Last month, the Watermill Center in
Your history with Robert Wilson was long and notable. Can you explain why you two are barking like dogs? What are some unique ways you two have talked about?
I’ve known Bob Wilson since I was born. A few months before I spoke, he would sometimes call home, ask my parents to talk to me, bark on the phone, and I would bark back. This non-verbal communication can take a while. It was pure playfulness and escapism. A common practice in Wilson’s world. We often used it in our interactions, for the same purpose, during the rehearsal process while co-directing and working together, even on stage and while singing together. Sometimes, it was about making the moment more special or bringing attention back. Sometimes it had a more precise purpose, such as reducing tension, raising doubts or encouraging a bolder approach. Most of his communication with his associates was non-verbal. His silence was as revealing as the words, and not only negatively. In most cases, it was constructive silence. One could understand a lot of meaning in it. We also used the eyes. Bob and I used to understand each other’s thoughts just by looking at each other’s eyes. Then, one of us just says “I get it,” with a mischievous smile.
You grew up in a deeply artistic family—your father is an actor and director, your mother is a fashion designer and your sisters are painters and opera singers. Did you ever consider doing something outside of art, or was it inevitable?
I thought about doing other types of work, but somehow it was related to art. I didn’t try hard to escape. More importantly, I owe a lot to my parents. Although they are humble, they give us an amazing opportunity to be exposed to emerging artists, whether they are famous or not at all. They bring them to museums, theaters and operas. Sometimes we went to see a show in another country. We didn’t have a TV for most of our childhood and mostly watched cartoons. My father taught me a lot about theater, and I worked hard with him. I was 10 years old when I went to the Watermill Center for the first time. I lived there for a while, without a family, working with Bob Wilson and other great experts in innovation. When I think about it now, I find my parents incredibly comfortable. They allowed me to live an experience that many parents would fear.
In 2015, he directed the world premiere of an opera at the unfinished National Arts School of Cuba, using real buildings as a setting. He has organized work at Columbia University for the Performa Biennial, Avignon Opera and Théâtre de la Ville. What are the challenges and rewards of planning in an unusual location, such as Watermill?
I have always been interested in the impact of framing on work. When I was 21 years old, I was singing in the French national company, the Comédie-Française, and at the same time, I enjoyed performing in other venues or working as a lighting technician on tour. As a director, I have had the opportunity to work in mainstream theaters and to play with the wonderful opportunities offered by funded institutions. But the in-situ experiment also shaped me. They allowed me to question the form and vocabulary of theater in a deeper way. This is what we offer at the Watermill Center: a laboratory where artists can immerse themselves in a fun, one-of-a-kind environment and create works that they would not, or would not, create in a normal environment. It is also interesting to bring works that were in the theater or museum and see their growth or anamorphosis in the Watermill. In general, we welcome the first steps of activities that will be created in common areas later. It is like building independent bridges, so that forms find their truth, regardless of context.
He has just completed the unfinished production of Wilson Seven Solitudes at the National Kaunas Drama Theater in Lithuania—an episode he described as being shaped by the feeling of standing next to a departing friend. How did you walk the line between respecting Wilson’s opinion and asserting your own direction? When did you know you were making Charles Chemin’s decision against Robert Wilson’s decision?
We started Seven Solitudes and Bob Wilson and an invaluable group of long-time collaborators. As always, he started with pictures, references and making drawings, while I went into the ideas from the textual material. By the time we started the first short rehearsal phase, he already knew that his days were numbered, yet he redoubled his efforts to start this first painting of the piece, as a posthumous gesture, as an artistic convention. I sat next to him, knowing that he would not see the creation of the work, and that I would not have the opportunity to share it with my colleagues. When he passed away, I revised my adaptation of Milosz’s writings and continued to direct, with the aim of paying tribute to Wilson’s poetic interpretation of theater and the renewal of the relation of space and time, which found a wonderful echo within Milosz’s poetic and metaphysical writings.
