10 Questions by Raoul Kurvitz to Eve Kask

Eesti keeles
	1. Our creative expressions have been influenced by one and the same time and place - we studied at the Estonian State Art Institute, and our breakthrough to the wider public also took place at the same time, during the Singing Revolution of the 1980s and the collapse of the Soviet Union. However, our work had various other paradigmatic parallels as well - I mean first of all the mythological topics that we both addressed independently of each other. How would you explain similar coincidences? It would be easy to say that there was perhaps something in the air, but I really think that these coincidences happened by chance. What I remember of my study years is an intellectual vacuum; those who entered art in the early 1980s can be counted on the fingers of one hand. After graduating from the Art Institute in 1984 (indeed we graduated the same year) I was entirely on my own, illustrated books (I was lucky as I could design relatively good books), and desperately wanted to become an artist. There were three reasons: firstly, at the time I read a lot of poetry and mythological literature, including epics. Secondly, I taught linocut at an art school for children; I practically hated that technique because I mostly cut myself. I had even sworn to my teacher at the Institute that I would do no more linocuts in my life. The first works I presented to the public five years later were coloured linocuts. Thirdly, the deaths of the two most significant people in my life in 1987, one meaningful, the other mystical, shattered me utterly and gave me a decisive impetus for creative work. You and I, Raoul, met only in 1988, if I remember correctly, when we had both already 'made it'.
	2. I have written about you twice, and probably in the second piece I managed, quite brutally, to deconstruct the scheme according to which you construct the enigmatic or the 'Secret'. I'm sure you have discovered in your innermost world some secrets that have remained deconstructable even to you. Do these include some that you wouldn't even dare use in your work, and what are they like? What are the 'Secrets' that have remained secret even to you? Alas, I must confess that nobody has been able to uncover me quite as shrewdly as you. A rather boring secret is that I am still a (sceptical) idealist and romantic (something to be ashamed of, surely!). I take genuine secrets very seriously. I think I can keep secrets very well. Thus I don't think I can say anything else here. 'Secrets' have advanced into my work from my subconscious, and some of them are no doubt still secret to me, because they have no straightforward explanations or no explanations at all. For other secrets I have found no visual equivalents.
	3. There are no doubt plenty of personalities whose 'I's are just as monolithic as society, relying on common sense, expects. However, despite your remarkably strong character, which appears amazingly integrated, I wouldn't suspect you of such one-sidedness. Describe the 'I's whom you have discovered in your psyche; how do you perceive, treat and structure them? I have occasionally great trouble living with myself, I tend to move from one extreme to the other. Naturally I would always like to be decisive, rational, energetic, active, optimistic and a good mixer - it's much easier to live like that. Then come versions in between, and in the worst cases I am dominated by a person who feels utterly pointless, unable to deal with even the smallest trivia in life, who thinks she can't do anything at all. I was often depressed when I was young, forever prone to all sorts of suffering. At the same time I fail to find traces of my depressive moods in my work, although they used to make me unable to work for long periods. Depression for me has been a time-out, but not in a creative or positive sense - it is wasted, lost time. Chemistry between people may have a role in reflecting the self in communication. I have noticed that one especially strong and hyperactive person considers me a total phlegmatic, another a mighty tank.
	4. What exactly is the 'I' for you? Is the centre of your personality determined for you? If so, how? I can never claim to have got to the bottom of my own self. The centre of a personality may be round, with a south and north pole, there are places discovered and not yet discovered, storms, an occasional tsunami even, sunshine, etc. The entire inner stuff functions without any noticeable regularity. Generally we think we can grasp it. Still, reacting to our surroundings and other people, surprises, which confirm that we have somehow misjudged ourselves or others, may easily occur. As a result, the 'self' too receives signals that demand some adjustment. A human being is, after all, extremely complicated.
	5. Werefoxes.... being a werefox. You must be aware that there is something fox-like about you. Every time I see you I imagine a fluffy, white-tipped, maroon tail wagging under your skirt: left and right, left and right... What does it feel like to be a (were) fox, and what does it entail? For me a werefox is an immensely refined, sensitive, intellectual, erotic and mysterious character. Bless you, Raoul, I take this as a supreme compliment. Fortunately or unfortunately nobody has thought of me as a werefox before.
