Artist and filmmaker Adonia Bouchehri discusses creating worlds from objects, reincarnation through artificial intelligence, and Foucault’s heterotopias.
by Ben Nicholson
Image courtesy of the artist.
Employing video, performance, drawing and sculpture, Adonia Bouchehri’s art has repeatedly inhabited strange worlds that float somewhere between dreams and reality. Surreal in nature, but somehow entirely grounded within their own logic, they engulf the viewer with their sensorial nature. She is a former FLAMIN fellow, and many readers will be familiar with her short film work such as Frozen (2018), Jello (2020), and Blind Yellow Sunshine (2022) which have screened at the London Film Festival, Videoex, MUTEK and beyond.
On the occasion of a joint exhibition called I’m Here But I’m Not a Cat, organized in collaboration with Daniel & Clara, Edwin Rostron, and Duncan Poulton, ALT/KINO sat down with Adonia to discuss her work.
ALT/KINO: This exhibition is framed as you all going beyond the screen that makes up your primary canvas, as it were. Could you give an idea of what your normal practice entails and how this exhibition has given you a new outlet or way of working?
Adonia Bouchehri: Sure, this exhibition actually grew out of a really long conversation we've been having all throughout the pandemic. We all sort of arrived at this juncture where we were engaged in creating moving image work, but - and I can speak for myself here - I felt like there were always these additional dimensions to explore. I'd find myself working with sculptures and engaging in performances, but somehow, in the end, everything got folded into a moving image work. A sculpture, which I'd create, seemed like a vestige of that broader process. So, I reached this realisation that I actually considered these as works in their own right. You know, the performative aspects would frequently find their way into the films, and that's very much my approach. Performance carries this vitality, this sense of immediacy, which is distinct from a film - a film is something you produce and then it's set in time. So, for me, this notion had always existed, but the crux was to make something that could provide room for these other parts that also belong to the work.
A/K: So, are all the works in this exhibition made specifically for this exhibition, or was this work that you were already doing in concert with your filmic work?
AB: The works that ended up being in the exhibition are all made for the exhibition, but they emerge from a very long-term project. I have been working on it since the beginning of 2020 - it started with me doing the FLAMIN Fellowship - and it turned out to be a project that has all these different limbs to it. That was not initially the way I had thought about the project. I was going to make one film - which is still not finished yet! [laughs] - but it has all these other elements. It just turned out to be a much more complex project, and actually saying a lot more about my practice as a whole, than I realised at the beginning. So, the project itself is quite vast in nature and ongoing, but the works that I made as part of the project are specifically for this group exhibition.
A/K: Thinking about the fact that the sculptural and performance elements are something that already exist in your work, did you find in thinking about them in a different way for this exhibition, changed how you approached any of them, or did it ultimately feel very similar to your normal practice?
AB: The approach I take is somewhat similar, but there's also a new element introduced, in the sense that it now accommodates various modes of expression. I presented The Mind Is Wearing A Mask at the solstice event hosted by LUX London in June of this year. Although I made this performance for the exhibition, I wanted to test it before a live audience once, and it turned out to work just as I had envisioned. That was nice to see. You know exhibiting a moving image work within a gallery setting feels very different from performing live. The two experiences are incomparable; they offer entirely different dynamics. What I found particularly rewarding in this instance is that I've always constructed my work in a manner where different components speak to one another. It's interesting when you create multiple films that engage in a dialogue with each other, but what also greatly interests me is when a performance, a drawing, or a collage engages in a conversation with a film. Then you have these different aspects of thinking about a certain topic, or way of engaging with a theme. I think it opens the space, and widens the scope, to think about these things more broadly.
Image courtesy of the artist.
A/K: I find that type of setup can be incredibly energising - there are one or two such installations at the Liverpool Biennial at the moment. When done well, sculptural arrangements around video work can be effective at drawing you into the on-screen piece. Do you think, based on your experience of doing this, it is something that you'd like to do more of, this expansion beyond the moving image?
AB: Absolutely. I've wanted to go in this direction for a while. It's important to note, especially in the context here, that my last three films - Frozen, Jello, and Blind Yellow Sunshine - all started with objects. My process often involves coming across or creating an object, sometimes combining a found object with my own additions, and that becomes the starting point. The idea is to create a world emerging from that object. So, the question is: how can I visually and textually shape a world where the initial subjectivity I felt towards the object can also be felt by a viewer? Since around 2015, I've been exploring the concept of "in-between spaces'' - the interplay between lived reality and imagined experiences. Whether in filmmaking, performance, or sculptural installations, my aim is to carve out these in-between spaces, existing between reality and the imagined. It's a delicate and unstable place, yet its fragility offers flexibility, allowing viewers to inhabit a space differently. This idea lies at the heart of all my work.
