Her art leaves no one indifferent; rather, it provokes, stirs, and moves people to tears. Perhaps not least because her legendary performances constantly push boundaries and are painfully life-threatening or extremely intimate. Marina Abramovich has certainly made art history and is one of the most important artists of our time. I am delighted that she is our guest today. A very warm welcome, Marina Abramovich! Yes, the Kunsthaus Zürich is currently showing one of the largest exhibitions of her entire work that we have seen in Switzerland. Here we see the catalogue. What feelings arise for you personally when you walk through your own exhibition? I try not to have any feelings because I don't like to look back. This exhibition is not for me but for the public. It's my work over 55 years. I am already working on the next project. I am always busy with the present. Looking back makes one nostalgic. I don't want to be nostalgic or melancholic. It is up to you to judge what this show brings to the public. Do you bring the public? It's actually crazy when we think about when you started with performance art. She was practically alone in her field. She rubs her eyes in disbelief when she looks back at how things have changed. This change is truly incredible. When I started with performance art in my birth country, former Yugoslavia, I was something like the black sheep, or the first woman to walk on the moon. Nobody believed in this art form; it was completely unknown. Everyone at the art academy was against it. At party meetings, my parents were questioned about the upbringing I had received. Everyone found it scandalous. It took all my determination and willpower to stick to my path. I was stubborn even as a child. I just kept going. Back then, there were ten people in the audience, mostly friends, then 30. I thought, "Oh God, what am I doing now?" Today, there are thousands. These are huge changes. You've already mentioned her willpower, and it's truly unbelievable when you see her work. She has certainly made art history with her performances. Let's look at some of her most famous performances together. Ridm 10, one of her first performances from 1973, in which she cut herself at high speed with ten different knives into the spaces between her Stabbings and injuries in Kaufnahmen Ridm 5, where they lay in a burning five-pointed star, the symbol of the communist state, and lost consciousness because they ran out of oxygen and were eventually rescued by the audience. Further, Art Must Be Beautiful, Artist Must Be Beautiful, a performance in which they combed their hair increasingly aggressively for an hour, repeating the title of the work in a kind of mantra. Then Balkan Baroque, where in 1997 at the Venice Biennale they scrubbed rotting cattle bones for days as a symbol of the aftermath of the Yugoslav Wars. They won the Golden Lion for this work. Or With Skeleton from 2005, where a skeleton lay on them, inspired by a practice of Tibetan monks who, among other things, sleep next to the dead to overcome the fear of dying. And finally, a more recent work, Seven Deaths of Maria Colas, at the Bavarian State Opera in Munich in 2020, their first opera project in which they even staged their own death. Yes, Marina Abramovic, art with skin and hair—that much is abundantly clear. That 's your big theme, the art of overcoming. I was lucky enough to find my medium very early on with performance art. Many artists waver back and forth in their search for the right medium and waste a lot of time. I was able to concentrate on my work from my early twenties. I didn't want to start a family or have children. I didn't want any distractions, I just wanted to focus on my art. That's why I have such an extensive body of work. If you only make art and don't let yourself be distracted, you can achieve a lot. I try to avoid distractions, but when I look back, I'm amazed by all these works. I've also worked a lot, but this art of overcoming... I'm very interested in what you actually mean by that. You wrote an autobiography entitled " Walking Through Walls." That's also a form of overcoming. What lies beyond the wall you walk through? There are always more walls to overcome. Walls, obstacles, unknown territory, and multifaceted fears await you, fears you must confront. Human beings struggle with three fundamental fears: pain, mortality, and suffering. Three themes permeate contemporary art across all genres, but artists in the past, during the Renaissance and Baroque periods, also grappled with these same themes. So, it's always the same issues that keep us preoccupied in art, such as confronting our own mortality and pain. I believe, however, that in today's world we also frequently discuss the importance of boundaries. We reflect on the entire debate where people say, "I need my boundaries, I need my safe spaces, the world is too big, too loud for me." How do you react to this discussion? I want to preserve my freedom as an expressive artist. I dislike boundaries and rules; my entire life I've tried to break them and find my own rules. The title of my book is " Through Walls," precisely because of this, especially now, given all the political correctness in the world today. The entire history of performance art, including Dadaism, Constructivism, and Futurism, could not have flourished under today's conditions. Social, political, and museum regulations would have