At some point in the creative process, it became clear that there was only so much I could fill in the framework he had left. Because there is only one Robert Wilson, the other work I would do would be to kind of imitate his style, which would end up being a pale copy. Wilson often surprised us participants, the audience and even himself, by confronting and transcending his iconic style. He also liked to be surprised by what I could bring to his work.
Therefore, I began to influence his form with personal and individual aspects, such as counterpoints, which brought the work into a kind of dialogue between his work and my particular approach. The decisions to do such hybrid work were natural for me. They are fueled by my understanding and admiration of what Wilson brings to the world, while they feed on my reaction to his work and reflection on art in general, my age, our times, the evolution of methods and the renewal of forms.
I feel lucky. Extending a 42-year, almost child-sized relationship and a 33-year career as an artistic conversation beyond death is an opportunity that very few people get. This piece is the last sign of Wilson’s art that is given to the world, and it is the act of art that we, as longtime collaborators, have given to him.
Does that answer apply to questions about the future of the Watermill?
This discussion applies entirely to Watermill. We will continue to highlight Robert Wilson’s unique vision, but also the openness that Watermill holds. This openness is a renewal engine that will ensure that our creative approach remains strong. For this, I was inspired by the reinvention that Wilson always made in his work and performance. The dialogue between diversity and unity, in all its forms, will serve as a compass, as well as the dialogue between successive generations and important figures. Of course, there is sadness that accompanies such a great loss. But this is a time that I want us to hold dearly and with celebration. We owe that to Bob, to Watermill, to our past students and to generations of artists yet to come.
Wilson chose the role for himself before his death last August. What were those conversations like? Was there an official time when the order was discussed, or was it a gradual understanding between you?
There has been a gradual understanding over the course of several years, punctuated by a few formal negotiations, most recently in recent months. For many years, we worked side by side, in a theater like the Watermill. He was a very powerful person and there was no confusion about his leadership. But over the years, he shared more responsibilities and enriched his vision with several collaborators. For example, he was not illegal in creating his famous lighting design years ago, but he relied more than ever on another lighting designer. Similarly, our interactions were rich and complex. I can create concepts of works with him, direction drama and much more with direction of actors. There was a continuation of the same nature with the Summer Program when I was in charge of its artistic direction.
He co-directed and acted as dramaturg in more than 20 of Wilson’s productions, and then directed Wilson himself. Kapp’s last tape. How was that?
Kapp’s last tape it was a wonderful and unique experience, emblematic of something that happens in few careers: playing little Wilson. When I was rehearsing, I was on stage playing his role, so he could direct me in his place. Finally, we took turns, and I had to direct him, with the idea of playing a role. The younger one called the older one. As if in an endless loop between two generations, that echoes very well Beckett’s play, as we visited this work for almost 10 years. In every city in the country we went to, Asia, South America, the United States, all over Europe, I had to play her again, with her make-up, wig, costume, fake belly, and change again. It was also an amazing learning experience to direct him in this project, where he had to learn and make precise movements, say the script out loud, act the character, even if it was imaginary, be consistent and convincing every night. It was a challenge and it took me a few cities to find my way around him and get something solid out of him. It strengthened our trust and communication.
Since 2020, he has been the artistic director of Watermill’s International Summer Program. This building brings together 20 artists from various fields every July and August. What is the most enjoyable part of that part of your job?
Managing the Summer Program was a great culmination of my relationship with Watermill. I’m dealing with a few editorial tasks now, but I’m still getting into the creative side of the Summer Program with great excitement. With the help of several mentors, and many applicants, I have selected a group of artists, who number around 30 now. They come to the Watermill for about a month and create works individually and together that we present at our summer festival, along with well-known guest artists. It’s like an analysis of possibilities. It’s very different every year. We think of links in the fields of art, age differences, ethnicity, culture, levels of success, and we set opportunities for them to do works together, and they still surprise us every time by creating new forms and collaborations that we did not expect. It’s a very rewarding feeling: we only create opportunities, and these artists find their freedom no matter what. Their works are surprisingly original, and the artistic friendships formed at Watermill will last many years for some of them.
Many Art Conversations