A/K: That's an interesting point. Your film work is full of these really affecting and strange spaces. How have you found the challenge of thinking about that idea, when you're going to be asking someone to inhabit a pre-existing space? Your films exist in these unreal worlds that we're drawn into through the screen, but now we're going to be in a gallery space. Have you tried to replicate that experience, or have you found that you won't be able to?
AB: If this were a solo exhibition, I'd probably lean toward creating a more encompassing all-round experience. But considering it's part of a group show the allover approach is different. As part of the exhibition, I have a performance planned. For me, that is one way to transform the gallery into this very heightened space. The performance, in a way, comes from a similar place as my films - it shares a similar origin, although its live nature gives it a distinct form. But all of my works in the show are engaged in a dialogue with one another. You have the AI-generated image of my grandfather, replicated over two thousand times, standing in a garden in Iran. Alongside this, there's the sculpture Garden-Carpet which is situated on the floor. So, there's obviously a conversation present, if you spend time with the work, you will pick up on that. The intention is to have this layered approach, working with different forms of thought. The incorporation of AI - something I've been exploring recently - holds a particular fascination in this project. It stems from my deep engagement with my mother's memories of her childhood in Iran, where she lived until the Iranian Revolution. I've never been to Iran myself, but I've grown up with those stories and influences of course. So, Iran itself is, for me, like an in-between space. It's something that feels incredibly close and familiar, but it's also imagined in many ways. It's interesting for me to work with AI on this particular project because it's almost like "how do I touch this? How do I grasp this?" It's been incredibly hard - that's why I've been working on this project for so long - but it felt like, if I create AI images and photographic works, sculptures, videos, and drawings, maybe I can recreate a world that makes sense to me. It can be an engagement with Iran, that reflects this complexity and multilayered-ness. I think for this exhibition, the aim is to have the collage, the moving image, and the sculptural objects creating a kind of tapestry to grapple with that very slippery space.
A/K: This feels like the perfect time to ask about AI. We've curated several screenings of work made with algorithms and AI its always fascinating to hear how and why artists began using AI. In particular, your two pieces that use it - the one that appears in the exhibition, Ghassem (2023), and your forthcoming short, Only Machines can see the egg (2023) - effectively use the AI as a tool of resurrection. That idea is much more overt in the short, where ghosts are reflecting on the fact that they are no longer bodily beings, but I wondered what about AI drew you to that usage of it and how you find working with it.
AB: I've been really interested in the idea of working with something that I don't have complete control over in terms of the image. I do have some influence, as I worked with Stable Diffusion for both films and there are prompts involved, but there's a limit to it, and it retains its own independent character to a certain extent. It's also trainable. I had to train it to get it closer to my desired output because, initially, it was quite off the mark. Nevertheless, it guides you and introduces its own changes to the project as you navigate through it. When I started working on this film, I didn't have a predetermined idea in mind. I found myself collaborating with an AI, which felt like partnering with a distinct intelligence not of human origin. This differed greatly from, let's say, working with CGI, where you systematically construct elements step by step. With the AI collaboration, there's an otherness to it that's a bit elusive. However, there are challenges and biases involved. For example, as I was recreating an image of my grandfather situated in a Persian garden in Iran, the background showed many people engaged in prayer and religious symbols. When you search for 'Iran', you're bombarded with this peculiar imagery that you don't necessarily feel would happen the other way around.
Image courtesy of the artist.
