This was my first official interview of any type. Naturally, I was feeling a bit nervous and anxious during the weeks preceding my meeting with Lucas Samaras. Some of the books I read mentioned Samaras' introversion and sometimes aggressive nature, which naturally added to my pre-interview jitters. It seems like anyone that was familiar with Samaras told me how hard it would be to interview him, even certain individuals that worked in art galleries and dealt with the artist directly. But I certainly didn't let it get to me.

I arrived at the Pace Gallery, where the interview was to take place, thirty minutes late. My heart was frantically beating. The first thing I saw was a dense mass of white hair surrounding two intense eyes. I took a deep breath, and introduced myself, and apologized for my lateness. We then walked to an office in the back, closed the door, and started the interview.

I had prepared myself for the interview by reading anything that mentioned his name. I then looked at as much of his art as I could; I attended his recent Pace Gallery show numerous times. I also researched Greek History, specifically from WWII to the end of the Civil War that followed, because of the influence it had on his life and art. Samaras, at a very young age, experienced the bombings and atrocities of the Greek Civil War. At age eleven, he moved to America, which was drastically different from Macedonia. This history surely had a profound influence on his artwork.

I had decided not to bring a tape recorder because I wanted to be completely present and absorbed in the conversation. One of the first things I wanted to address was his portraits, specifically the eyes and their intense and sometimes scary gaze. He said that he likes to observe human behavior. Further, he picks out certain weaknesses that are usually defended by an aggressive nature. If those weaknesses threaten him, he'll act accordingly. On the other hand, if those weaknesses are not covered up, he'll accept them and may even crack a joke about them. I feel that his art addresses peoples' numerous social facades or, as I like to call them, their fakes. I asked him, “Are you addressing the divided self or the fakeness of people's social personalities?” He gazed intensely into my eyes for a few seconds that felt more like years. Then he replied that what I was referring to as fakeness, in his view, is defensiveness. “People cover up their weaknesses,” he said.

At that moment, I sensed that the conversation was gaining a psychological momentum, so I asked, “So, do you cover up your weaknesses?” I knew that the answer was an obvious “yes,” but I wanted to hear him say it. To my dismay, he replied that this question wasn't really suitable. Yet, five seconds later, he posed the same question to me. Samaras evaded many questions, instead turning the attention on me by asking me personal questions. I didn't mind at all, however, because by being open with him, I hoped that he might be open with me. I replied with a resounding “Yes. I do use defensive mechanisms.” I also told him that certain times I'd adopt the aggressive city-dweller mask to hide my fears. I was being way to open with him, but I felt that his art, specifically the self-portraits and the photo-transformations, reminded me of those anxious feelings.

The next phase of the conversation dealt with art as a purely subjective or purely objective practice. I perceive Samaras' work as entirely subjective and radically egocentric because it deals with the self and its various roles. I asked him whether he believes that art should be subjective or objective. He said my question was too general and I needed to be more specific. So I asked him directly, “Do you think of your audience while working, or not?” He replied that he is conscious of the audience while working, but he made a point to say that that was not a major priority in his work. “If you are aware of your audience,” I returned, “does that mean that money is one of the motivations of your artistic practice?” He seemed a bit concerned and bothered. “Money definitely isn't a motivation,” he replied. But then he said that an artist has to be realistic unless he is crazy and paints entirely for himself. He referred to the image of the artist as a loner or hermit. He gave me the impression that the image of the modern artist as an outcast is outdated and not realistic.

I then asked him, “Why do you paint?” He said he paints because he needs to paint. He gave me a Freudian-like example to illustrate his point. He told me that the mother is the symbol of care, love, and true bonding, and the source of motivation for the child. But there comes a time when the child has to break the bond and take care of himself. Further, he must replace those feelings of joy and bliss since the mother is not a valid source anymore. Art replenishes him emotionally and supplies him with those infantile but life supporting feelings. He further stated that he needs these moments monthly, to be exact. “Are you saying that people aren't a reliable source for these feelings?” I asked. Without hesitation, he made me aware that I was getting too personal. It was time for me to focus on a different topic.

I decided to ask him, “Do you have a clear picture in your head before you start painting, or do you depend more on impulse and intuition?” He made it a point that the separation between impulse and thinking is not as black and white as I proposed. Rather, they are more intertwined and complicated. Impulse involves a bit of thinking, and vice versa. He explained that he doesn't have an absolute or final image before he starts to work, but also that his process is not purely instinctual.

I really enjoyed and cherished the interview with Lucas Samaras. Contrary to all previous warnings, he turned out to be very open, helpful, friendly, and articulate. I ended the interview by asking him about the importance of art history. He believes that any artist needs to know the past in order to move to the future. Then I asked him, “Where do you think art is heading?” He looked at me, smiled a bit, and uttered, “What a stupid question.” I felt like I needed to defend myself and I told him that my professor had thought this would be a suitable question to ask. He replied, “Tell your professor that I told you that it was a stupid question. If I knew where art was heading, I would be there right now.”

Interview conducted and written by, Tarek Fahmy