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The Myth of Sisyphus
Lincoln American Tower
Memphis, Tennessee
October 30–November 5, 1991
(in conjunction with Southeastern College Art Conference Annual
Meeting)
The Myth of Sisyphus began with the delivery of two wooden
pallets to the lobby of an old office building in downtown Memphis.
These pallets held 1354 standard concrete bricks, and on each brick
was stenciled one word from the text of "The Myth of Sisyphus,"
an essay by Albert Camus in which he compares Sisyphus to "the
workman of today, whose fate is no less absurd." During the
course of the exhibition/performance I carried the bricks, three
at a time, up 21 flights of stairs to the top story of the building,
where the complete text was gradually laid out in readable form
in a room overlooking the Mississippi River. Like Sisyphus' rock,
the text was dismantled and the bricks returned to ground level.
The following contains excerpts from an "Interview with
John Salvest" conducted by Jeff Kessinger in the artist's studio
in Jonesboro on May 25, 1991. The complete interview appeared in
the Southeastern College Art Conference Review, Volume XII, Number
1, 1991.
Kessinger: Let's talk about The Myth of Sisyphus.
How did you pick the Lincoln American Tower as a site?
Salvest: Prior to receiving the 1990 Southeastern College
Art Conference Exhibition Grant I had come up with an idea for the
project, but had no particular place in mind. My only criterion
was that the project involve obvious vertical movement. So, a tall
building seemed to be the most appropriate kind of site. When I
was awarded the grant I began to think about suitable locations
in Memphis. Having lived in Memphis for a few years, I was pretty
familiar with downtown. Only one building came to mind as a potential
site. So I drove to Memphis from Jonesboro and went directly to
the Lincoln American Tower. I learned later that it's a scaled-down
replica of the Woolworth Building in New York, and that it was completed
in 1923. From the outside it seemed ideal because it has the patina
of age and because its verticality was exaggerated like a rocket
ship's. When I stepped inside the building and saw the lobby, I
was even more delighted. It was small and kind of funkily elegant
like something out of Mystery Train. Its small scale was
perfect because the pallets of bricks would have a visual impact
there at the bottom of the building. No one was going to miss the
piles of stenciled bricks right there by the elevator. Also, there's
a staircase that curves up to the second floor mezzanine to suggest
the upward ascent. I wondered if the top floors would work, so I
went and talked to Don Lovelace, the building manager, about the
project.
Kessinger: And how did the building manager respond to your
idea?
Salvest: He was very receptive to it. I explained that the
project would be executed during a regional conference to be held
at The Crowne Plaza, which is about four blocks away, and I think
that helped my case. I asked if he knew the myth. He didn't. So,
I explained the myth and some background about the project. He took
me upstairs to the twenty-first floor, which is the top floor. This,
of course, was an important element. It was unbelievable. The whole
top floor is one room with beautiful windows that look out onto
the river and downtown. It's a fairly large room and the dimensions
couldn't be more perfect. In my original proposal the layout for
the text called for approximately ten by twenty-six feet. This room
is sixteen by twenty-six feet, so I would need to adapt the configuration
only slightly to fit the space. Also, the stairwell that begins
on the mezzanine level reappears and opens right into the room.
Even if you take the elevator, which also opens onto the room, there's
that visual reminder of the non-mechanical ascent. It's really theatrical
and it's a beautiful setting for the project.
Kessinger: Sisyphus is condemned to futile and hopeless labor
as punishment for a number of interventions into godly affairs.
You said you shared something with Sisyphus as a sculptor. How far
can you take this metaphor? Have you been passing along privileged
information of the gods to mortals?
Salvest: I don't know. I can't really say I've passed on
any privileged information other than that, in a broad sense, we're
all gods or all can be gods. What I mean is that, by being conscious
of our fate, we can become masters over it. As Camus states in his
essay, "crushing truths perish from being acknowledged."
This is true of factory workers as well as artists, I think. As
long as we have the capacity to reflect upon our mortality and yet
still go on, then we are the creators and controllers of our own
destinies.
Kessinger: Sisyphus' labor was punishment. However, you're
involved in an ascetic act. No one is forcing you to make your art.
Salvest: That's right. No one, that is, other than myself.
For several years I worked at Port Newark in New Jersey, where I
was an expeditor for an automobile import/export operation. Seeing
endless lots of Toyotas and BMWs made a big impression on me. That
job required a lot of repetitious and systematic labor, and it really
put some things in perspective for me. I realized how much I resented
doing the same thing over and over again when somebody else was
making the assignments. Now, I'm a relatively independent person
and I'm giving myself repetitive tasks to perform. It's crazy. If
somebody else told me to spend all day sorting buttons or alphabet
noodles, or sharpening pencils until bursitis sets in, I'd be angry.
But as long as I'm telling myself to do it, it's okay.
Kessinger: The artist is often envisioned as self-possessed
or self-fulfilled. His or her work is often viewed as different
from those whose work is compensated strictly monetarily. Are you
as an artist reflecting on this? Wasn't the futility of Sisyphus'
labor meant to be punishment?
Salvest: Yes. It was intended to be punishment, but I think
that Camus suggests in his essay that the gods could not or did
not foresee the satisfaction that Sisyphus was able to experience
in his task. The satisfaction comes from Sisyphus' acknowledgement
and acceptance of its futility. This is what Camus calls the triumph
of the absurd hero. This message can be applied to any human effort,
self-motivated or otherwise. But the frustration most artists experience
in simply surviving while seeking personal fulfillment may cause
them to relate more intensely to Sisyphus' plight.
Kessinger: In the original myth Sisyphus did not receive
anything from his condemned task except suffering.
Salvest: I don't think that the original myth said much about
Sisyphus' state of mind. I think that Camus even mentions that.
It is presumed that this is a punishment that can only lead to suffering,
but by entering the psyche of the condemned mortal, Camus sees the
possibility for Sisyphus, at least during the descent, to transcend
his fate.
Kessinger: It seems to me the point of the myth is that Sisyphus
is to serve as an example for all to see. It is essential for the
reader, or in your work, for the viewer, to complete the work.
Salvest: I think that's true. In the essay Camus says, "Myths
are made for the imagination to breathe life into them." When
my project is being carried out at the Lincoln American Tower, the
amount of information available to the viewer will be pretty minimal--just
some guy hauling bricks with words on them up twenty-one flights
of stairs, laying them out, and then hauling them back down again.
I'm anxious to see how people, especially those with no background
knowledge of the project, will interpret what they see. I hope it
stirs an imagination or two.
Kessinger: Camus gave Sisyphus the possibility of becoming
superior to his fate only during the moments he descended the hill,
not as he struggled to push the stone up. For you the absurd activity
is meaningful at all times, not just as you come down the stairs.
Salvest: At least that's how I foresee feeling about it.
I'm comparing this project to an older work called Insomnia
that really inspired The Myth of Sisyphus. That work also
involved painted bricks, but it was actually about not being able
to sleep at night. The logistics of transporting and showing that
piece were peripheral to the real subject matter. The process of
packing it, moving it, unloading it, installing it, and then following
the same procedure in reverse several times became an absurd and
frustrating exercise. I hadn't really anticipated that aspect of
the work. I expect to feel differently while executing The Myth
of Sisyphus because it is intended to be an absurd exercise.
You might want to check with me later after I've hand-stenciled
1354 bricks and hauled them from Jonesboro to Memphis and back.
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