Nicholas Weist: So Till, have I mentioned that in a few weeks I'll be participating in a "shamanic circle"? It's something I became interested in when I started thinking about how, in a time when the American public is so disenfranchised by the government, the idea of "magic" gives people a sense of empowerment. It's a space that's crafted by individuals in which one defines the rules of his/her own reality.

Till Gerhard: Wow, that sounds great. Have you had any expierences in these kind of things? Is this circle based on traditional shamanism or is more connected to art?

NW: It's the first time I'm doing anything like it, and for the people running it, it's definitely not about art! As far as I understand it's a group of men who use ritual and mediation to produce visions, which they hope will guide or heal them. Sometimes art functions in a similar way, doesn't it? Your work, for example, can be instructive in terms of politics, although that's not necessarily readily apparent.

TG: I like the idea that art could work in a similar way as shamanism, because it´s rooted in the same place. Or perhaps art actually developed out of shamanism. A lot of artists are still labeled as shamans: the most known and influential of course being Joseph Beuys. In my work, I feel more like I'm analyzing other people´s visions than producing my own. But people see certain things about my work that I didn't necessarily intended. And that is the point where it gets interesting: it's possible to hit neuralgic points without intending it. Maybe that has something to do with archetypical imagery: things every human being understands in a deeper way than the pure intellect.

NW: Yes, archetypal imagery runs strong in your work. I'm thinking here of the tension between your figures and landscapes, a pretty universal concern. Is that something that resonates with you personally? Are you afraid of the forest?

TG: I do have a strong personal need for nature, to counterbalance city life. I go outdoors as often as I can so I don´t feel totally alienated from nature. I feel quite secure in the forest, but if somebody dropped me off alone in a totally unknown wilderness that could change pretty fast. A forest has the same kind of potential to make a human being aware of the unknown as, for example, swimming in a deep lake. Not knowing what is under you or behind a thicket can be quite disturbing. So the forest or deep water have a high symbolic value: they are stand-ins for the subconscious, things we´re not aware of. I wonder if you could make yourself feel comfortable within nature, would that mean you could also reconcile yourself with your inner nature and the subconscious?

NW: It seems like if you find peace within yourself, you will be at peace with the world. Maybe because if one found that total peace, which implies total satisfaction, one would become unafraid of death.... But maybe your interest in death is more along the George Romero/Alejandro Jodorowsky lines?

TG: Would you say that they believe in rebirth? Romero certainly does, his characters get born again pretty fast.

NW: It seems the idea of "un-dead" implies an intermediary state between life an death, rather than a rebirth. Like maybe you have to be full-dead before you can be reborn. What would you be reincarnated as, if you were asked to choose? I would like to be a lyre bird. They're a species that has it so easy they've spent most of their evolutionary capital on ridiculous adornments like opalescent feathers and crazy nonfunctional curly things. Plus they live in the tropics.

TG: As child I always begrudged our cat for its comfortable life. Sleeping the whole day, being fed when it's hungry, and still doing its own thing. But did you consider that maybe it's only an idealized human view that lyre birds, for example, have easy and playful lives? Maybe they feel totally stressed by always having to come up with imitations of new sounds like chain saws or camera shutters or car alarms. The problem with reincarnation is that you don´t have the opportunity to choose. You get sent back to a new life to solve the problems you didn't solve in this life—but you probably don't know what the problems are!

NW: How do you feel about death generally? I've been thinking a lot lately about how even in its most abject form, death can actually be a highly sexualized process.... right now I'm watching Fassbinder's Querelle. The story links the union of two people during sex with the union of a person and his/her next (last) step, in death.

TG: I think that in Western society, our relationship towards death has been very disrupted. On the one hand we seem to be obsessed with violent death and killing—looking at what is constantly displayed in movies, the evening news, or computer games for example. This of course becomes a more and more virtual relationship, and most people lose a direct experience of death, because on the other hand we try to remove natural death from our daily life. By keeping old or sick people in facilities where the public doesn't see them or their process of dying, we´re losing the common traditions and customs of coping with death. According to the Tibetan Book of the Dead, the rituals of accompanying people through the process of dying and also the rituals of leave-taking (like for example laying out the body) are enormously important—as during the process, the dying person goes through different stages of and altered states of consciousness. I have no idea if any of these states could be compared to what's happening in the human mind during intercourse. But we'll will find out one day.