imposed limits. Unfortunately, this restricts freedom of expression and the freedom of artists to create new works. If you follow that, you wo n't get anywhere. You have to break these rules, not to gain attention, but because you have very important content to convey to the public and see the world in a certain way that could be significant. To some extent, this letting go of the safety measures, the safety net, is also about being able to make contact with these important people. Let's continue, although you said you speak... I have to interrupt you briefly. You just mentioned security. That's a very important concept. In Switzerland, security is everything. It's very interesting that this immediately becomes a topic in this conversation. You want to be safe, but this kind of security sometimes makes you claustrophobic. It stifles curiosity and openness to seeing things. Is there nudity? That will be a big problem here in Switzerland. But we are born naked. What's the problem with nudity? How uncomfortable the Swiss public feels with nudity will be an important topic. Why is that? Yes, that's interesting. However, I believe that most people have a problem with nudity. You keep pointing it out. We are all naked under our clothes, and yet we somehow have a difficulty with it. Of course, this also raises the question of the boundaries of shame, which are then somehow violated. But I find it interesting that you say we in Switzerland have a particular problem with this. What makes you say that? Quite simply, I see it: you don't seem to feel comfortable being naked in public. I also experienced something interesting in Amsterdam recently. There was a big press conference when the traveling exhibition was on display at the Royal Academy. A journalist from the largest television station in the Netherlands was interviewing me at the artwork "Luminosity," which featured a naked person on the wall. He felt extremely uncomfortable. I asked him about his greatest fear in life. He said it was being naked in public. I said this was the perfect opportunity and asked him to undress and talk to me naked. He did. They broadcast it during prime time in the evening. In the US, he would probably have lost his job. In Switzerland, something like that would probably not be possible. That's an example of that. Yes, that's interesting. It's certainly true that people in the Netherlands are perhaps even freer in dealing with all these issues. But let's briefly look back at your life to get to know you a little better. Those who... We don't know that there are n't many people like her, but still, she was born in Belgrade in 1946 and grew up in what was then communist Yugoslavia. Her parents were heroes of the Partisan movement, fighting against the German and Italian occupation. They were also close friends with Tito, the president of post-war Yugoslavia, and her mother, if I understood correctly, always held very influential positions in the cultural sector. As a result, she was in contact with art very early on, even as a little girl. She accompanied artists to the Venice Biennale. What was that experience like as a girl, seeing that art world? What did it do to little Marina? My mother studied art history when I was very small. I was told that my first word as a baby wasn't "mother" or "father," but "El Greco." That's pretty wild. Do you still like El Greco? He's an incredible artist who only found recognition 100 years after his death. I love him for his amazing palette and the way he saw the world. Like me, he also suffered from astigmatism. All his figures were bigger and longer. Apparently, he could also draw two at a time. Don't spread the fingers of one hand. My mother took me to the Venice Biennale, I'll never forget that, because it was there that I was first confronted with a foreign country and with contemporary art. I saw Rauschenberg and Pollock, artists who revolutionized art. That left a lasting impression. My mother bought art on behalf of the government, so I also visited the artists' studios with her. She let me play with clay or drawing pencils there. The art world became very familiar to me. I started painting myself and painted my first picture at 14. You received oil paints from your father, I think, for your 14th birthday and had already had your own studio at home. Do you think your parents wanted you to become an artist like you did? Because they themselves always wanted to be an artist. My mother never stopped me from being an artist. I was very interested in literature and wrote poems and was very dreamy as a child. But she wanted me to marry a lawyer, architect, or doctor, which never happened. So you went your own way, perhaps even through walls, Marina. Abramovic, I believe the most famous work, the one that really gave them their cool status, is from 2010. The artist is present, which they performed at MoMA in New York. They sat at a table, on a chair, for at least eight hours a day for three months. The audience was invited to sit opposite them and remain silent. An incredible turnout resulted; so many people wanted to see it, and the audience was visibly moved. Let's take a quick look at this together. [ Music] The entire performance was an extreme challenge for them. To perform this act, like an astronaut flying to the moon, I learned for over a year not to eat or drink water during the day. I had to eat and drink at night and