P.S.1 Contemporary Art Center

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P.S.1 Newspaper

2008 Fall

Yael Bartana: The Moment of Stopping

Israeli artist Yael Bartana is best known for investigating society and politics through video and photography. In a recent interview with P.S.1 Chief Curatorial Advisor and The Museum of Modern Art Chief Curator of the Department of Media Klaus Biesenbach, the artist discusses her 2001 work, Trembling Time, one of the five video installations exhibited at P.S.1. 

Klaus Biesenbach: I showed Trembling Time in 2004; it’s from 2001. It’s like a highway shot from above… It is nighttime, cars rush towards the camera, images and sound are gradually slowed down until the cars come to a halt. It seems as if the shots are to illustrate the orchestral soundtrack. Shots of moving cars are superimposed; people get out of their cars, become half-transparent, and assume a ghostly presence until they disappear. 

Yael Bartana: That is a very good description of the work.

KB: So what it basically means is that the work is about a “memorial pause,” right? Did you film it as it took place, or did you create it with your camera? 

YB: The event was filmed from the Hashalom Bridge overlooking the main highway in Tel Aviv. The event was recorded for two to three minutes, starting a little before the moment when cars usually come to a complete halt on this occasion. You can start to hear the cars slowly breaking and then coming to a full stop because the drivers also hear the sirens on the radio while still moving. However, the siren can be heard throughout the country. 

KB: So it is broadcast on the radio? 

YB: Yes, it’s a loud siren. You can hear the siren outdoors, as well as on radio and television.

KB: What exactly does it commemorate? 

YB: It’s Israel’s National Day of Commemoration of all the soldiers who died since 1948. And it’s the day before Independence Day so first you commemorate the soldiers and then, on the following day, Independence is celebrated.

KB: When you think about growing up as a child, being a soldier yourself, and then being a civilian again—did your perception of those sirens change? How did it change throughout your life? 

YB: I think it’s less the fact of having been in the army, and rather the fact that I left Israel. It completely transformed my perception of this moment. As a child, when you grow up, that moment is a part of your education and of the way the state shapes your identity. However, as children we were not aware of this. We were rather embarrassed by the situation, and we would laugh and giggle and then feel guilty. It’s not something you really think about, something you have to fulfill. As a soldier, you’re part of the system. But when I left Israel and then came to visit around that time of year, it became artificial for me. I became conscious that it is a manipulation of personal tragedies in order to create collective suffering. 

KB: The first time I saw your piece, I was impressed by the idea of the break as a memory because I felt it is actually a very beautiful intervention. I didn’t think of it as manipulation, I experienced it as a nearly poetic, conceptual memorial.

YB: What I was most interested in was the actual moment in which everything stops. There is a large system behind this moment of stopping. That’s why there is also a feeling of stretching time. And that slowly, slowly, slowly everything comes to a halt. It’s very monumental in a way.

Excerpted from the catalogue, Yael Bartana: Short Memory, The Center for Contemporary Art, Tel Aviv, 2008.