You had been very successful doing installations early on, so what inspired you to make The Cremaster Cycle?
I started exhibiting my work pretty quickly, right out of school. I had been making work that needed a context, a site. An interesting thing happened right as I was graduating [in 1989]: The stock market crashed and really changed the landscape of the art world in New York. It made the kind of work I was doing interesting to galleries that wouldn't have normally been interested in it. I was continuing to make work that was site specific, but it was happening in galleries. I did that for a couple of years, and I started getting the itch to get back to very specific places in the world as the primary site for the work. This is what the Cremaster project grew out of.
Your work is quite visceral. Tell me more about your connection with Vaseline.
I think that the Vaseline is part of a family of materials that I use over and over again: prosthetic plastics, Teflon, things that can live inside and outside the body, both architecturally and biologically. I think that Vaseline belongs to this family of plastics as a sort of lubricant. One of the interests that the project has is to create a landscape that's both internal and external, and that there's often a need to moisten that landscape and make it internal. The jelly in some way fulfills that.
Your work draws from personal mythology. Instinctive but also well thought out.
I think there's a fair amount of things in it that I don't completely understand. There are other things that are interests which are integrated with those things that I don't understand. I think I'm interested in creating a language that can communicate.
How is the series similar to or different from the series as you imagined it?
The things that were predetermined were the locations and a sort of primary narrative arc. The individual stories weren't predetermined. So in other words, those were developed one at a time as each piece [was being created].
And the Chrysler Building was the location that you built the third movie around.
I was interested in making a spine in the middle to operate as the center of the project. And I wanted it to have a problematic character in it that was guilty of hubris. Along with '30s New York came the desire to build higher, shinier, and the construction of the Chrysler tower became the thing that I focused on as a kind of building of a false idol.
Wanting it to be the tallest and not quite making it.
[Laughs] Right, right. I ended up looking into the Freemasonic myths and finding that the myth of Hiram was really useful to this story. Hiram, the architect of Solomon's Temple, was never able to finish it. He was killed by apprentices because they believed he could communicate with God and had the answers to everything, but he wouldn't divulge this to them. So again, it is sort of a layering of a couple different stories, similar to the geological and genealogical layering of Cremaster 2, I would say.
Your early piece Field Dressing, where you lower yourself from the ceiling of the gallery, grab handfuls of Vaseline, and shove it into every orifice, now seems like something you could see on Jackass.
Pretty slow-paced, Field Dressing. [Laughs] You might need to cut it.
Isn't Jackass: The Movie great, though?
It's great. [Laughs] I think it's in the tradition of physical comedy, which I'm really interested in. Its relationship to gravity, and how gravity acts on the body. There's a whole slapstick scene in Cremaster 3, which is a completely different thing. All these are things that I'm very interested in, in their relationship to sculpture. I think Jackass is right in there with early performance art, like Buster Keaton.