get enough sleep to manage it. During the performance, I neither got up nor drank water or went to the toilet. My blood sugar had to remain stable. I had to train for a year for that, and despite this training, the performance demanded everything of me. It was so difficult that every day could have been my last. It was a miracle for me that I lasted the entire three months. I looked into the eyes of 1560 people, 850,000 visited the museum – a record for a living artist. At the beginning of the project, nobody believed that this chair would ever be occupied. Who has time in New York? The chair was never empty. People even slept in front of the museum to get in line. Emotionally, it was incredible. Everyone was crying. I wondered why people were crying. Then I realized that they waited a long time in line to sit in front of me. When you finally sat down, you were being watched by me, but also by the waiting audience. You were also being filmed or photographed. There was no way to escape. In the moment you turned inward and the other person's gaze touched the door of your own soul, all emotions burst out of you. Even the museum guards went home on weekends, changed their clothes, came back, and lined up to sit next to me. This experience changed my life. This image, that the eyes are the window to the soul, comes from Hildegard von Bingen, the German mystic, and it really is something very mysterious – gazing at each other for a long time, something arises. Something very special and specific, something they have repeatedly used in their performances, even earlier in their work. How exactly do you explain what happens when you look into someone's eyes? Do you look into someone's eyes and then see what experience you have? I can tell you about my experience, but that won't help you. No one changes through someone else's experience or by reading a book. The special thing here is that the audience has to do the work. People worldwide look into each other's eyes and thus become a model for a deeper experience. When we talk to each other, their stream of thoughts and my stream of thoughts hang like two curtains between us, preventing us from seeing each other. If we simply look into each other's eyes for a while during our conversation, something different will happen. For that to happen, you have to have the experience, and to have the experience, you have to do it. I really like that because it's something you also know from meditative practices. You can talk about it and tell each other what you've experienced for as long as you want, but you have to experience it yourself. And a lot of what we do in life has to do with thinking we have to acquire knowledge, but actually, performance art is also about... To find a path of experience, not knowledge. The tragedy of today's world is technology, or rather, our handling of it. The younger generation is a disaster. They come to the exhibition and take photos; they don't take a minute to experience anything. At home, they look at what they've seen, but they have n't directly experienced it. Only direct experience counts. With my work, I offer the opportunity to be in the here and now and to experience the moment. Only in this way does the work unfold its effect. If you photograph someone else who has experienced something, you have n't grasped the essence. Everything revolves around the photo and not the experience. In time, one lives in time; one has to be there to experience it. It is a profoundly emotional art form. In the current exhibition at Kunsthaus Zürich, there is also the Compression Room, where they suggest that you actually hand over your devices—your watches, your cell phones—in a first room and sit down in a gray-painted room on deck chairs. You can watch the leaves fall from the trees in autumn, nothing more, to prepare yourself for what comes next. Specially made for Switzerland; the whole nation definitely needs this. Decompression. I notice everyone here has a watch. This is the land of punctuality; everything is delivered on time, work is done, and performance is punctual. Therefore, I suggest you relax, simply do nothing. This is the beginning of something. This is my lesson here. Decompression CH was indeed specifically conceived for this exhibition, and sitting still as part of a performance is also part of the meditation, which is very, very important to them. What people are looking for when they meditate, when they are silent, when they sit still for weeks on end on their meditation boxes is a form of transformation. Where are we actually transforming ourselves to? That's a question I keep asking myself. Have you ever done a long meditation? Transform yourself? I think so. Then that's your answer. First of all, my work isn't just about meditation. I'm not a guru, I'm not a shaman, I don't live in a monastery. I'm an artist. Art must have many levels of meaning. It must be political, it must be social, it must be spiritual, it must ask the right questions, it must open consciousness, and it must also disturb. The meditation aspect is only one component of my work, but a very important one. However, it's not about meditation itself, but about being in the present moment for an extended period of time. To be present here and now, we constantly think about what happened in the past, we constantly think about the future that hasn't happened yet, and in doing so, we miss the