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is a Dutch artist
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by and with Maurice J. Hermans
| Interviewer (A): critical inner voice Interviewee (B): Maurice Hermans |
B: Why not?
A: You could have just answered the formal questions.
B: I guess you’re right. I could have. But you know what, that’s so boring. You end up getting long reads on someone’s own perception of his/her career, some of them might exaggerate their achievements. I’m not in pursuit of a career, nor am I interested in a PhD as such. Arguing why I could be a good fit for this position makes no sense to me. So instead I’d thought doing a self-interview. Perhaps, it leads to verbal expression of what it is I do. I found out by Googling that the self-interview is a qualitative research method. That’s ironic. Like Bourdieu said “sociology is a science with a maximal set of methods and minimal results”.
A: No that’s not irony. You just weren’t aware that such a method existed.
B: My unawareness is actually the point of this application.
A: Okay, we’ll come to this later. First, I would like to know because you refer to Bourdieu. Are you a sociologist?
B: I was once called a sociologist by the Dutch television program EénVandaag. I liked the sound of it—as if I were speaking with some authority.
A: Are you a sociologist, or not?
B: No, I’m not a sociologist.
But I’ve worked with sociologist Nol Reverda for more than a decade, at the ZUYD Hogeschool lectoraat ‘Sociale Integratie’. He got me familiarized with sociological thinking, in relation to subjects like for example ‘urbanity’ or the loss of it, ‘shrinking cities’ or ‘social capital’.
A: Then, what is your practice?
B: I don’t know. I make things. I have ideas.
A: Yeah, I guess lots of people do. Could you be more specific?
B: Not much, I guess. I have ideas and if they are any good I try to translate them to a physical or digital accessible form.
A: Com’on. Stop being vague. What is your game: painting, drawing, sculpting?
B: No, none of these.
A: Okay. Then, are you a designer?
B: No. I am not a designer.
I tried to become one, but I failed. I can sense good design though, I know it when I see it. Same with photography, I actually photograph more than I design. Well, I’m not sure if that’s true. I actually designed my website, although it took me two years. Do you like it?
A: Better ask a friend or friendly colleague. I’m your critical inner voice, remember?
B: As a matter of fact, I had an online design practice, a family-run business with my two brothers. One of them finished Communication and Multimedia Design Maastricht and at least half of our 15fte staff studied this also. We won a silver Dutch Interactive Award, among some other awards for best design. So I know how to engage in a dialogue with designers.
But you know what, a family business can be complicated. So we parted. They still exist and have become successful, at least according to a definition of success.
A: If you don’t design yourself, how does design fit in your practice?
B: No project exists without design. It’s pivotal in translating my ideas into whatever form they might take. A good designer engages in a qualitative dialogue—one that begins abstractly, before form enters the discussion. My pitfall is narrowing things down too soon.
A: Narrow down? In what way?
B: Perhaps it is a bad choice of words. What I want to express is that I’m looking for ways that don’t limit the designer in his/her creative process, while at the same time fencing off my idea, or express my ideas on how to visualize my ideas. I have been in situations ending up telling the designer what to design. That’s not necessarily a good thing, but I’m visually oriented, you know.
A: So, you are a designer. But you seek another human to execute the designs?
B: That’s a rather odd way to look at it. Seen too many Keanu Reeves sci-fi movies, did you? I guess design is all about people1, isn’t it.
A: Hmm. You’re right, it is too much credit for you, to label you as a designer. Still, you must be good at something, otherwise why apply for this position? Isn’t there one skill worth mentioning?
B: Perhaps I’m good at writing applications? Do you really think you only can apply if you’re good at something? If that’s the case, maybe it is wise to stop the application right here. I’m not sure.
A: Maybe we should. What candidate are you if you are not good at something? On the basis of what should they assess you?
B: As I said before, I have ideas. If I feel strongly about an idea, I try to execute them. Imagine the smell of the smoke of a fire at a great distance. At first, you doubt if there is actually a fire or if the smell is the smell of fire. Despite the fact that you’re not sure if there is actually a fire, you follow your gut feeling and start exploring. That’s when the idea exposes itself to you, you might get closer to the fire and in the end actually start seeing it.
It’s the phase of not-seeing that I’m interested in. Mostly, it’s hard to explain why I feel a certain idea is any good. I lack the words, it’s still just a feeling.
A: I’m not getting an answer, I’m a bit frustrated here.
