and my own approach. The decisions to make a hybrid work of this kind were very natural to me. They were invigorated by my understanding and admiration for what Wilson brought to the world, while nourished by my reaction to his work and his reflections on art in general, my age, our age, the evolution of approaches and the renewal of forms.
I feel lucky. Extending the 42 years of filial kinship and 33 years of working companionship in a form of artistic dialogue beyond death is an opportunity that very few people have. This piece is Wilson’s final artistic gesture to the world, and it is also the artistic gesture that we, as long-time collaborators, have given him.
Could this answer apply to questions about the future of the watermill?
This dialogue applies exactly to the watermill. We will continue to highlight Robert Wilson’s unique vision, as well as the openness that Watermill brings. This openness is the engine of renewal that will ensure that our path towards artistic creativity remains vibrant. For this reason, I am inspired by Wilson’s regular process of reinvention in his work and practice. The dialogue between diversity and uniqueness, in all its forms, will serve as a compass, as will the dialogue between future generations and pioneering figures. Naturally, there is sadness that comes with such a profound loss. But this is the moment I want us to live with tenderness and celebration. We owe it to Bob, to Watermill, to our alumni, and to the generations of artists yet to come.
Wilson chose you for this role before his death last August. What were those conversations like? Was there a formal moment when succession was discussed, or was it more of a gradual understanding between the two of you?
There was a gradual understanding over several years, including several formal discussions, which became more precise in recent months. For many years, we have worked integratedly, in theater as well as at Watermill. He was an extremely powerful figure and there was no ambiguity about his leadership. But in recent years, he has shared more responsibilities and enriched his vision with many collaborators. For example, he has not been reckless in creating his own famous lighting design in recent years, but he has relied much more than in the past on another lighting designer. Likewise, our working relationship was rich and complex. I was building business concepts with him, directing drama, and a lot about directing actors. There was continuity of a similar nature with the summer program when I took over its artistic direction.
She has co-directed and acted as dramatic actor in more than 20 Wilson productions, and then directed Wilson himself Crab’s last bar. How was that?
Crab’s last bar It was a very unique experience, and a symptom of something that has happened in very few productions: playing a younger Wilson. At rehearsals, I was on stage performing his role, so he could direct me for him. In the last stage, we had a conversation, and I had to direct him, from a role-playing perspective. Then the younger one led the older one. As in an infinite loop between two generations, this incredibly echoed Beckett’s play, as we toured this work for almost 10 years. In every city of the world we went to, in Asia, South America, the United States, and all over Europe, I had to play with him again, with his makeup, his wig, his costume, his fake belly, and then swap again. It was also an extraordinary learning experience to direct him in this business, as he had to learn and execute precise movements, read the script out loud, impersonate a character, even if abstract, and be consistent and convincing every night. It was a challenge and it took a few cities to find my way to pull it off and get something solid out of it. It has strengthened our trust and communication.
Since 2020, she has been Artistic Director of the Watermill International Summer Programme. This residency brings 20 artists from different disciplines together in July and August. What is the most enjoyable part about this aspect of your job?
Taking charge of the summer program was a beautiful evolution of my relationship with Watermill. I deal with fewer logistical tasks now, but I still happily dive into the technical portion of the summer program. With the help of several advisors, and from among many applicants, I selected a group of artists, now close to 30 artists. They come to the Watermill for a month and create solo and group works that we present at our summer festival, alongside our most popular guest artists. It’s like organizing probabilities. It’s very different every year. We imagine connections between artistic fields, age differences, nationalities, cultures, and levels of achievement, create possibilities for them to create works together, and still they always surprise us by inventing new forms and collaborations that we did not expect. It’s the most rewarding feeling: we only create possibilities, and these artists find their freedom no matter the circumstances. Their works are strikingly original, and the artistic friendships formed at the Watermill will last for many years for some of them.
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