present. People don't live in the present; they're always somewhere else, there, not here. But this is the only reality we have. I want to encourage people to be in one place for an extended period of time, not to let their thoughts wander to Honolulu, but to be present in mind and body in one place. Then, true communication with other people can take place. You can call it meditation, but basically, all my work is shaped by the idea of ​​elevating the human spirit by being present in the here and now. Then perhaps that would be the transformation from distraction to presence, and how much stillness can create that, how difficult it is, because we have these acrobatic monkeys in our heads, as they say in Buddhism. Everyone who sometimes sits still knows this; yes, they want to say something. Perhaps I can share something surprising with you. Just a week ago, I opened a huge exhibition in Shanghai, 36 years after my hike across China. This show is completely interactive to address the problem To avoid constantly thinking about something else, I created the transitory objects. Through very long and repeated use of these objects, the brain stops working and one reaches an empty state of mind. For example, I created five doors; they are literally just frames with a door and a handle. The audience is asked to open this door extremely slowly without going through it and then to close the door again. Just opening and closing, and that for three hours. The Chinese audience is occupied with that for three hours. At first, you're amused by the concept, and then you concentrate on the execution for maybe 5 or 10 minutes. Then you say to yourself, "This is crazy, this is ridiculous, this is stupid, why am I doing this?" But they promised themselves beforehand to keep going for three hours, no matter what happens. If they keep this promise and really do keep going for three hours, the transformation comes because the brain stops thinking. The door that opens becomes the door of consciousness, the door of the cosmos, the door of light and darkness. In very ancient cultures, such repetitive actions are known. Through repetition and the long duration of the action, consciousness can change. That's interesting, the way they described it now with repetition. Another dimension of transformation arises, perhaps, from doing something together, and that's what they did at the Glassberry Festival, a huge pop festival in England where over 200,000 people gather. And they asked the audience to be silent—to be precise, it was 275 minutes—with them. They had their Arms outstretched during this meditation, these 7 minutes create a peace sign. Silence is perhaps the most peaceful thing of all. Silence helps to realize unconditional love: unconditional love for the planet, for people, for the trees, for nature; unconditional love for people you don't know, not just for your friends, your husband, your lover, but for all people. There is a tremendous transformation in this moment when you feel the power of doing things together. I didn't know if it would work; after all, it's a rock festival. People come for the music. No one ever suggested 7 minutes of silence. 7 minutes is a very long time. There was complete silence. Incredible! This performance was broadcast to 1.1 billion people worldwide. That's beyond my comprehension. I started with 10 people, now there are 1.1 billion. This work is truly enormous, and that's actually so incredible. Silence touches you; you can see that with the AR present. Silence can bring about this very peaceful feeling, especially when you are silent together. But—and this also interests me— when you become completely still, sometimes the demons come to light, the inner, the inner evil, I say now. Sometimes the inner restlessness, the fears, the frustration—all of that comes to the surface when you become still. It only works through the breath; it needs to be prolonged. For all these fears, I have the exercise of counting rice. It lasts six hours. You start counting the grains of rice, and after ten minutes, you get angry. Your breathing rhythm changes; you want to throw everything away, but you know you want to finish. If your willpower isn't enough to count the rice, how will you master your life? You resist it. In that moment, you realize that time no longer matters. Your breathing changes, becomes more even. The anger and frustration dissolve. The demons disappear, and you immerse yourself in the here and now. This is how you can trigger emotions and control them through long duration and repetition. That is my great discovery within myself. I could never have done the Arti Present in my 20s or 30s. I lacked the wave-like energy, the life experience, and the self-control. In my 20s, it would have been much easier physically. On a deeper level, it was much more difficult at 65. It would never have worked without my self-control and the power I can generate with the audience, thanks to the experience I gained. I managed to get the audience to participate at 77. This is due to the 55 years of work that brought me to this point. M4, where they spread out 72 objects and told the audience they could do whatever they wanted with them, that they would take full responsibility. Among them were feathers, a loaded pistol, knives, razor blades, and so on. At the end of this performance, they were injured and bewildered. They had a pistol to their