Visiting Rirkrit Tiravanija’s studio and the Land Foundation as part of my field research, I learnt how nature, art and time can intersect in a seamless, unregulated rhythm.
Rirkrit Tiravanija’s studio
At midday, we took an Uber to Rirkrit Tiravanija’s studio and home. In my contemporary art class this semester and in my personal research, Rirkrit is often noted for his innovative spirit. Since the 1990s when he began to cook pad thai inside New York art galleries, he has pushed the boundaries of art and has been labelled the forefather of relational aesthetics. However, in all his interviews, his laid-back, humble nature is apparent. He denies being the forefather of relational aesthetics but rather the sperm donor. He only reads golf magazines.
Toon, an emerging artist and Rirkrit’s assistant, met us at his studio (after we accidentally trespassed on the wrong property… which turned out to be Kamin Lertchaiprasert’s home after his aunty put us on the phone to him). We instantly felt welcomed by her happy, warm presence. We wondered through Rirkrit’s home which intertwined concrete and fauna into a contemporary, intimate, idyllic space. A stray cat lazily strolled into the spacious living and kitchen area and Toon complained about his loud meowing. The inner courtyard’s wooden walkway connected and blended the rooms and spaces, their transparency highlighted by large, glass windows with only the inner courtyard’s trees obstructing views.
The Land Foundation
Following a brief tour, Isabelle, Toon and I drove 25km south to the Land Foundation. Coffees in tow, we talked about Chiang Mai’s art scene, Thailand’s relationship to contemporary art and Toon’s own art practice focusing on healing stones. I also learnt Thailand’s overpriced hipster food (equivalent to Australia’s avocado) is fig. Soon, the scooters and street food thinned, the sky became electric blue and the mountains loomed at large. At the edge of a long driveway, a small green sign announcing the Land Foundation appeared.
We wound down the rocky road, branches hitting the edge of Toon’s car and the rice fields stretching out before us. With the fresh air and green spaces, my body relaxed and my heart rate slowed. We were met by Dong, the Land’s man on the ground, who I have been speaking to over the last few months of research. He sat us down for a presentation of the Land which turned into an impromptu interview on my part. For all that I have read on the Land, researchers have focussed on its co-founders, Rirkrit Tiravanija, Kamin Lertchaiprasert and Uthit Atimana, who rarely frequent the space. However, Dong, despite not being an artist, is its closest participant by spending his days in harmony with the art project (besides the farmer who retired two months ago due to old age).
Dong told me about how the Land Foundation, two plots of land with rice fields and various architectural projects, support art, culture, self-realisation and self-knowing. The Land is open to anyone, whether in or out of art circles, which he strongly believed because he came from a political science background to manage the foundation.
When I asked him what he liked about his work at the Land, he said to me, “I think getting away from little room with air conditioner, staying close to nature. I get bored working for a business. I have been working here for 7 years. I think I love it. I love my bare feet on the ground.”
“Personally, when I changed, when I quit my job and started working for the Land Foundation, I think smaller. When you work for business, the business teach you to think bigger, to have more and more, to get more. But when I get back to nature, I am closer to nature now, I think smaller.”
Sitting down by the lake, listening to Dong’s cool, slow and quiet voice explaining the impact of spending his days with nature, meditating and thinking smaller put it the Land into perspective. In the context of our exerting daily lives, peacefully existing in nature is art.
We began to walk around the Land, looking at the various houses designed by prominent Thai and international artists. Five of the fourteen buildings have crumbled into disrepair which is acceptable by the Land’s standards, where everything goes and nothing seeks perfection. The lasting buildings are frequently used by visitors. I had a kind offer to camp out with a mosquito net (or on the ground if we loved snakes). I wasn’t game but maybe in the future, I will revive the outdoorsy skills my rural upbringing gave me.
I was lucky enough to see the two newest additions to the Land, the first to be erected in a decade. Alicia Framis, the first female artist to contribute to the Land, is currently constructing Blind Date House. Due to the weather stalling her painting process, she returned to Amsterdam just a few days before my visit. Nevertheless, we were able to explore her work in progress which is described as a place which aims to confront the individual’s need for privacy and intimacy. Toon was impressed by the practical nature of Framis’ design compared to the others occupying the Land, putting it down to a woman’s touch.
We also were able to see the progress of Nico Dockx’s The Bridge, a concrete bridge connecting the Land’s two plots of land. The bridge intersects public land, allowing the local community and the Land to engage in the processes of daily life.
Reading from afar, the Land is vastly ambiguous. Researchers and writers have called it many things: from chaotic to relational to utopian to pure Buddhism to a failed art project, interpreting its loose open-endedness into defined parameters. Through my visit, we observed quietly and talked philosophically about personal meditation and internal peace. In this, it became clear the Land’s meaning is realised through physical visitation and interaction as the individual has the opportunity to connect to space, nature and their mind. Through personal participation and realisation, the individual can create respective meaning.