NW: Much of the classic cinema you reference in your paintings is invested in death and the afterlife as well: Poltergeist, Nightmare on Elm Street...

TG: I would say that cinema in general has a major influence on my work. On the one hand I think I share a coming-of-age experience with my generation: to have grown up watching a lot of movies, especially scary and horror movies as well as classic movies from the 60s and 70s. As a teenager I watched films like Evil Dead, Poltergeist, and Dawn of the Dead for cheap thrills and what psychoanalysis would call "angstlust." This became an unconscious humus that probably has had an influence on my work. I think that we in Western societies in general are enormously influenced by TV, films, and virtual realities. For example when people happen to witness big disasters, their first emotion is often the feeling of being in a Hollywood movie...until the awareness of reality sets in. This, what I would call "cinematic viewing," is very internalized—for me working with pictures and photos always evokes scenes in films.

On the other hand I am a big fan of cinema and therefore I sometimes make very conscious decisions to reference or pay tribute to a particular film. Films that have directly influenced me, and which I would also consider as some of my favorites, are The Birds, Apocalypse Now, Zabriskie Point, Blow Up, The Shining, Clockwork Orange, 2001: A Space Odyssey, Zardoz, Mad Max, and The Wicker Man.

NW: I love how your paintings' structures correspond to those of films, but where a viewer looks at a film (the gaze is in one direction only), in your paintings one gets the sense that there is something looking back. I'm also interested in Zardoz as a relic of culture: did Hollywood go temporarily crazy?! It's one of the most bizarre films ever!

TG: I think Zardoz was the most insane, LSD-driven attempt to include every myth and idea about life, death, wisdom, knowledge, past, future, violence, and love into one plot—which makes it a little hard to follow the story...

When you say the paintings seem to look back, which some literally do, that's the best thing that can happen, because it means that something like a dialogue has started. The painting mirrors your questions and maybe even drives them in a new direction. I like the idea of painting being a mirror that reflects everything that you as the viewer bring along. It cannot answer questions like The Tabernacle in Zardoz, but at least it can start a process of thinking.

NW: Sort of like disasters! If a society experiences something like the Manson family, it forces them to start a parallel process of thinking, or a reevaluation of the main tenets of their culture. But does it ever produce change?

TG: In a way of course societies are able to change, but there are certain structures that always seem to repeat. The example of the Manson family shows in a very drastic way what happens when people try to experience total personal freedom, are unable to cope with it, and turn it into an absolute state of dependance. So as long as some people desire power for their personal advantage, and other people feel in need of guidance, things like that will happen again—though in different iterations.

NW: It’s funny, that last sentence could describe a cult or a nation...

TG: Yes, maybe it´s not so much a question of the number of people that form those groups, but more a question of patterns that create dynamics of their own, and get out of control in the case of individuals. Human beings definetly feel the need to form crowds. No matter if they are, for example, concert crowds, football fans, or religious groups—the built up energies in these crowds long for discharge. A very interesting book regarding this context is "Crowds and Power" by Elias Canetti.

NW: Yes! Have you read "The Day of the Locust" by Nathaniel West? It describes the energy of a crowd exactly, and also relates to the "cinematic viewing" you mentioned earlier, and the typical surreality of reality itself. I love novels set in Hollywood: it's like any writer who goes there, no matter how smart or light-hearted their work is typically, they make existential, depressing work in Hollywood. Evelyn Waugh, for instance.

TG: In order to produce the biggest dreams on film, Hollywood probably also creates the worst nightmares in reality. There´s a lot of light in California, so there must be a lot shadow as well...

NW: If you could ask The Tabernacle one question, what would it be?

TG: Is it getting better or worse?

NW: [Booming Voice] DEFINITELY WORSE! WHAT SAY YOU?

TG: Ok, so The Times They Are A-Changin'. Just Let It Be and Be Here Now.

The Society of the Specter: A Conversation with Till Gerhard