throat, and so on. And what's interesting about it isn't just what the people did, but what happened much later when they met the audience again the next day. The people themselves were shocked at the demons living within them, at what they were capable of. And that's what interests me, the silence, the stillness that not only allows you to feel this peace but also confronts you with these demons within yourself. That's what this work actually shows: these weren't my demons, but the demons of the visitors. Of course, in my 20s, I was ready. To die for art. I was fed up with the criticism that performance art wasn't an art form. I told myself I would lay out all these objects of pleasure and torture, including a pistol, and put in writing that I took full responsibility. They could do anything they wanted to me for hours. I wanted to see what would happen, with the result that the audience could kill you. That's a fact. These demons are inside all of us. I only brought them to the surface. I became a mirror to the audience's demons. I was truly ready to die back then. I was completely powerless. I realized that I had to set limits for the audience. That's why it took 35 years until "The Artist Is Present," where the audience couldn't touch me or talk to me, but could only look me in the eyes. In the first piece, "Rhythm Zero," I showed the deepest mind and the worst aspects of the audience. Later, in "The Artist Is Present," I uplifted the human spirit. I needed all those years in between to learn this lesson. It's also interesting that performance art, of course, can't be preserved like a picture that you put somewhere in a container and then take out and hang on the wall; it 's part of the performance. The audience is always involved, actually, you could even say that. Think of Imponderabilia, the performance where two naked people stand in a doorway. This performance is also being shown in Zurich now. The artwork is only truly perfect when people walk through it; before that, it's not finished. So, you could say that the audience is actually part of the authorship of their art. Absolutely, that's true. For me, just to create it in my house or studio, the performance is intended for the audience. The audience completes the work; without an audience, there is no performance. Imponderabilia revolves around the idea of ​​the museum. Without artists, there is no art in museums. We are the art, so we rebuild the museum door and thus become the museum's door ourselves. It's a very poetic thing. You have to walk between the artists to enter the art. We are natural, we are present, and we are there all the time. It's exciting to revive this work in a time when we have all this political correctness and these problems with naturalness. We've already talked about this. The Kunsthaus Zürich put out a call for applications from those interested in re- staging a performance. There were over 800 applications, finally a tough selection process. 23 performers are now working in Zurich and showing a part of their work. To some extent, they are also relinquishing control of their work. What do you do to ensure that their work remains as they intend? How do you instruct these performers? This happens in various ways. I founded my own institute where I help young artists find performance opportunities. We primarily rehearse long works that originate from them and have nothing to do with my work. Then we also organize exhibitions in various museums to showcase these works and thus create access to this art form for the public. We are very successful with this. These traveling exhibitions go everywhere we have the opportunity to present the young artists: to Australia, Kyiv, Turkey, the United Kingdom, Amsterdam. We showcase artists from 34 countries with whom we are in constant contact . In Greece, we have the premises for workshops on the Abramovic method. These are not only for artists; they are open to everyone. You spend a week there. Upon arrival, there is vegetable soup, and the next morning your mobile phone is returned to you. The computer and the clock were taken away. Cleaning house. Five days of silence followed, without food. There was only herbal tea and water, and demanding physical exercises. This is good for everyone, regardless of their profession. Then I also developed the idea of reperformance. It's so important that all works, not just mine, from the history of performance art can be re-performed. Even if the performers give the works their own character through their charisma and interpretation, that's better than not performing them anymore. It's no different with a dance choreography. My generation is very much against it, but I believe it's the right way because I think art belongs to everyone and not just one person. It's always very emotional for me to see my work performed by others. I see myself in a young generation that continues the work. That's how a work should live on, and that's truly a great concern of yours. You've also held lectureships all over the world, including the first Pina Bausch Professorship at the Volkswang University in Essen last year, among others. And what interests me a lot is that you also instruct young people, young artists, to develop their own performances. What, in your opinion, makes a performance a good performance? It's quite simple: I ask the artists to stand in front of me for 10 minutes without doing