THE TECHNOLOGICAL SUBLIME

Paul McCarthy’s art is unparalleled in its monstrous realization of unconscious cultural fantasies and perverse, spectacular desires. Rooted in the traditions of the 1960s, including experimental cinema, performance art, and the deep legacy of Abstract Expressionism, McCarthy blends these influences into a hybrid that touches on American pop culture, yet aims to deconstructthat very imagery. In a career spanning nearly fifty years, he has usedpopular entertainment figures and American myth icons, such as pirates, Santa Claus, Pinocchio, and Snow White. McCarthy places these figuresin chaotic, grotesque environments, exposing the social hierarchies andmoral imperatives behind the entertainment and consumer industries. He reveals them as a kind of infantilized political theater that hides anything “nonconforming” to the American dream. In his work, this Fordian assembly line of perfect products and individuals breaks down, and what was repressed erupts in an uncontrollable flow of symbolic fluids like ketchup, representing blood and waste. It’s a pantomime of a hypothetical Disney theme park run by the Wiener Aktionismus group. All of McCarthy’s work, from the simplest drawings to his largest installations, revolves around creating a kind of primordial cultural “sludge” through which he navigates, taking us on a journey where play and tyranny constantly shift roles. Last September, atthe third edition of the St. Moritz Art Film Festival, two previously unseen works by McCarthy were presented, as explained by the festival’s curator, Stefano Rabolli Pansera: «The theme of this edition of the Festival was “Meanwhile Histories” and it focused on the notion of counter-narratives and multiple temporalities». In this context, McCarthy has employed a surreal montage using AI techniques: «AI becomes a performative tool to question and challenge the conventions of moving image. Paul McCarthy pushes the notion of film-editing: editing is the art of establishing relationship between unrelated sequences of moving images. Through AI, Paul shifts the editing from a temporal relation between sequences to a simultaneous relation among emerging virtual possibilities. Reality diffracts and multiplies into a myriad of coexisting possibilities.» explains Rabolli Pansera, who continues regarding the artist’s research: «He introduced elements, languages, and expressions from cinema, popular culture, fiction, and pornography into the artistic discourse with unprecedented sharpness and originality. He grasps the essence of these». We asked the artist himself to guide us through the creative process behind these latest works, and beyond. Q: Both of your films presented at the St. Moritz Art Film Festival exploit recent AI software to generate an imagery that conveys your aesthetic of transfiguration, discomfort, and grotesque beauty that has characterized all your work. However, in this case, I feel that, unlike the 'real' bodies and symbolic materials you have always used, the film definitively distances itself from reality while still trying to simulate it. How did you decide to use this technique for the two films?

A: I don’t always analyze why I move in certain directions. I’ve been making art since the ‘60s, and early on, I gravitated toward what was happening culturally, like discovering Ginsberg or Stockhausen. I also picked up video equipment early and got interested in film and media, exploring alternatives. The shift to digital, like with cameras, was fascinating; suddenly I couldtake thousands of photos and see new details I couldn’t capture with film. With AI, I was struck by how quickly it could generate images, but also bythe imperfections: the distortions were interesting, even when it didn’t get things “right.” It felt like a kind of abstracting process, creating something unexpected. I’ve experimented a lot, asking for hundreds of images at a time, just to see what it would do. I’ve also worked extensively in virtual reality, editing with goggles on, fully immersed. Some have called these technologies gimmicks, but I see their potential to transform image-making. It’s all about experimenting, trying things out, and pushing boundaries. I continue to explore video editing, AI, and other mediums, seeing how they connect to my voice and my personal creative interests. It’s about playing with these tools, but seriously playing. In Adolf & Eva / Adam & Eve The Counter 2 for example, I used a 28-minute section from a performance I did with Lilith Stangenberg

on a kitchen counter. I liked the dual meaning of “counter”—both the literal kitchen counter and the idea of being a counter to something. In HEDEIHEID the source was an online video with a different process; created live in real-time. The speed AI works at, especially in the “flicker” style where images shift so rapidly, is hard to process. The eight-hour version of Counter, for example, lets you sit with the images longer, but the 28-minute one flies by. I’m experimenting with these flickers.

Q: What struck me of that statement is this sensation of something imponderable, seeming to go beyond the control of the author or the human being: is it a kind of technological sublime?

A: The speed and accumulation of images is what’s shocking, it’s a shift in how we think of time and production. I can write a prompt, change it, and AI alters the narrative as it goes. It’s like a hallucination, not concerned with getting it right, but generating form after form at a speed we can’t match. It piles up so many images, and I’ve accumulated thousands of them over time; thousands related to AE, a project I’ve been working on, stored on my phone like research.

Q: Adolf & Eva / Adam & Eve in your film seemingly still appear far from being ‘cast out’ from paradise: theirs seems to be a kind of sexual,‘panic’ ecstasy that ties them to this myth of nature, which was very popular in Nazi intellectual circles. What significance does reinterpreting this pair of historical figures in 2024 hold for you?”

