erwin wurm

© Erwin Wurm, Bildrecht Wien, 2024.

Over the course of his career, Erwin Wurm has radically expanded conceptions of sculpture, space and the human form. His sculptures straddle abstraction and representation, presenting familiar objects in a surprising and inventive way that prompts viewers to consider them in a new light. He often explores mundane, everyday decisions as well as existential questions in his works, focusing on the objects that help us cope with daily life and through which we ultimately define ourselves. These include the material objects that surround us — the clothes we wear, the cars we drive, the food we eat and the homes we live in.

With his One Minute Sculptures—in which, using simple props, the viewer becomes the artwork for a limited time—Wurm erases the boundary between sculpture and viewer. The static presence of the sculpture is reversed, becoming instead a participatory process that incorporates the viewer’s own body. The ephemerality of these works subverts the permanence of traditional sculpture, with 'one minute' denoting the brevity of the action rather than a literal timeframe. There is often a contemplative or philosophical dimension to the One Minute Sculptures, which act as catalysts for a moment of introspection by placing the viewer in an awkward or paradoxical relationship to the prescribed objects. 

Wurm achieves a transformation in the opposite direction when objects or forms in his work assume distinctly human attributes. In his Stone and bags sculptures, these anthropomorphised objects are perched on legs with characteristics or postures that evoke distinct personalities. He has also explored clothing as a sculptural theme – as a second skin, protective shell, outline, or the filling out of volume – in large-scale installations where architectural features are dressed in knitted pullovers. The artist views the bodily process of gaining or losing weight in sculptural terms as the addition or subtraction of material, and often creates illusions of growth or shrinkage, as in his Fat Cars or Narrow House. In recent ceramic works, Wurm has abstracted and isolated body parts such as ears, noses, hands or nipples to create surreal and suggestive forms.

Erwin Wurm lives and works in Vienna and Limberg, Austria. The artist has twice participated in the Venice Biennale: with his installation Narrow House at the Palazzo Cavalli-Franchetti in 2011 and when he represented Austria in its Pavilion in 2017. Recent solo museum exhibitions have been held at the Albertina Modern, Vienna (2024); Fosun Foundation, Shanghai (2024); Yorkshire Sculpture Park, West Bretton (2023); SCAD Museum of Art, Savannah (2023); Taipei Fine Arts Museum, Taipei (2020); Musée Cantini, Marseille (2019); K11 MUSEUM, Hong Kong (2019); Vancouver Art Gallery (2019); Albertina Museum, Vienna (2018); 21er Haus at the Belvedere, Vienna (2017); Leopold Museum, Vienna (2017); Centro Cultural Banco do Brasil, São Paulo (2017); and Berlinische Galerie, Berlin (2016). Erwin Wurm's work is part of major museum collections such as Albertina, Vienna; Tate Modern, London; MoMA, New York; Centre Pompidou, Paris; Berlinische Galerie, Berlin.

LUCIJA ŠUTEJ: Why did you decide to become an artist - was that always your calling? 

ERWIN WURM: It was necessary! It was in me and pushed me from an early age. I had the feeling that it was my world. But I don't know where it came from, because nobody in my family was connected to art. It emerged from somewhere. I was drawing a lot as a boy, and I was even making very tiny sculptures. Then it became more and more, and one day I told my parents I would like to become an artist. Of course, they became upset and worried, which is understandable because at that time, artists were quite provocative for bourgeois people. The Viennese Actionists, like Hermann Nitsch and others—were not friendly guys. So my parents were scared, and they told me that as an artist, you cannot make a living. There was a big “no," but I was stubborn. I agreed with my father first to study and to quickly become a teacher. I started studying art history and art education. Looking back I think he thought I might forget about becoming an artist, but I didn't. My second course of study was art, but I paid for these studies myself. I was working for it. 

Broom, from the series One Minute Sculptures, crayon on paper, 2016–2017.

Asthma, from the series Asthma, watercolor and crayon on paper, 2016–2017.

LŠ: Your work often makes references to philosophy and literature. How did you first start engaging with these fields, and in what ways have they influenced your perspective on art and your creative process? 