anything. Then you see everything: their determination, their concentration, their charisma, how they occupy the space. You know it's not about the content; the idea comes later. Presence is everything. You feel it, you sense it. I've also said before that the key is that the person performing doesn't hesitate. Yes, you can't be insecure. I watch how someone standing in front of me occupies space. That's pure intuition, a gut feeling. I know that out of 20 people, 10 to 15 ca n't do it because you see and feel their insecurity, the fear, the uncertainty. You can smell it like a dog. But you also recognize when a person is genuine; you just know. Then you learn everything else. You learn how to deal with your own body, with its physical and mental limits, and how to build stamina. You can learn all of that. Presence, on the other hand, can't be learned. It's in your DNA; you either have it or you don't. I'm so interested in this because I think I immediately understand what you mean: this presence, not hesitating, being there. Enduring, that's what they radiate, what makes it so incredibly fascinating, and at the same time, it interests me so much because I think they show something so human with their art. But hesitation is also part of being human; we are all so incredibly vulnerable. How do they manage to reconcile this presence, clarity, not hesitating, and at the same time, the human being—a being that always hesitates, breaks, and is vulnerable? My life is full of contradictions, but I don't hide them; on the contrary, I lay them bare. I'm interested in the interplay of our contradictions. We always try to hide half of ourselves and only live one part publicly. I am the exact opposite; I hide nothing, especially no secrets. Secrets kill all honesty. I have to lay everything on the table. My book, "Walking Through Walls," is dedicated to my friends and my enemies. Half of my friends think I'm crazy because I reveal all the secrets my enemies want to hear. I have no secrets; I name everything. It's important to allow your own contradictions and lay them bare. That's what I do. Here you'll find everything: the fear, the insecurity, the panic, but also the strength and the courage to do so. We 've already talked about them founding the Marina Abramovic Institute, where they pass on their knowledge not only to artists but also to laypeople. So I could also take a course with them, I think. This method is also available for purchase in a card set, which can provide inspiration. They've already mentioned an exercise: counting mixed grains of rice and lentils. You take your time to do nothing but count and separate them. There's another wonderful exercise, always described on the back of the card, instructing you to walk backwards with a mirror. You actually see the path behind you as you walk. You do this in nature for one to three hours. You see reality as a reflection and walk backwards for three hours. I love this exercise; it's very insightful. The images on the front are works that resulted from the exercise. The actual exercises are on the back. They are significant. Can I show you how it works? The best way is to lay all the cards together. We'll do this now: hold them, close your eyes, shuffle the cards, and lay them down. And choose any one, perfect, this one here, look at the exercise, take a moment of anger, then let it draw, interesting anger, that's your exercise. I like how John Cage created music from chance operations. I always use chance when I have to make an important decision, I draw the answer. Most of the time the answer I drew isn't the one I like, but it's exactly the path I should take precisely because I don't like it. You learn much more from things you do n't like than from things you do like. So you play with these cards, you just pick one, and I like that you pick one and that's it, because otherwise you might have the tendency to start reading and think, "No, I don't like that, it's too complicated, it takes too long." No, you take the one you draw and that's what gets done. Last year I made a very interesting book titled "A Pictorial Biography." There was a contractual agreement with the author whereby my office sent her 23,000 images from my computer of my works without me seeing any of it. Her task was to create my biography according to her opinion. to design it so that it appears new to me. I probably would have always chosen the same pictures that tell the same old story. I wanted to see my biography from someone else's perspective. I was shocked when she finally showed me the manuscript. I said, "My God, where are all the people who mean so much to me in my life?" She said, "I don't know these people, why should I consider them? It's my decision." It was incredible to learn how you can actually see your life differently. I really like that. I think it says here too: "The audience is my mirror and I am the mirror of my audience." So, to perceive the environment, the mirror, and see yourself reflected, right down to your own biography. That 's actually the idea: change is everything. It's important to get yourself to shake things up. I try not to always make the same decisions. I like to do things I'm afraid of, things I don't know, and things I don't like. That's exactly where the transformation lies, and that's how you learn. It's so easy to do what you like, but then you fall into the same old patterns. I