A: Over the years, two main recurring themes have appeared in my work: the relationship between male and female, and the exploration of nature, particularly alpine imagery. The male-female dynamic, which is fundamental to the continuation of the human species, frequently surfaced in my pieces, reflecting on gender and human pairing. The alpine subject, especially referencing European mountain villages and their connection to themes like fascism, also featured prominently. For instance, I used Disneyland's Matterhorn to juxtapose American and European cultural imagery, drawing connections between Hitler’s Berlin and Disney's Anaheim.

Another significant project involved working with Lilith Stangenberg on a film based on Liliana Cavani’s The Night Porter. We reimagined the film, titling it Night Father, though we never edited it. While working on the ending, we drew parallels between suicide, Adam and Eve, and Adolf Hitler and Eva Braun, blending historical and mythological elements. This connection between nature and these infamous figures became a key theme. We explored the characters of Adolf and Eva through performances, mixing layers of history, gender roles, and power dynamics. In these works, the male is often portrayed as a buffoon or drunk, representing a patriarchal figure, while the female takes on various roles, flipping power structures.

Through these performances, we examined the interplay between the male and female in relationships, frequently reversing power roles. The project was layered with multiple interpretations, including commentary on brutality, gender politics, and historical atrocities. The portrayal of Adolf as a tragic, foolish figure underscores broader reflections on male power and the destructive games men play. Our work also critiques America's role, not allowing it to escape scrutiny, as the story is set in California. Ultimately, the project reflects a deep interrogation of history, nature, and gender dynamics intertwined with personal and cultural reflections.

Q: Your work has always been extremely challenging, even towards certain political figures, portrayed as grotesque caricatures (I’m thinking here about George W. Bush for example) which undoubtedly required great courage on your part. In this era of post-politics, it seems that not only are the horrifying reactionary political positions (in America as for the rest of the world) evident in content, but also in form: we see more explicitly grotesque bodies, faces and actions of election candidates everywhere, as if it were a deliberate electoral move, as if they had taken inspiration directly from your sculptures! What do you think of this aesthetic level of political imagery?

A: For example when it comes to Trump, I think he's highly conscious of his image, almost as if he's creating a brand. His exaggerated features, like his hair and his mustache, seem intentionally designed to be recognizable and memorable. It's unclear if this is done with a level of intelligence or if it's just buffoonery, but it's effective in capturing the attention of a certain portion of the population. His image works like a visual brand that resonates with people, regardless of whether it's absurd or intentional.

Take, for example, the infamous image of Trump with fast food laid out on a table; it's such an absurd yet striking piece of visual theater. It evokes the same kind of pop culture statement that Warhol might have appreciated, blending absurdity with a certain allure. It’s almost sculptural in its presentation, and I’ve explored similar ideas in my own work, like when I used Kentucky Fried Chicken boxes.

In today’s world, reality has become so absurd that it’s challenging for art to outdo the absurdity we see in real life. The violence and bizarre imagery being pushed out in the media makes it hard for artists to exaggerate further. My work, in part, is a response to this cultural absurdity, but at a certain point, it’s about simply trying to function within this reality and create art that engages with it.

Q: Do you go to the cinema? Are you more interested in mainstream cinema, tv series or so-called art-house cinema?

A: I don't go to movies very much but I used to. I'm not really drawn to popular films or television anymore. Occasionally, I'll watch an Academy Award-winning film, but I find most mainstream entertainment repulsive, especially television. It's become saturated with ads pushing products—drugs, cars, deodorants—everywhere. The constant barrage of commercials with minimal programming has turned TV into something aimed at a passive, trapped audience. It’s a collapsing system that doesn’t resonate with me, and I’m not interested in Netflix or these new series being churned out.

Some of my friends are real film enthusiasts, watching a movie a day, but they're selective about what they watch. There are still interesting films being made, but I want to see something that aligns with what I believe art should be; something that reflects and engages with deeper ideas. Comedy is fine, and entertainment has its place, but I don’t find myself laughing at anything on TV. I sit through comedies, and my face doesn’t change at all.

When it comes to my own work, I wonder how watchable it is, and who is actually willing to sit through it. I’m not making it for an audience; I’m making it for myself, to try and get at something, to explore and understand. While many filmmakers are highly conscious of their audience and aim to provoke or engage them, in the art world I come from, the audience isn’t the focus. It’s more about the artist’s internal exploration. The viewer, in my case, is me (maybe a few friends) but the work is about my personal attempt to make something meaningful.

I’m critical of the direction commercial entertainment has taken: it’s all corporate, driven by money, and it feels like a form of hypnotic conditioning. Television, in particular, feels vile to me. On the other hand, I’m deeply interested in serious filmmakers and artists who are trying to say something. I actively seek them out, and in a way, it’s old-school, like my favorite series; Berlin Alexanderplatz, directed by Fassbinder. It’s not just about the work: it’s about who he was as a person.

