Olafur Eliasson Encourages Visitors To “OPEN” Up Through His Light Installations

In it, he employs rudimentary technology, along with mirrors and lenses, to take his oeuvre beyond the site-specific installations of Irwin, the skylights of Turrell, and the treated glass cubes of Bell. 

“OPEN” consists of roughly two dozen pieces, most of them never before exhibited, sprawled throughout the warehouse-like space that straddles the city’s Japantown and arts district. In the main gallery are four vertical kaleidoscopes, two of them penetrating the ceiling and admitting light that activates reflection-fracturing mirrors, enshrouding viewers in color and confusion. 

“Device for seeing potential solar futures” incorporates plastic bags infused with yellow light that dance overhead like medusa jellyfish. Steps away is “Kaleidoscope for beginning at the end,” which uses mirror foil, water, acrylic basin, oil, and pigments to generate moving patterns of gold and black, oozing in geometric forms. 

“Observatory for seeing the atmosphere's futures” admits blue skylight in a wavy curtain underscored by countless reflections of the viewers. Each appears highly technical, but the machinery that animates the artwork is nothing more than a sophisticated application of simple elements like lenses, mirrors, and light. 

“Part of this is like my parents are making art in the garage kind of thing,” he says with a smile during an interview at the Sunset Towers Hotel. “If you have a close look, it’s like I could have made this at home. I love that. 

It was always a principle that people should not be alienated by the tech, ‘cause then you don't get caught up on all the mysticism of materiality and consumerism. The spectacle lies in the gaze and not in the money you spend on it and technical achievement and so on. That makes it accessible and open.”

“Open”, composed of a round glass prism, LED lights, aluminum, wood, and fabric, creates a giant rainbow on a screen. It shares its name with the title of the show and a list of suggestions for experiencing the exhibit:

Am I open to facing my numbness?
Am I open to my vulnerability?
Am I open to receiving a ‘no’?
Am I open to others’ perspectives?
Am I open to slowness?
Am I open to engaging fully with my senses?
Am I open to exploring where I place my attention and focus?
Am I open to embracing my tenderness, a fierce tenderness?
Am I open to asking why instead of how?
Am I open to relaxing my attention to outcomes?
Am I open to wonder?
Am I open to sharing?

“Am I open to change?” asks Eliasson. “Am I even open to ask questions about change? And am I open to not being defensive? And if I’m not defensive, I’m actually more likely to be optimistic and positive. 

It’s not Utopianism, I'm not going to change the whole world through optimism. It’s more the confidence coming from and acknowledging your own vulnerability. 

If I see that I’m vulnerable, I'm more likely to make hospitable decisions, hospitable in the sense that I acknowledge that I’m not invincible, I acknowledge that my surroundings are not invincible. It’s about understanding that you are part of the ecosystem.” 

Only by demanding the viewer’s active participation can Eliasson’s artwork exist. “I trust people to know they’re not coming here to consume. It’s not a fucking mall,” he mutters. “You are the co-producers, co-authors. People are not dumb. As long as people are open, they are generally smart. Opening is more like a relationship. I don't think at the end of the day it’s the museum that hosts visitors. I think it's the visitor who comes to the show and, through their openness, hosts the museum.”

Born in Copenhagen, Eliasson was raised in Denmark and Iceland– his father’s home country– where the artist designed the facade of Reykjavik’s Harpa Concert Hall. 

The treeless expanses of the country, punctuated by mountains and waterfalls, helped shape his aesthetic from an early age. This is reflected in public works like 2008’s “The New York City Waterfalls”, four man-made waterfalls ranging in height from 90 to 120 feet, and 2015’s “Ice Watch”, in which icebergs were transported from Greenland to the streets of Paris.

“The Icelandic landscape is very barren,” he says of his homeland, comparing it to Southern California. “You have the opportunity to ask the question– am I looking at a boulder that’s two hours away or two days away. You start moving through the California landscape, you realize that one boulder stays on the horizon, while the other one comes very fast. 

In Iceland, it would be a waterfall. If it falls very fast, it's a small waterfall close by. But if it falls slowly, it’s a big waterfall far away. You don’t know how far away what you're looking at is, ‘cause how big are you in relation to that? That’s the key. That’s where Robert Irwin comes in, early Larry Bell, John McCracken, the scale of the McCracken pieces, James Turrell with the corner pieces.”

By answering questions about our openness, there is hope viewers might recondition themselves away from being the most destructive force ever unleashed on the planet. Changing our perspective will not lead us to Utopia, but it might cause us to recognize the damage we do to ourselves and our environment. 

“It’s about seeing that we are part of a bigger system,” he notes in a voice that is slower and quieter than the city around him. “It’s the optimism of daring to look down to the ground beneath your feet and realizing it’s collapsing under us and honestly relating to the question, what am I doing about where I am right now.”