Commentary: Bill Viola was our greatest video artist, but he couldn’t have done it without sound

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As a movie reviewer with a background in music and a deep appreciation for the interplay between sound and vision, I can’t help but be moved by Bill Viola’s groundbreaking body of work. Having had the privilege of witnessing his “Five Angels for the Millennium” installation at the Gasometer Oberhausen in 2003, I was captivated not just by the breathtaking underwater imagery on the monumental screens but also by the atmospheric soundscape that brought the angels to life.

In the sweltering summer of 2003, during a tempestuous downpour, I found myself standing before the Gasometer Oberhausen – an imposing, cylindrical edifice that once served as fuel storage for the Third Reich. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of foreboding as I approached this colossal structure, believing it would be the most dismal building in all of Germany. However, my apprehensions were soon overshadowed by an overwhelming sense of excitement. For within this seemingly forlorn structure, five monumental screens had been installed – each towering an impressive 200 feet high. And on these screens, the masterful work of artist Bill Viola, “Five Angels for the Millennium,” was being projected. As a devoted cinephile, I couldn’t resist the allure of this unique cinematic experience.

Due to their large stature and the stunning underwater imagery and illumination, the “angels,” filmed in a Long Beach pool, left me in awe – though not completely awestruck to the point of overlooking the gasometer’s foul odor. However, it was Viola’s enchanting soundscape of indistinct voices and sounds that turned them into something miraculous. The resonance infused these giant angels with existence by evoking a boundless, infinite sense of space. All of a sudden, I could once again take a deep breath. Miraculously, the repulsive gasometer was transfigured into the most magnificent of cathedrals.

Viola, who passed away in Long Beach at the age of 73 last Friday, was not just known as a video artist, but primarily as a pioneering sound artist. His exceptional talent wasn’t solely about how he manipulated sounds or even the sounds themselves, but rather his unique motivation, placement, and connection to sound. It is my belief that an underlying influence of music fueled his groundbreaking video work. And this impact on music has endured.

Pioneer video artist Bill Viola.

(Kira Perov)

Viola’s professional journey started in the early ’70s when he worked alongside Nam June Paik. Known for pioneering video art, Paik was previously a Korean music historian deeply engrossed in Schoenberg’s work. However, his encounter with John Cage in Germany in 1957 drastically changed his path. This interaction introduced him to the Fluxus movement, an anarchic artistic collective influenced by Cage, which eventually led Paik to explore video art.

After that, Viola helped out pianist and electronic music composer David Tudor, a leading figure of post-WWII avant-garde music and a close collaborator of Cage in the 1950s. By the time Viola met Tudor, he had shifted his focus to composition using electronic sounds designed to mimic the functions of our nervous system. I told Viola that despite Tudor’s attempts to clarify his work, I still found it hard to understand. “Nobody did,” Viola said with a smile. And that was one reason why those strange sounds were so intriguing.

As a film enthusiast, I’ve always been captivated by Viola’s unique artistic journey. Unlike Cage and Tudor before him, he didn’t seek answers but rather embraced the mysteries of life. His exploration led him to delve into spiritual practices, with a focus on Buddhism, as well as Christian and Islamic mysticism. In his videos, Viola brought human bodies to life in an extraordinary way, creating a suspended state between reality and surreality.

I find myself drawn to observe as they subtly rise or fall, a dance barely noticeable to the naked eye. My gaze lingers and returns, transforming my act of looking into a deep contemplation. In time, I come to understand that what I’m seeking eludes my sight. It is the intangible essence that I feel, a gentle whisper of the spirit. For this enchantment to take hold, Viola required an unwavering belief in the uncertainty at Tudor’s core – the very essence that made their art so captivating.

As a movie critic, I was thoroughly impressed by Viola’s composing abilities, which shone through just as brightly as his acting talent. In “The Talking Drum,” he demonstrated his unique flair for music, using unconventional instruments like bass drum, temple gong, prerecorded sounds, and electronic elements. Performed in a dry pool, this piece took the sonic exploration of a heartbeat to exhilarating heights.

Although sound is an essential element in videos, it can be a significant challenge in certain contexts. For instance, art exhibitions at museums and galleries are primarily meant for visual appreciation. My most striking memory of Bill Viola’s work came the year following his Oberhausen win, in 2004, with “The Tristan Project” at Walt Disney Concert Hall. This was an ambitious production involving a live performance of Wagner’s opera “Tristan und Isolde” at the newly opened Frank Gehry-designed venue. The Los Angeles Philharmonic, under the baton of Esa-Pekka Salonen, collaborated with Viola on the video component, which was displayed on a large, high-definition screen that had been specially developed for this occasion.

Viola’s artwork depicted cleansing scenes using fire, water, and air, deviating from the script and not advancing the storyline. Once more, Viola aimed for the intangible and unexplored aspects of the human spirit. The drama unfolded onstage. Wagner’s music score evoked powerful emotions that engulfed the senses. In a separate realm, Viola’s video prepared the audience’s soul for the spiritual elevation that Wagner’s opera would provide. In the 139-year history of this famous opera’s productions, no artist has attempted this before.

Viola didn’t work in isolation by 2004; he was deeply connected to the L.A. art scene. Living in Long Beach, he formed partnerships with Sellars, who organized Viola exhibitions and introduced him to Salonen.

In the year 1999, Sellars organized a concert for the L.A. Philharmonic at the Hollywood Bowl under the conductorship of Salonen. The program showcased Edgard Varèse’s “Désert,” featuring Viola’s captivating video projections. Although images of deserts and flames might not resonate as strongly in our current climate, Viola’s ability to manipulate space and the live performance of “Deserts” immersed us in the experience.

Despite the fact that “The Tristan Project” was successfully performed in various locations such as Paris Opera and Disney, and even in semi-staged concert versions elsewhere, nothing can replicate the impact it had in Gehry’s space where it was previously presented twice. This production of “Tristan” left an indelible mark on us, unlike any other opera production.

As a film enthusiast, I had the privilege of witnessing the creation of an epic video production firsthand. The scene was set on a soundstage, where a team of thirty talented individuals worked tirelessly to bring the spectacular effects of water and fire to life. I joined them for an afternoon of chaos and excitement. The atmosphere was bustling with activity, directions being given left and right, and a sense of urgency in the air. Viola, the director, was somewhat elusive, providing only the vaguest instructions. Yet, it was Kira Perov, Viola’s wife and indispensable collaborator, who masterfully orchestrated the behind-the-scenes magic. Without her guidance, much of what Viola intended would have remained impossible.

For the record:

At 5:13 p.m. on July 16, 2024, there was an error in a previous edition of this article. The correct spelling of Bill Viola’s wife’s last name is Perov, not Petrov.

Observing Viola, it seemed to me that he wasn’t just observing but also listening intently, deeply immersed in his thoughts, trying to discover the hidden by absorbing his surroundings. I inquired if this was accurate. “Yes,” he answered absentmindedly, his gaze fixed not on me or the stage but towards Perov.

Suddenly, there was a big splashing sound on the stage. Someone shouted, “Did you see that?”

Viola turned to me and excitedly asked, “Did you hear that?” and went to look for his wife.

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2024-07-18 20:31