* Raises eyebrows *
If we carry on like this, the application will be a failure. I’m your critical inner voice but, you know, I’m willing to give you a clue. You publish.
B: I do indeed. I’ve published in a variety of physical and non-physical formats. However, this doesn’t necessarily mean I’m good at it, does it? Whose prerogative is it anyway, to decide what’s good and what not?
I am satisfied with most of the outcomes of my practice. That is, if I succeed in lowering my self-critical voice, you and/or me. Sometimes I take comfort when my family and friends sympathetically state that they like what I make. Do you think I should believe them?
A: I would be suspicious.
B: *nodding*
A: So, would you consider yourself a writer?
B: No, I am not a writer.
I write, but I do other stuff as well. What is a writer anyway? Between my first and second book, there was a gap of six years. Suppose I will die at the average age of men in the Netherlands, which in my case would be approximately 83,02 years2, I would probably write five more books. Maybe posthumously I will be declared a writer.
A: Your last book was published only a month ago?
B: I see that you are well-prepared for this interview. Good for you. My writing is self-taught, learning by doing, getting better by the book, I suppose. Calling myself a writer would suggest that a book, at least in the form I shape them, or my practice solely consists of writing. Which isn’t the case. I’d rather look to myself as a composer who is leading the dialogue among different actors, playing their role in the making of the book.
A: Come to think of it. You studied music. Bullseye: You’re a musician!
B: What’s your question?
A: Are you a musician or a composer?
B: Long, long ago, I had training in classical guitar at the Conservatorium Maastricht and jazz guitar at the Conservatorium Hilversum. However, I quit both after only six months each.
A: Why?
B: I don’t know. Just wasn’t meant to be. Due to personal reasons, I guess. Now that I come to think about it, I rejected the formal teachings of music. Too rigid. I experimented a lot back then and didn’t fit in, I guess. When I studied at the Conservatorium Maastricht, there was a drum teacher who could talk about how to position his foot on the pedal, how you had to place your big toe in a distinct position on the pedal. I got bored and disconnected completely. Next to this, the prospect of becoming a music teacher was not very attractive to me.
So I became a scaffolder. Or at least I got to carry the scaffold tubes from the truck to whatever to the building. I wasn’t allowed to actually build scaffolds. For long time I thought that this was the end of my artistic career. Failure big time, a deep loss in self-confidence. I never thought that anything was good enough, although I released music now and then. As a matter of fact, a new EP called ‘AUW’ will be released next month. I’m particularly satisfied with the work the other ‘AUW’ musicians did.
A: So, are you a musician?
B: No, I am not a musician.
A: This is tiring.
*Sigh*
A: Okay, then tell me about your research?
B: As Epictetus said, ‘Don’t explain your philosophy, embody it.’ I guess I just look around and ask myself, ‘what is happening’. This is how for example ‘De Antistad’ publication originated. I had won the ‘demography award’ by the German institute for Demografische Zukunftsfähigkeit in 2010 and used the price money that visit the city of Detroit. When I came back, I started to question why the city of Heerlen became a shrinking city. It ended up in a sociological take on what’s happening if a city fails or stops growing.
A: Why fail?
B: Ah, that’s just the neoliberal Zeitgeist speaking through me.
A: Right.
B: I am working on an international follow-up of ‘De Antistad’, when the cities I described in ‘De Antistad’ stopped shrinking.
A: How come?
B: That’s what happens if it takes you six years to write the next book. Actually, the refugee crisis and increasing inward EU-migration, mostly from Eastern Europe to North-Western Europe, changed everything. For example, the predictions from 2018 for the German city of Duisburg have completely altered. Last year, I visited the Duisburg’ district of Hochfeld. Estimates are that some 15% Roma live there. Furthermore, 80% till 90% of its residents are of non-German origin. The nickname for the Hochfeld district is ‘little Shumen’, after the Bulgarian city Shumen where supposedly many Hochfeld residents stem from.
A: What is your plan?
B: Actually, I travelled to Shumen two weeks ago. By train, slow-travelling, you know. Again, my views were completely altered. I expected a declining, deteriorating urban environment, but instead it looked better, more intact, than the Hochfeld district in Duisburg.
A: Now what?
B: I don’t know. I have to think and talk to people.
A: Do you have another example of how you start a research project?
B: Can I be personal with you?
A: Sure, be my guest.
