“It’s a bubble”, Thomas Hirschhorn confirms. I find him immersed in the Pavillon Sicli in Geneva, where he is resident twelve hours a day, seven days a week, for some 75 days. It’s only half of a surprise that this is a work of what he calls Présence et Production. And I don’t miss the chance to ask him about prehistoric caves. Does this monument to philosopher Simone Weil in some way reflects the subterranean origins of humanity’s image making?
It does. Hirschhorn’s 2002 work Cavemanman was also an immersive piece of bricolage, being a rapidly made assemblages of cardboard, MDF and packing tape. I was able to further check with Hirschhorn that a previous statement on cave art wasn’t intended as a provocation. No he says, it wasn’t: those who painted prehistoric caves and those who come by later and add graffiti, or one supposes to make pavilions, are of equal value.
But perhaps some lives are worth elevating. The current exhibition or current bubble is dedicated to the life and work of Simone Weil. And unlike a palaeolithic cave, the industrial space in the Les Acacias district is inundated with light and activity. By the look of its new facade, of placards and banners, this former factory, where fire extinguishers were made, is occupied by the workers.
On my only previous trip to Geneva, I found myself at a squat party that went on all night, but in Hirschhorn’s squat the locals are sleeping out a bright, warm and sunny day. I count half a dozen recumbent bodies. Others are moving back and forth with plates of free pasta. I queue for a free coffee. The spirit of welcome extended to an approach from the artist, who I recognise at once: imposing height, black rimmed spectacles, papers and paperback books in the breast pockets of dark shirt. He strikes up a conversation with handshake proffered.
I am a bit star struck, but fandom is encouraged here. This all consuming relational art piece is a shrine and tribute to a philosopher who should perhaps be canonised. Frail, bookish Weil took a gruelling job in a factory and even took up arms in the Spanish Civil War. During WWII, she starved herself in solidarity with the Free French and wanted to parachute into her homeland to work as a nurse for the Resistance. But as a myopic and possibly anorexic young woman, she was to be little help in any of these ventures.
After a short journey on this earth, the 34-year-old was outlived by several books of mystical and political writings. It is these which give the pavilion the feel a work in progress, of a notebook or set college text. Her words are all around us: spray painted onto drapes, etched on signage with biro, and printed then curated into a wildly complex mind map of inter-related themes that reflects a deep engagement with her ideas. In both English and French.
My own introduction to her thought is a wartime audit of the spiritual health of the French nation, The Need for Roots (published posthumously in 1949). Hirschhorn tells me that for him Gravity and Grace (published posthumously in 1947) is the best way in. Important texts are so much to conjure with, and even my first encounter with a sculpture by this artist (Drift Topography at the 2012 Liverpool Biennial), struck me for the inclusion of two dozen much thumbed books.
Admittedly an art exhibition based on tracts of theory could be a dry affair. But this expo is more than a showcase for handwritten screeds or manifestos. Along with the local diners, sleepers and coffee drinkers, there are local collaborators who fill the space with edifying, enjoyable sideshows and participatory stalls, all of which reflect the life of Weil and offer continuity with previous works of relational art by this artist.
For example, there was a kickboxing class. Weil was not tough, but she was committed enough to seek out combat given that, in Spain and in her native France, fascists were the enemy. The gasp of knee against training pad and the odd grunt of connection energise the atmosphere of Pavillon Sicli. A dojo, located by an entrance, would be a compelling introduction to any gallery.
There was a stall offering Esperanto; that too appeared relfected Weil’s idealism. And up a timber-frame ramp there was a garment repair desk who are running a couple of repairs a day. At another upper level desk you could learn about a translation project. An artist called Roxanne tells me that in the new French translation of Demanding the Impossible by Peter Marshall (1991), there will be a new section on Weil.
I spent time in a phone box, listening to philosophical vox pops on a vintage handset. I spent time in a screening room, where the words of Simone Weil met with a collage of found footage. I passed much of an afternoon in the courtyard, watching street artists at work while others played football. There was also a bookshop, a library, a house newssheet, an evening talk from German philosopher Marcus Steinweg, and so on
Hirschhorn has made a handful of previous pavilions or monuments along these lines. He took Gramsci to the Bronx, Bataille to Kassel, Deleuze to Avignon and Spinoza to Amsterdam. Local communities have embraced these visitations, in many cases helped to build and run these cerebral spaces, and they have done so not despite being working class but because they are working class.
Those with most to gain from radical theory need these new monuments. Hirschhorn offers us all a break from the tradition in which generals and statesmen look down on us from bronze heights (in work by this artist and others; see my previous posts here and here) The many sofas upholstered in gaffer tape invite the public to simply chill. The stalls and activities invite you to simply think. And the truth demonstrated by the sleepers who are dotted across Pavillon Simone Weil is this: at some point we all awake, and when you do so Weil will be there.
Pavillon Simone Weil can be seen at Pavillon Sicli, Geneva, until June 16 2026.