	6. Snakes, reptiles, Medusa's head. I hope these words shock you sufficiently. What's going on here? For no specific reason I have been, ever since childhood, mortally afraid of smooth creatures that move in a streamlined way. It has something to do with the weird and sickening combination of the snake's anatomy, movement, unexpected reactions, and imagination. When leafing through a book about reptiles and amphibians, I had a half-metre ruler ready because there was no telling when an especially venomous snake might spring at me from the next page. Because of snakes I have never travelled to any deserts and have preferred glaciers instead. Chancing upon an image of a snake in a book or film, my imagination immediately flared up, producing a wild reaction. With extreme will-power I now manage not to cry out when I see an earthworm; I merely go momentarily stiff.
	7. During the 1990s your and my artistic focuses and methods increasingly diverged, so it is the more surprising to perceive that, quite independently of each other, we again seem to be tackling similar topics, even materials. I mean, works reacting to nature, natural materials, wild berries and other organic stuff. Why such coincidence again? I see a certain regularity in moving from mythological topics to ecology. How would you explain this coincidence? The nineties were a time of drastic changes in our art life. In my opinion only a deep personal experience can change you and your work. You may follow the art life and trends, but if you start copying something, it won't be convincing. In the early nineties I settled in the country without a printing press and the usual creature comforts. I became a mother. Gradually I began distancing myself from my previous work. I took part in several international workshops, some of which were organised in the open air. From the point of view of making art, the open-air workshops, of course, had another kind of environment and materials. Some inertia notwithstanding, this slowly led to changes in my work. A great number of workshops, the artists turning towards nature with a new attitude towards it - this was a phenomenon of the 1990s. Obviously this was something that suited me at the time and where I found myself.
	8. Looking at your work, one gets the impression that on principle you deal only with the personal level. What does social space mean to you - political, public, historical? Do they have a potential place or meaning in your work at all? I have lived my life in two totally different social spaces and value this experience mainly because of the difference between the points of view. Just think what different weights and meanings various phenomena, values and notions can have in different historical and political spaces! Everything that comes from outside is thus relative. More important is what comes with your Kinderstube, and that you recognise your path and not digress from it. I am fascinated by people, the motifs and mechanisms of their behaviour 'in both big and small games'. In that sense, politics and history interest me very much, although they are not my subjects as an artist. Politics is closer to business than to the sense of justice and conscience (that are important to me), and thus it is often amoral. Notions such as the political, social, and historical have become an obligatory norm again in the art life of the recent decade. It would be na•ve to imagine that art could influence politics in any way, even if only to comment on it. As human beings, we play several roles in society; I have four. At the moment I, as an artist, feel that I have left another period behind me. I feel like an empty sheet of paper - nothing is impossible, but I won't promise anything.
	9. Would you describe your creative process - what goes on in your emotions and in your head from the moment of waiting for the initial impulse to the physical completion of the work? I am such an emotional creative type who needs 'a big emotion' as an initial impulse (catharsis), rather than planning anything rationally. Then comes 'fumbling in the dark' (or seeking for the visual equivalent - a bittersweet period of torment) in the hope of getting somewhere (almost a religious motivation). Externally I am extremely absent-minded. The rational me is then occupied with the role of visual censor who impassionately throws out everything that seems superfluous. This is followed by a strict realisation period when I know what I am doing. This demands intellectual effort, but, even more, it requires patience and devotion. Such a scenario has nearly always functioned, especially during the first ten years of my career, and causes a cyclic pattern of life. I am not the type who is able to operate under the slogan 'Not a day without a line'.
	10. Suppose I suggested we arranged a performance together, but delegated the concept and staging entirely to you. Will you describe that performance - all means and locations are possible, only the time is irreversibly fixed: tomorrow at 4 p.m. We would go and hug people. In Sütiste street. In Ravi and Magasini streets. Raoul Kurvitz (1961) is a painter, installation and performance artist and an architect. His work has been described as postmodern, decadent, erotic, symbolist, ritual, violent, anarchist ... See also Estonian Art 1/2003 Eve Kask (1958), graphic and installation artist, whose works have been described as subconscious, symbolist, feminist/feminine, erotic, expressive, mythical, intensive ...
	| Estonian Art 2/03 (13) | Published by the Estonian Institute 2003 | ISSN 1406-5711 (Online) | ISSN 1406-3549 (Printed version) | einst@einst.ee | tel: (372) 631 43 55 | fax: (372) 631 43 56 |