B: My wife and I suffered a tragic loss when our middle son, Julian, passed away on 4 November 2019. In the disorienting aftermath, gripped by grief, I asked myself, “What’s next?” and picked up my Fujifilm X100V camera to document my family. Which I already had been doing for a while, mainly in our off-the-grid house in the Eifel. But this was a twist I hadn’t foreseen, so I continued. Occasionally I felt like a disaster tourist.
A: * silence *
B: A selection of photographs will be published in a photobook next year. I’ve invited writer Anton Dautzenberg and designer Sybren Kuiper (-syb-) to engage in a collaborative dialogue. We’re also engaging with a museum to collaborate for a possible exhibition. I’ve never done an exhibition before, although photographs of mine have been used in one.
A: Are your wife and sons okay with the fact that they are exhibited?
B: Do you think I should inform them?
No, just kidding ;) As I’m always the one that’s behind the camera, I felt like a coward. They - my wife and my sons - are the ones who will be exposed. Still, we agreed, no boundaries. Everything is at display. We even discussed how to go about the privacy of our deceased son Julian, hypothetically asking if he would be fine with this.
A: I can understand that you feel like a coward. But don’t you also feel a bit exhibitionistic? You could opt to not publish the photos, leave them for your private archives?
B: Yeah, like I said. I felt like a disaster tourist, making pictures of my grieving wife while I actually should be comforting her. Perhaps there is a greater story in there, that transcends our personal story. Loss of this magnitude is bigger than yourself. At the end of the day, it is everyday reality for us, so why not make something painfully beautiful of it.
A: What does it offer you?
B: This I experienced in the making of ‘Be iDVW’, a posthumously released vinyl album with music of Julian, for which I collaborated with producer Subp Yao, that working with music or another art form can have therapeutic workings. Imagine how hearing his voice and music feels. But I just felt I had to do it, so I did.
In order to deepen the collaborative process in the making of the photobook and involve my family, my wife, sons and I will engage in the Toyobo Printing Process, a non-toxic photopolymer technique that exposes photographic images on a metal plate with a photosensitive layer. Our aim is to produce an unica inlay for each copy of the photobook, each one will have our fingerprints on it. This will be an equally painful and personal process, because we will be confronted with images of Julian. On the other hand, perhaps it will, in a modest way, contribute to some form of our healing.
A: I get it, a photobook? Are you a photographer?
B: No, I’m not a photographer.
Technically, I’m probably a lousy photographer because I’m not interested in technique at all. But I like to photograph.
A: Let’s go back for a moment. Earlier, you said that you find it difficult to explain your ideas in an early phase. Can you elaborate on why you feel the need to explain your ideas?
B: Obviously, my work often takes place in a non-artistic environment. Such is the nature of the region where I live and work: arts or research are not seldom met with suspicion, part of the blue collar mentality around here. Still, I tend to enjoy working in a non-artistic context, the friction between the disciplines, the ambivalence towards artistic form or methods. But I’m wary of rigidity.
Let me give you an example. My last book, ‘Patchwork IBA Parkstad’ was conceived in a rather politicised environment. Which I find fascinating from a researchers’ perspective. You have to be strategically clever. I was commissioned to write the final publication, which I felt like an honour but also as a surprise, because some years ago I wrote critically about this project. And you know as well as I do, that it’s not in the nature of people here to embrace public critical thinking.
Anyway, besides a functional, political and sociological perspective, I felt the need to add an artistic perspective. As an antidote for too much rationality and also to add a deeper layer to the book, that you sense even when not reading.
I’m not sure if I succeeded. That’s the thing, not many in non-artistic environments can tell if you succeeded. Perhaps it’s too early to say.
By the way, in my experience an academic environment can be equally non-artistic. Rigidity is not solely reserved for a specific domain. I get uninspired by academic rigidness.
A: Okay, this is completely off-topic. Please focus. I just wanted to know why you feel the need to explain your ideas. You did not answer that.
B: * Thinking in silence *
I did indirectly.
A: Did not.
* Silence *
A: Ok, this being a politicised environment, was your autonomy compromised in any way?
B: My autonomy? Ironically, the first question a journalist asked me about the publication was exactly that. I suppose my autonomy was more compromised when I studied classical guitar than when I wrote this book.
A: Were you able to think, write and act freely, without constraints?