EW: I started receiving pocket money around 13 years old and began buying little pocket books and paperbacks by authors such as Bertolt Brech and Thomas Mann. I was drawn into this universe of literature and philosophy. These fields opened a specific door for me—where I found my world and freedom. I was also very much supported by one of my teachers, Norbert Nestler, a professor of arts. 

LŠ: After relocating to Vienna to join the Sculpture Department at the Academy of Fine Arts, how did you build your artistic community in the city? Which artists, writers, or curators have played a significant role in shaping your development during this time? 

EW: Well, it was the 70s. Thomas Bernhardt was already there, and there were the beginnings of Elfriede Jelinek. In Graz, there was the Forum Stadtpark, which was a very famous group of writers including Peter Handke, among many others. One of my youth friends at that time was Werner Schwab, who became very famous but sadly died early. I was very involved in this literary scene and I was reading a lot. 

Then, there were the Viennese Actionists. Hermann Nitsch was very prominent; I became close friends with him later on. There were also Rudolf Schwarzkogler, Günter Brus, and Otto Muehl. And, of course, Arnulf Rainer, who lectured at the time. And Franz West. And Maria Lassnig, she wasn't well-known at that time, but she started to emerge. 

LŠ: Were you quite involved with the Forum Stadtpark in Graz?

EW: I went there often for readings by Peter Handke, Alfred Kolleritsch, Gerhard Roth, Wolfgang Bauer and to spend evenings. 

LŠ: I imagine also the presence of the festival such as Trigon was an incredible place to learn as well. A tangible artistic exchange space that connected Austria with its neighboring countries of Italy and Yugoslavia. 

EW: Trigon was very important! The director at the Neue Galerie, Professor Wilfried Skreiner, was vital for the festival and through it we saw all this great art very early on. It was wonderful! But, what is stuck in my memory from Graz, were also these famous advertisements by Horst Gerhard Haberl. We all loved them. 

LŠ: How would you describe the meaning and role of sculpture as a tool for social critique? 

EW: Well, I wasn't interested in the notion of sculpture from the beginning. I wanted to become a painter but they put me in the sculpture department and I had to learn what sculpture means. What are the parameters of sculpture? It's two- and three-dimensionality, surface, skin, mass, volume, time, material, and many other things. I realized that when I use these notions of sculpture to ask questions about our society, something interesting happens. I can't foresee the result, but something really intriguing occurs. This is what I'm doing, so sculpture became a tool for me to work on our time and our society. 

Der Gurk, bronze and patina, 2016.

Fat House, Mixed media, 2003.

LŠ: Writings by philosophers such as Freud, Spinoza and Wittgenstein became part of your work. How do you approach combining these influences? 

EW: When the public follows my instructions and realizes the instructions for the One Minute Sculptures, I invite them to think about certain things. For example, I invite them to think about Spinoza, who was one of the philosophers who wrote that free will doesn't exist. He was a 17th Century philosopher and at that time, it was God's will, not human will. But now, neurologists and scientists are discussing whether maybe free will is not as significant as we think. Maybe it's more conditioning and genes. These are all interesting aspects. 

Or I write for them to think about Montaigne, because he was the first who wrote about the world just by writing about himself, which is fantastic. Or Descartes, or Deleuze. 

LŠ: One Minute Sculptures brought into the question the implementation of everyday projects within a sculptural framework. However, I'm intrigued by the idea of questioning the notion of time within this relationship — how do you view time in reference to sculpture, and how has it evolved within your practice? 

EW: When we think about classical three-dimensional sculpture, which stands in the room (on the side, but in the room), you have to walk around to look at the sculpture from all different perspectives. Time is an important part of understanding the piece. It's very different from a painting. Time and movement— those two things are very important from the spectator's side. I thought, why not play with this and give it a different meaning? That's why I invite the public to participate and realize a piece following my instructions. 

Wittgensteinian Grammar of Physical Education, performance, Galerie Thaddaeus Ropac, Paris-Pantin, France, 2013.

LŠ: You've also mentioned that frustration plays an important part in your work and that it can be a very interesting gear for creativity. How do you translate it into your sculptures?

EW: You know, frustration occurs when you try to make something and you can't reach a certain point where you want to be. Or when you create something that you think is great, but on the second or third look, it might not be so great, which creates frustration. As an artist, you learn to deal with this. 