While working on my forthcoming film Only Machines can See the Egg, which also involved an AI, I engaged in long conversations with Chat GPT about the project. It's worth noting that none of the film's content was actually written by Chat GPT; all of it originated from me. I did consider that approach initially, but eventually, it wasn't yielding the desired outcomes. Instead, I employed Chat GPT to discuss the film and its nature. This led to extended conversations, some lasting hours, which were almost comparable to conversations with a real person. It immerses you in a completely different mindset; the ground beneath you shifts as you interact with something so markedly different. The rug is pulled from under your feet because you're dealing with something that is very different. I think it really changed the way I thought during this period. There are four key concepts that I keep circling back to, concepts that interest me in my work: the interplay between reality, imagination, consciousness, and memory. They're intricately interconnected, not easily separable, and all of them find a place within the context of AI. Take consciousness, for example. Granted, we're not entirely sure about its presence in AI yet - we wouldn't claim AI has consciousness at this point - but how does engaging with AI in this way affect my own consciousness? I find that aspect incredibly fascinating. And in response to your point about resurrection, yes, I find the idea of resurrecting something from the past and rekindling a dialogue with someone who's no longer alive very intriguing. It carries an almost unsettling quality, reviving someone through AI; it's a challenging process, particularly when dealing with a family member. However, it's also very interesting how this process can reshape our perception of time.
A/K: The piece with your grandfather I find curious because people who have left us are typically only available to us as reconstructions of our own memory. Of course, there are other biases - as you've mentioned - but it's fascinating to consider them being recreated outside of the influence of all the baggage that you bring to that person's memory.
The most obvious distinction between your two AI films is that one is a narrative piece, and narrative was something else I wanted to touch on. Your films are typically built around surreal narratives; I wondered about your general thoughts on storytelling in the artists' moving image space and, more specifically, what your approach was to bringing that element of your practice into the exhibition context.
AB: Storytelling is interesting to me because it's a way to pull the viewer into a different world. I'm interested in world-building, creating an environment where you can exist in a way that's different from everyday life, where your body relates to it in a different way. Working with story is a compelling way to achieve that. It also allows me to say things that I might not be able to express otherwise. I write a lot; I enjoy working with the written word in combination with images. It's almost like working within an immersive installation context. I actually sometimes consider my films as immersive installations. Someone once told me: 'it's like I was in there.' That's exactly what I want to evoke with my films. With a single-channel video, there are limitations, of course, but that sensation is what I'm interested in creating. If you take away the story - if you have my films without that element - you might not have that kind of bodily connection to the work. That doesn't mean that I believe you need narrative to have a sensory or bodily reaction to a work. Just in the case of some of my filmic work, I'm interested in creating that reaction by intertwining language and image into a sort of textual tapestry. Narrative is a debated topic in art. I come from a visual arts background, and I would say that my thought processes emerge from that context, but for me, words, language, and storytelling are also material. They don't just exist on some abstract level; they also create sensations and feelings, much like images do. Importantly, language also has the capacity to create images. I'm very interested in that relationship between images crafted by language and the perceived visual image you take in with your vision. How do I create sensations with images? How do I create sensations with words? What happens if I work with the relationship between the two? These are questions that I'm really interested in. Another concept I haven't mentioned is Foucault's concept of heterotopias as other spaces. I like to think about filmmaking - at least for me personally, not universally - as a heterotopic exercise or activity. These films then create these other spaces that emerge from lived experience in relation to imagined and remembered spaces. They're kind of these marginal spaces, and I want people to experience them to some degree. I think this form of writing that I use - it's quite poetic often - is a way to open up the space for someone who's not me.
A/K: And I guess the performance would be the point at which you get the ability to use language and narrative to kind of create sensations with the exhibition space?
AB: The performance would be that, but I also think that the topic of the garden and the carpet are strong, historic elements that emerged out of each other. The Persian carpet is very much a representation, in many ways, of the Persian garden. Foucault speaks about the Persian garden and the Persian carpet in terms of heterotopias. So, I think if you watch the AI-generated video of my grandfather and then you see the sculpture Garden-Carpet, and even if you haven't seen the performance, I believe there is narrative there - if you look for it. In the case of my films, it's narrative condensed and I would say, with the installation pieces, its narrative stretched out. You must look harder. That's something I'm generally interested in. I work in a very layered way, so there are different ways to relate to it. You can go all the way down and look at the relationship between the garden and the carpet and heterotopias and there is this philosophical undertone. You can have that, but you can also disregard that and just have your own textural relation to the glass, the carpet, the garden. That's just as valid. I like having this choice for the viewer to look at it in different ways - I quite like to have that openness.
I’m Here But I’m Not a Cat runs from 22 Sep - 1 Oct at SET Kensington.
Screenings of moving image work by the artists take place at Close-Up Film Centre on 23 September.
We have also conducted interviews with Daniel & Clara, Duncan Poulton, and Edwin Rostron.