B: Well, I wouldn’t call this publication a work of art. How can it be completely autonomous in a politicised context ? Perhaps look at it another way. The work of art is not the entity itself, but rather the process of becoming. More than ten co-authors, a handful of photographers, a design agency, cartopologists and audio producers were involved. This collaboration became a composition under my guidance. I feel that’s an achievement in such a politicised context.
All invited collaborators had artistic freedom, I had complete freedom in choosing with whom I wanted to work. And in general, isn’t the very fact that this publication exists an act of autonomy?
A: Do you believe in autonomy?
B: I’m sure there are many theoretical discussions on this, which I’m not aware of. But no, I don’t believe in total autonomy. There is always some form of structure or restraint. Or events that happen in your life that are beyond your control.
A: Okay. We need to get to some point. Last try. What are you then?
B: I have to get straight with you. I have difficulty considering myself as something, a ‘this’ or ‘that’. I tend to get bored easily, so I look for challenges, explore a new medium or try to deepen my understanding of how to apply my methods more effectively. My position is on the fence, sitting there, observing and not taking sides as long as possible. Like the Brits did in the seventies with Europe, they couldn’t decide in or out. At least Brexit made that clear.
You have to built on trust and engage in a dialogue. It’s important to find the uncomfortable spots in order to find the uncomfortable spots, I’m always looking for friction, in a constructive way. The border, the fence, the outskirts or the underdog is in my view the more interesting position to work from. However, I found out the being in the midst of a policised context can also be fascinating. Either way, I view the dialogue, as my main method. I would like to learn how to engage in a better, or more effective, dialogue.
A: Okay. Thanks for informing me on this. But how does this relate to the vacancy of ‘MERIAN PhD candidate in Maastricht style artistic research’?
B: Well, one cannot know the answer. God only knows what ‘Maastricht Style Artistic Research’ means. Does that even exist? Is it an accepted form of research? Let’s hope it has nothing to do with André Rieu.
I guess the vacancy title sparked some curiosity. At least it sounds like a creative concept. Also, I’m still in the loop with vacancies within the UM, because I had a contract until last year. A former colleague sent the link of the vacancy. I happen to live near Maastricht, I enjoyed slow-travelling to Maastricht by bike and train.
A: Come on, man. This is a serious application. Don’t be like that. Why are you even interested in doin’ a PhD?
B: I am not. Not per se.
A: But you are writing an application.
* Raises an eyebrow *
Why?
B: As I said, I am not seeking a PhD for its own sake. What interests me is a process—a reflective guide through my projects, shedding light on whatever it is I’m doing. A PhD could serve as a companion.
Preferably this would take place in an unrigid environment and, to a certain degree, unbound by disciplinary borders. Or academic borders for that matter. Nothing gets me more uninspired that the prospect of doin’ a PhD by a number of articles that need to be published in an academic journal. For what reason? Mostly, these articles even are unavailable to the author afterwards, because of the commercial interest of the publisher. I failed before because of having difficulties in the academic rigidity.
However, I’d like to point out a paradox. I treasure my intuition and also the phase of not-knowing or not-seeing what is in front of me. By deepening my understanding, I will lose some of my naïveté. On the other hand, I’m a curious and feel a strong need to strengthen my capacity to engage in a meaningful dialogue with actors.
A: Okay Maurice. This is it for now. I’m sure this is beyond the maximum number of words they expect, so let’s call it a day. Good luck with your application, but I wouldn’t get my hopes up too high.
B: Yeah man, thanks for the uplifting afterthought.
A: Well, as I come to see it, you are many things not. Not a sociologist. Not a writer. Not a musician. Not an artist. Not an academic.
B: I guess you are right. I’m many things not.
Maybe this application is a waste of time. But at least I had some fun in writing it.
By the way. I don’t necessarily agree with everything I say3.
1 Jane Jacobs
2 CBS
3 Marshal McLuhan
| “The self-interview is a qualitative research method that involves people recording themselves discussing the research topic and related media, objects, or spaces.” —Allett et al. (2011) I conceived these writings between 21 and 28 October 2022, using Socratic questioning techniques. Minor revisions have taken place since. The self-interview was conducted as a response to an application for a research position. Heerlen, NL, 1.10.2022 Version 0.8 Heerlen, NL, 28.04.2023 Version 0.9 Heerlen, NL, 16.06.2024 Version 1.0 Heerlen, NL, 6.02. 2026 Version 1.1 3.527 words |