have to break out of the behavioral patterns that keep me trapped. No one would have expected an opera from me; that's so outdated. I said to myself, "Why not me?" I wanted to do something new. I'm showing an opera about dying, something that's never been done before. It only lasts one hour and 36 minutes because dying doesn't take hours. With this, I've gotten a huge number of young people to see opera in a new light. If I'm put in a box, I'll jump out. Grandpa was so successful that I could earn my entire living with operas. But next October, a new project called "Bal" will be performed in Manchester. It's a completely different concept. I can hardly wait. Where do you get all that energy? I don't know. I always wake up with too much energy. It's good for us as the audience because we get so much from you. Let's talk about something else. We've talked a lot about overcoming, about pushing boundaries. A big theme in your life is also merging, and of course, we also think of the great love story in your life. There have been various love stories, of course, but one very well- known one was with the artist Frank Uwe Leien, called Uli, for 12 years. There really was an almost symbiotic relationship between them. They spent 12 years together. We collaborated on various performances. Rest Energy is probably one of the best known, with the taut bow aimed at her heart, but I also really like Relation in Time, where her hair is interwoven into a shared head. May I ask if love is a form of symbiosis for you? This love story had every imaginable aspect: great love, great hate, misunderstandings, a legal battle, and forgiveness. And then he died. Tomorrow I'm going to Lubiana to visit his grave for the first time. He died during the pandemic, and I haven't had the opportunity yet. Together with his wife, we're organizing the big exhibition Art Vital, which will open next year on our shared birthday, November 30th. It will showcase the 12 years of our collaboration. This will be a big deal for me, given the strength of our relationship with all its aspects. She wouldn't say that love always has these symbiotic aspects. True love certainly does. Love and hate, disappointment and abundance are so close together. We went through every phase of a great love story. This was followed by a fierce legal battle, followed by forgiveness. Forgiving each other was the most important thing. Truly forgiving was... A transformative experience. It's easy to say "I forgive you," but it's not true. We both did it, and then he died. And this forgiveness, this pardoning, is truly such a primal human experience. It's also something they had to do towards their parents, because they describe very vividly in their book how coldly they actually grew up, how difficult it was for them as children, especially with a mother who showed little love. It showed that it was incredibly important to forgive her, but I could only forgive her after her death when I found her diaries, which I had never seen before. If I had only read one page of them earlier, my whole relationship with my mother would have been different. But I didn't know she existed. From these diaries, I realized how incredibly hurt and vulnerable she was. I learned about the disastrous love affair with my father and why she was so cold as a mother. She didn't want to spoil me. When I asked her in my forties why she had never kissed me, she said, "I don't want to spoil you too much." She wanted to make me a warrior so I would n't suffer later. And you succeeded pretty well at that. But I only realized all of this after her death, and it was part of the possibility of forgiving her. Yes, I forgive her completely. I understood how difficult her life was. Behind her coldness and lack of feeling lies something completely different. Love and forgiveness also fit into the bigger picture. In light of the chaos in the world, His Holiness the Dalai Lama made this incredible statement: "The only way to end it." The war is about learning to forgive; for us humans, this is the most difficult thing. It wasn't easy for me and my mother to forgive, but this lesson is crucial for all of humanity today, a very topical task, especially after their separation from Ulai. This was actually part of a large performance on the Great Wall of China, one of their most famous artworks. They also spent a long time in mines and discovered their great fascination with crystals, with this interior of the earth. One could almost say, "I brought a crystal with me because I share this love. It 's so fascinating how you see this very rough surface on the outside, the stone that isn't particularly beautiful, and inside this incredibly beautiful crystal world that time has shaped." This has become very important for their work. Different areas, shaped differently by iron ore, copper, amethysts, or crystals. In doing so, I recognized a direct connection between my mind and the crystals. This was the first work without an audience. I considered how I could transform the experience of my hike and my relationship with crystals and their energy for an audience. So I created the transitory objects on which the audience sat, stood, and... Lying down, the interaction is simple, but you have to engage with it. You do n't build muscles in a single day at the gym, and 5 minutes or 30 seconds for a selfie isn't enough. You have to take your time. In the exhibition