Frustration is always a part of an artist's life because I think one great idea in an artist's career is, by far, not enough. One needs to always develop new ideas, connecting them with your work. It's a constant challenge. I'm not satisfied with what I've done; I want to go on. For that reason, I'm not really interested in retrospectives. Maybe two-thirds of my exhibitions are not retrospectives but new works. I'm interested in new stuff. Where does it lead me? Where do I go? How can I develop my ideas further and make them stronger?

Bob, Mixed media, 2013. Exhibited in public space: Place François Mitterand, Lille, France. Photo credit: André Morin

LŠ: Architecture features prominently across your work - you've melted buildings and resized local architecture from Austria, even houses from your own memories. How do you choose spaces and places you want to work with and manipulate? 

EW: Housing is something we all need; it gives us shelter and is absolutely necessary. When we look at the world and different cultures and countries, architecture easily defines a society. You can see if it's an aristocratic society, a democratic society, or even a revolutionary society through the architecture. That's interesting, and it has changed dramatically throughout history. 

I always wanted to work with houses, as well as vehicles for transport like cars and planes, because they're very important parts of our society. I can work with these from a sculptural point of view. I thought of combining this biological aspect of growth with a technological thing like a car or architecture. They got faces. I didn't expect it; it just happened. I let the car and the house talk. Through the notion of sculpture, I can ask questions about society and work with different issues, which is so exciting for me. 

Personally, I love modernist houses. The first house I wanted to size up with volume was Adolf Loos's house, but the result was terrible because it looked like one of those inflatable jumping castles for kids. I destroyed it and went back to the normal house with a saddle roof. There, you could still see it was totally transformed and changed, but you could recognize it's a house. 

Narrow House, Mixed media, 2010. Installation view: Superstress, La Biennale di Venezia, Palazzo Cavalli Franchetti, Venice, Italy, 2011.

Narrow House, Mixed media, 2010. Inside view, photo credit: Mischa Nawrata. 

Narrow House, Mixed media, 2010. Inside view, photo credit: Mischa Nawrata. 

LŠ: For one of the final questions, since you have collaborated quite a bit with the fashion industry. What do you think fashion and art culture can learn from each other? 

EW:  Beginning of the 1990s I started using my own clothes to create sculptures, dealing with the absence of the human body, reduced to the skin. Clothes are a second layer of skin for us. They protect us but also show social status. There's a saying in German, "Kleider machen Leute" (clothes make the man). People are defined by how they dress. Fashion and clothing reinvent us every day. When I buy a new suit or jacket, I feel like I'm renewing myself. That's why so many people love it—new clothes make you feel better. Fashion is seductive, but it also fulfills people’s desire to feel cooler or better. 

That’s why I incorporated fashion into my work. When I made the One Minute Sculptures, they became unexpectedly successful. Many fashion and advertisement photographers reached out, wanting to collaborate and use my work. They wanted me to give them ideas, and they’d photograph it for me. But that meant giving my ideas away and losing the content of my work, so I didn’t do it. Instead, I started collaborating and I created shoots with fashion, models, and regular people to convey my idea of sculpture, the One Minute Sculptures. I did this with magazines like Vogue USA. 

Now, it's clear this is my work and not something taken by others. 

LŠ: What about the language and communication through fashion appeals to you? 

EW: Fashion creates a code of acceptance. Men wear suits, or now sneakers and other things, but it’s a code of understanding in society. This changes constantly, which makes it interesting. Fashion is important.

Untitled, from the series Box People. Mixed media: resin, wood, wool, 2008.

Lent Cloth, St. Stephen's Cathedral, Vienna, Austria, 2020-2021. 

Untitled, installation view in artist's studio, 1995. All images courtesy of the artist.

LŠ: I’m curious—whose work do you follow?

EW: I can’t say I follow someone specifically. I liked Yohji Yamamoto, Issey Miyake and Alexander McQueen. I also appreciated Margiela, but they misused me. They did a fashion show in Italy using my work without mentioning me. I was upset. Then they called and wanted to collaborate, but I reminded them they’d already done something without crediting me, and they claimed not to know about it. Brands are always reinventing themselves, just as the world constantly reinvents itself and tries new directions.