Gregor Schneider

A security guard asks me if I have a heart condition, a fear of the dark, or claustrophobia. I answer “No,” and he looks at me skeptically, then asks me to sign a waiver releasing La Maison Rouge and Gregor Schneider from any liability for my fate inside the installation of Süßer Duft. Standing in the glaringly white antechamber of the exhibition facing a closed door leading to the unknown contents of the gallery leaves me inexplicably nervous. I have signed a waiver for any injury or possible death within the confines of Schneider’s installation, which I understand beforehand to be a series of passageways that are dim, confusing, and disquieting.

Opening the door, I find my dismissive confidence and attempts at objectivity jarringly replaced by apprehension. Familiarity with his past projects raises a bit of fear: Schneider’s opus, Haus ur, 1985–2007, is an ongoing alteration of his childhood home in Rheydt within which he built secret passages, blocked windows, erected walls over other walls—suggesting that Süßer Duft will be a frightening maze.

And this is not the first Schneider work to have a legal preamble. It is not uncommon for artworks today to require their audiences to sign a release form upon entry. With Süßer Duft, however, the waiver seems directly a part of the performative activity of the work, particularly since it is not possible to know beforehand what situations this work will present to the viewer. The exit is not marked. The scale of the exhibition is not indicated. How many passages will be involved? How small and dark will they be? Is there a procedure for locating and assisting those viewers who may become trapped in the space? This degree of uncertainty suggests a potential for violence directed at the viewer by the artist and contributes to the sense of anxiety and paranoia experienced while trying to escape.

If, as Bernard Shaw said, art is second only to torture as a persuasive force, art works that emulate the aesthetics of atrocities against humanity are sure to hit potent registers. Schneider instigates a seemingly benign scenario that is actually terrifying: a wander insolitude through a series of chambers of various lighting, dimension, temperature and even odour. Alluding to this, the title translates to “sweet perfume.”

The first passage of the piece situates the viewer in the constrained space behind the gallery’s usual walls. Electrical and Internet cables are bundled in tracks of metal trays along the ceiling. Beyond this is a room that resembles the interior of a shipping container lit with an ominous, dim, yellow bulb. Next in the labyrinth’s centre is a coldly illuminated and void white cube with three entrances, none of which have doorknobs for exit. After entry into this room there is only one way out: through a fourth door that leads into a refrigerated storage locker. Beyond that lies a black expanse: an entire room unlit. I pause at this door for several moments trying to chart a course, realizing I cannot turn back. The moment I allow the door to close behind me, enveloping me in darkness, I can hear breathing. Then very quiet footsteps. Undoubtedly, there is someone else inside the space with me, near me. I am certain I can feel the heat of their body. I trace the edge of the wall with my hand. Fumble along the periphery of the room. More darkness. A corner. Then another wall. Then a doorknob that I can’t seem to open. I force it. Then a foyer. I spent just five minutes in the exhibition, but it could have been eight hours.

“Je considère que l’action est supérieure à la pensée,” Schneider says, which is reflected in his design of Süßer Duft and its demands on the viewer. A visitor must take action in order to escape the artist’s snare. It follows, I suppose, that this experience of despair and escape will be strong enough to signal to a viewer their own agency as individuals. All very much in keeping with an understanding of art as a transformative force that takes hold by revealing to individuals their own situations as citizens, as observers who participate. The now dreary trope of relational aesthetics could rather dully be applied in analysis here. Supporting literature for the exhibition, however, distinguishes Süßer Duft from l’esthétique relationnelle, since Schneider does not intend any social exchange to be produced by the work. Regardless of the general validity of Nicolas Bourriaud’s oftattacked thesis, Süßer Duft provides a solitary viewing situation that is not collaborative in the fashion the French curator proposes.

Schneider’s contribution deliberately terrorizes its viewer—but crucially it can only terrorize with the psychological consent of the viewer. Süßer Duft’s effects rely on the pre-existent fears the audience allows the piece to animate within them. A piece of journalism reveals to me after the fact that within the confines of Süßer Duft, participants are videotaped by the artist in their desperate struggle to escape darkness. The surveillance of the spectator adds another sinister layer to an already poignant, visceral and memorable work. ■

“Gregor Schneider, Süßer Duft” was exhibited at La Maison Rouge in Paris from February 22 to May 18, 2008.

Mark Clintberg is an artist, writer and independent curator based in Montreal.