With her playful manipulation of language and narratives, Laure Prouvost might not be the obvious choice to explore a subject as complex as quantum computing. Yet her sensorially-rich, immersive installations that blur the line between reality and fiction may just be our best hope at grasping this soon-to-be world-shaping technology. The acclaimed French artist – winner of the 2013 Turner Prize – has a rare ability to move audiences in ways few would dare. Her strength lies in her unwavering commitment to the whimsical, often baffling worlds she creates, crafting worlds that are as enchanting as they are deeply disorienting.
Her latest project, We Felt A Star Dying – created with philosopher Tobias Rees and scientist Hartmut Neven, and partnered with the LAS Art Foundation – marks a century of quantum physics. Presented at Kraftwerk Berlin, the ambitious installation embraces the unpredictability of quantum phenomena while provoking a discussion on the fast-approaching Quantum Age. We spoke with Prouvost about the inherent madness of quantum physics and how, like atoms, we are all interconnected.
Kraftwerk is a vast space. Was there any trepidation in having to take on this former power station?
Well, I’ve had a couple of years to work on it! But the scale is so massive that I really just can’t do enough with my little hands, I need a lot of collaborators.
You’ve spoken about wanting this project to give an idea about what it might “feel like to sense reality from a quantum perspective”. How do you understand that reality?
Quantum phenomena is something we deal with every day, we just don’t have any consciousness about it. I don’t think I’ll ever completely understand it, but I get it in a sensitive sense. I mean, most artists are dealing with it without knowing anything about it. And that for me was one of the challenges: how do I articulate it? Do we need to be illustrative? It’s quite tricky.
Is it a benefit to not fully understand it?
I don’t want to be a scientist. Otherwise, I would be one. I’m an artist, and as an artist, I use other languages and try to articulate things through different kinds of expression. That’s the power of art, music and words, they can take you to new avenues of feeling or understanding.
One of the fascinating aspects of quantum physics is how it describes a reality that both doesn’t quite exist and yet is entirely connected – it reminds me of your art practice, which constantly seeks interconnectedness between all things: humans, nature and every facet of life…
When LAS invited me, they knew my work and my Venice Biennale project, which took the form of a giant octopus – each tentacle sensing the other, shifting focus from the brain to the body to feeling the world through smell, taste and touch. Can we, even in our minds, become the water flowing down a river? It’s a lot to grasp, almost overwhelming! But you have to approach it with humour and an awareness that it’s there, waiting to be explored.
We just haven’t had the ability to understand it…
Quantum physics is kind of mad, because it’s very close to the idea of God. It was there at the Big Bang, a spiritual entity, there at the very beginning of this planet. I want my installation to re-enter that state a bit, get in the miniscule and the micro. I want to push our human brains that bit further. Find our way to open our consciousness to it.
The exhibition text touches on quantum computing, particularly its role in encryption and data security. Does that focus show the limits of human ambition by framing this technology in purely practical, utilitarian terms? Whereas, as an artist, you have the ability to explore its creative potential…
Yes, though I’m not sure what I do is particularly useful. Quantum computing is about maths and speed, but I’m happy to slow things down. I think there’s beauty in evoking transcendent emotion in ways that aren’t necessarily always practical.
We’ve long operated within a Newtonian, rule-based reality, but now we’re on the cusp of a profound shift in how we see the world…
For humans, at least. But for now, quantum machines aren’t really useful. A computer might process my images or videos, but it’s not yet capable of much beyond that, it can’t make anything and I’m still working in the ‘old ways’. Our Newtonian way of seeing the world was essentially mechanical, whereas quantum is more entangled and less classical. In terms of technology, for example, with storage, quantum computing will be able to compress them into nothing and reopen it really big. It’s like your memory. You can save it in your mind, but it’s not taking up your whole brain. And when you pull it up again with a friend, and it’s ‘Puff! I do remember!’ And then everything’s come back. Maybe the smell comes back, something which no one else remembers, but when you put it together, the thing grows. It’s a bit magical, full of connection and interaction.