here in Zurich, there are also some... If you want to experience it, you have to give me your time. I remember the first geode I saw; it was very large and closed. When we opened it, 35-billion-year-old water flowed out. I drank some and got so sick, certainly because of drinking 35-billion-year-old water. I'm always amazed. You are such a courageous person. I probably would never have drunk that, but of course, this ancient water is fascinating. These stones also fascinate me so much because of an idea that is currently being discussed a lot in philosophy and social sciences: the idea of ​​deep time. Because we as humans are only really capable of thinking about, or connecting emotionally with, five generations. But these objects have billions of years stored within them, and that 's something crazy. And actually, I understand you to mean that the energy contained within them also... That's precisely where the connection lies, connecting us with these enormous timescales. It's scientifically proven that crystals carry electrical energy, light, and the memory of the planet. A few years ago, a time capsule containing the memory of our human civilization was packed into a spaceship. If we mindfully connect with this material, we can absorb some of this memory. But all of this takes time. There's also the work " Power Stations" in Tokyo, where you can, as you've already mentioned, lean on these crystals and connect with them. This reminds me a bit of the work of J. That's my work, exactly. Josef Bo also has this idea that the objects are actually healing objects, that the energy is contained within them, and we can connect with these objects. This means it's not so much about sculptures, but rather about this transformative power when we connect with the objects. Objects are tools to trigger certain emotions and experiences. Once the emotions are activated, they have fulfilled their purpose. This is unlike sculptures, which are permanent. I would like everyone to have three pillows at home, made from different stones. They have cushions for the head, the heart, and the stomach. Even before the first espresso in the morning, you lean against these cushions, recharge your energy, and start the day. These objects are intended for use, like heavy shoes. They are not for walking on, but for a mental awakening. You step into them barefoot and take a step without moving forward. You awaken mentally and in silence. Very simple. When you travel, do you take any such stones or objects with you? No, I don't need any of that anymore. I used to sleep with countless stones in my bed. I had them everywhere. But once you know how to attune yourself to this energy, you don't need them anymore. If I needed them, I have huge stones at home. They speak to me anyway, even if I don't always carry them with me. They actually gave themselves an autobiography for their 0th birthday. They wrote this book. Now they will soon be approaching 80. If you could add a page, what would you write on it? Oh, one page would hardly be enough. I want to live to be 103. So I have at least 20 years left in which I can... Another version, or I can continue writing from the first one. My life is so rich, there's still so much to come. The Artist Is Present at the Museum of Modern Art in New York was the pinnacle of my career. After that, one should really retire because one can't do anything better. I simply kept working. My schedule is filled to 228. I don't even know how old I'll be then. So there's still so much to write. One page will never be enough. Did you have a bit of a crisis after The Artist Is Present because you were so successful and thought that was the peak? I didn't have a crisis after The Artist Is Present, even though it was a difficult moment in my career because I only had one assistant, and in that glamorous moment, everything suddenly shifted, and I needed more support. Every day, 150 emails had to be answered; everyone wanted something from me. I had to turn the organization upside down and rethink my life. The real crisis came when I was 70. 70 is such a high number. My worry was how much time I would have left for everything I still had to do. I still have so much to do. Sometimes I almost wish I were immortal. I'm ready, the one I recorded in the Mixed Reality work with 36 video cameras. You can walk through me. With this device, you can have me in your kitchen or living room whenever you want. But then I have you as immortals, but you yourself wouldn't be immortal. Would it be an attractive idea for you? You can take one. No, no, we have to be clear that we are all mortal. One day we will die. The physical body dies, and 21 grams of energy disappear from the body. Scientists say that the body becomes 21 grams lighter when you die. This energy is indestructible; it is immortal. This energy transforms into another energy. That is the energy I want to continue with. The body simply passes away. We are curious what happens to this energy that is still inside you now, and so much more greatness awaits you. Thank you very, very much for this conversation, Mar. Thank you, thank you. I really enjoyed the conversation with you. What does Marina Abramovich's art evoke in you? We are curious about your views. To continue watching, here is a conversation that also deals with silence and a Conversation with the Swiss artist Miriam kN and the philosopher Karolin Imke