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CHAT
BLUES ON CANVAS
Interview mit Nicholas Kashian
N
icholas Kashian ist Amerikaner,
geboren und aufgewachsen
in Bloomington, Illinois. Er lebt
seit drei Jahren in Berlin. Er hatte nicht
geplant zu bleiben. Über sein Leben als
Künstler, seine Entwürfe und Impulse,
die Frage, ob man NICHTS malen
kann, und seine aktuelle Arbeit „Desperate
Man Blues“ sprechen wir. Auf
einem Perserteppich. Zu kubanischer
Musik und Wasser aus Weingläsern.
Um punkt 18 Uhr klopfe ich an die
schwere Stahltür im dritten Stock
der Fabriketage in Schöneberg. Als
keiner aufmacht, drücke ich mich mit
aller Kraft dagegen und gleite in eine
Welt aus Farben, Leinwänden und
abgebröckeltem Putz. Der angenehm
stechende Geruch von Ölfarbe kommt
mir entgegen. „Smells nice“, sage ich,
trotz der Kürze, holprig. Nicholas nickt
und ich denke, er freut sich darüber.
Er ist entspannt. Wir setzen uns. Er
kippt gelblich leuchtendes Wasser in
ein staubiges Weinglas. Das macht
ihn sympathisch. Sein Schreibtisch ist
ein Sammelsurium loser Zettel, Notes
sagt er, aufgeschlagener Fotobänder,
Skizzen, Stifte und Pinsel. Ich schalte
mein Diktiergerät ein. Nicholas dreht
sich eine Zigarette und ascht auf den
Teppich unter uns. Im Hintergrund
läuft Musik. Zu „Chan Chan“ von Buena
Vista Social Club steht er auf mit
den Worten „I can’t stand this song.
It’s really beautiful, but I’ve heard it
like 500 times.“ Was er noch schön findet,
frage ich ihn jetzt - und er beginnt
zu zeichnen..
You have been noted for your “dialogue
between commercial mythology
and the complexity of the real life”.
What does that mean?
The apparatus that artists are supposed
to work within, this business part
of the job, is a very difficult one. Kind of
a dirty one. Kind of a confusing one, to
me. I try to avoid it as much as possible.
I am working with all of what looks like
an artist, but I don’t really function as
one, in the ‘commercial myth’ sort of
way. I have a show here and there, but
to be a really successful artist, you have
to play all these games that I haven’t
figured out how to play yet. You know, I
work as a cook to be able to paint and
live. I take care of my son every day.
This is the complexity of life, which is,
you know, real life.
You once said: “I view art making as a
payment, constant and joyfully given
for the gift and paradox of life.” Who
is being paid here?
I have a problem saying that that painting
is worth like 2000 Euros. Obviously
we live in a certain social structure
where value is given to things, most often
with money. That comment fights
that structure. In the work that I am
doing, I try not to think about value in
terms of money but in terms of objects
and effort. But the ‘payment’ is not really
to ‘anyone’ in particular, but more
a reaction to a sense of obligation that
I feel for ‘the gift and paradox of life’.
An offering somehow. And anyone that
sees the work can get something from
it, if they want. I think, once in a while,
when the work is really beautiful, really
strong, then it’s a gift. And, it’s not
really given by me, but only that I am
in the place to put it there. As an artist
you are given so much with your work
if you are really into it. You should feel
inclined to give it back.
What kept you in Berlin?
I took this studio the first week that I
was here. I was meeting a lot of people…a
lot of artists, and that had the
effect to say that this is a place where
I can still learn things. That is what
kept me here initially. And then there
is the history, and the art that is here.
The museums are great and I love the
changes between neighborhoods. To
discover the work that lives here in Berlin
is really exciting. Down the street is
the Neue Nationalgalerie and Gemäldegalerie.
That’s a really nice privilege
to have such great, important works
around you.
Tell me more about your relationship
with museums…
My father is also an artist- he started
out as a painter and performance artist
and is now a photographer. So my
sister and I were around artists all the
time. My father wanted to see art, so
we would go to museums a lot. Also my
son has been to some of the best museums
in the world. He is not even two.
For me museums are education. It’s as
important as going to school or going
to church or to any other place to learn
about culture and history. Depending
on the quality of the collection of the
museum. Another thing about art is
that it’s a series of very tangible documents
in history. Art has always been
there. And the real challenges that artists
face now are not any different that
throughout history. If you are a sculptor,
for instance, you have only the
choice to add material or to subtract
it. You can learn a lot from museums.
I think a lot of my knowledge is from
looking at art in museums and reading
about why the work was made. Also to
learn the craft, to learn the techniques,
to learn the relationships between different
works or the work itself within
itself and the development of art- a
museum is currently the best place to
find all that. To see the actual work. We
can look at a ton of images within a few
seconds in reproduction if we want.
But, singular works were made very
specifically. Which is why I hate having
a website- it diminishes the paintings,
so instantly the second you photograph
them. I think everything is diminished,
when it changes form. Maybe not diminished,
it’s just changing. I don’t
know how…. if it get’s better or worse.
When is a piece of art beautiful?
A piece of art is beautiful when it stops
your breath. There’s nothing formulaic
about it. Something like beauty is inde-
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