The core of the project is the installation ‘The Beginning’, hanging impressively over the main space, it has an almost octopus-like connectivity to it…
Yes, I’m often pulled underwater. Like the beginning of life on earth, where water helped create biodiversity. One of our key discussions was about how, in quantum terms, there’s no more ‘you’, – it’s ‘we’. My work has often used ‘you’. But here, it’s ‘we’, a shared presence. And for ‘The Beginning’, we’re building quantumness in a sculptural sense. Is it a flower? A plant? A floating creature, above or below us? The quantum quality of the sculpture means it appears and disappears, present yet elusive, with an illusionary, almost magical quality.
You want it to be an immersive experience?
I tend to work this way, creating the possibility that visitors become protagonists. That you’re one of the qubits – no, even better, we are one of the qubits. You don’t have to participate, but if you want, you can step into the play, the game, the scenario. In one of my early videos, it was like, “Are you sitting on a chair with grandma? Do you want tea or coffee?” You were invited into the story. And here, in this enormous space, we’re working on a great scale again. You might feel like a tiny qubit, and sometimes, feeling small is powerful.
A qubit is a basic unit of quantum information that, unlike traditional binary computing, can exist in two states simultaneously. In your project, you’ve called them “cute bits”, scattering these installations throughout the space. Somehow, they manage to be both cosmic entities and deeply earthbound…
That was something really important for me. I didn’t want to make a show which is high tech. I love the magic of technology, but at the same time, I always like a warm, dirty hand and the smell of the dust. Over the last century, technology has been crazy fast. I could be sitting on a train, talking to you on a phone, but a century ago that would have been impossible to imagine. And then at the same time, we still have mushrooms growing in our bathrooms, and this kind of super physical and natural and mouldy reality is just cosmic and magical.
You’re always looking for surprising ways to move your audience. A memorable project of yours that springs to mind is when you took over the London Underground in 2019 and got a choir to sing a catchy song about staying in the European Union. At a time when everyone was shouting vehemently, this was a heartfelt appeal for unity…
I mean, it was sad. And how do we express that emotion? And hopefully, through emotional sadness, you change feelings in others. It’s all about translating emotions and ideas. That’s one reason I did art because I felt I couldn’t articulate myself very well with words. And I love working with choirs, this idea of being together to create something. And I think the same way this project in Berlin is not Laure Prouvost – it’s we who made it. It’s been so many brains and efforts from so many people, all attempting to build something that will be experienced.
Are you frustrated that people don’t perceive emotion or interconnectedness the way you do? Your work seems to wrestle with making those depths felt…
Yes, but mainly with myself. The moment you become aware, it’s like, ‘oh my god, what am I doing?’ You realise how insensitive you can be. If everything is interconnected, shouldn’t we be able to sense that? But I don’t know if it’s frustration exactly. I think we’ve largely rejected religion, and with that, we’ve lost a certain sense of belonging – of being together in the world. I like to remind myself of that. And maybe, in some way, remind others, too.
You’ve written a song for this project. What role does the quantum computer play in that?
Often, I focus more on sound than image. For me, sound is where the subconscious reveals itself in a video piece, especially one created for an exhibition. It was wonderful to collaborate. I invited KUKII to work with me, along with a few other musicians, I asked them to record drums and other elements. But with KUKII, it was different. I really wanted her to create a song with me. I wrote the lyrics, and together we shaped something special. It’s very catchy in a way. She also worked with quantum material, translating the song through a machine. Sound, being the lightest thing, is the easiest thing for the machine to process.
It was translated through a quantum computer?
KUKII would send elements through the machine to generate quantum sound. I did the same with the quantum images from the video I shot, which will randomly overlay the original footage. So, in a way, these quantum moments subtly infiltrate both the image and the soundscape. That’s when I thought, ‘yes, I really want to let go of control’. I wanted to create a foundation and then allow others to interpret it freely. You’ll see and experience it when you come.
- We Felt A Star Dying through May 4, Kraftwerk Berlin, Mitte