Q: You began creating in the late 1960s but recognition, including financial recognition, for your work only came in the 1990s. During that long period of radical performances and videos, the body and its exploration were central, but both video and performance didn’t easily provide financial returns...

A: I was reflecting on the fact that today many young people monetize their physicality in various ways through platforms like OnlyFans to name one. On these virtual venues you can find ‘creators’ who use their bodies for performances and exhibitions exploring all sorts of fetishistic nuances, revealing, for example, that there is a large audience that enjoys and pays for watching women and men smoke cigarettes through their butt hole. We could dismiss it all as 'online prostitution', but don’t you think that a great creative potential has been unleashed for ordinary people using their own bodies? When it comes to why people create or engage in certain kinds of exhibition or media, there's often a mix of intentions; maybe it's for money, for the thrill of pushing boundaries, or for personal enjoyment. I hesitate to call it "exhibitionism" because that term carries a negative connotation. It's more about the attraction to seeing how far you can take something and exploring what happens. I wouldn’t criticize that motivation. Yes, money is a part of it, and it keeps people going, but beyond that, it’s also about what impact this has on culture. Today’s world is radically different from when I grew up in the 1950s. The access to imagery and media has expanded enormously, and it’s affecting people, especially younger generations, in ways we couldn’t have imagined before. It’s easy to fear what this new social medium might do to society, but we also have to take it seriously, especially regarding how it influences norms, boundaries, and sexuality. This shift in imagery and content is huge, and even though it often happens on a one-to-one basis (someone alone watching something in their home) the cumulative effect is significant.

There’s something profound happening here. I believe we’re just seeing the beginning of what this media evolution can do. Sure, totalitarian forces might try to control it, but they might not even fully grasp its potential. The spectacle of it all, the massive digital and social media spectacle, is bigger than any one entity can control. It has its own momentum. I’m not sure I’m even trying to fully understand it. I think I’m just trying to make work within it, to respond to these images that are flooding out of social media and other platforms. The situation is like a cat that’s already out of the bag, and we’re all watching to see where it goes. It’s unsettling, but it’s happening through us, and we have to trust ourselves to shape something meaningful out of it.

The water we’re swimming in, culturally, is muddy and dirty, but that’s humanity: it’s not just about historical villains like Hitler. This dirty water represents the complexity of our current moment, and as artists, we’re working to create something from it. Q: If you were a first-year art student today, in 2024, would you still start with painting? Do you think that the practice of painting is still a fundamental form of approach and meditation on art, regardless of an artist’s poetics? A: First off, I’m not a student anymore, so that phase of my life is behind me! but I still make a lot of drawings. That part isn’t over for me. When I think about today’s younger generation, who grew up with a phone in their hand and constant access to computers, I wonder if they’re even interested in drawing. Artists of this new generation have grown up completely immersed in technology in a way I didn’t. I grew up with television just starting to become common, and the phone was something fixed to the wall. So it’s a different experience. But right now, the art world seems to be very focused on painting. There are a lot of young artists making paintings, and part of that might be because the alternatives (like digital mediums) aren’t as prominent in the art market. Sure, some younger artists are using computers to make work, but within the art world, painting seems to dominate: It almost feels like the art world exists in a bubble. There’s a certain glorification of painting, driven by the economics of selling art. Collectors are interested in paintings, they’re not as drawn to digital media, and they might not even care that much about photography or film-based art. The focus is still very much on painting, and that idea is being reinforced in art schools, where young artists are encouraged to see painting as the ultimate goal.

The digital mediums, on the other hand, feel like they exist outside of that bubble. To engage with them, it’s almost like you have to step outside the traditional art world and into another realm; like social media platforms. There’s something else happening there, something separate from the art world, though there is some crossover. But within the art world itself, there seems to be a gap in understanding or engaging with the broader cultural shifts, particularly when it comes to the intersection of art and life. Q: Do you think that painting at this moment is essentially a form of conservatism rather than a starting point, almost a form of meditation, that leads to more ‘expanded’ forms of art? A: Do the ideas of figures like Allan Kaprow and movements like Fluxus, which emphasized non-commodity art and the notion of "art as life, life as art," are still relevant now for the younger generation of artist? I don’t know, but looking at the art-scene they feel somewhat disconnected from where things are now.

It’s hard to say if this gap means we’ve reached a point where the past doesn’t resonate in the same way anymore. I don’t know what I would do if I were younger, or what advice I would give to a young artist now; it’s hypothetical, and I can’t fully put myself in that position. There’s something important about understanding current history and trying to make sense of what’s happening now, but I’m not sure if deconstructing or reflecting on it is even the right approach anymore. It feels like we’re in the middle of a paradigm shift, and it’s a very agitated, confusing time.

In the art world, you can sense that confusion; there’s a feeling like people are scrambling to get as much money as they can because they suspect everything is about to crash. It’s almost as if there’s an awareness that the current structure might not hold, and it’s unclear what will come next; but this is also what makes these times so exciting.