„Confessions – Electra Simon“

Words: David Gösta Dawson
Photographer: Ella Gradwell (artist portrait)
David Gösta Dawson (film stills)
Electra Simon (b.1994) is a London-based artist. Confessions is a series of work that Electra
has been creating in London and recently took to Beirut. Inspired by the structure of the
Confession Box it is an exploration of the boundaries of sacred, private and public spaces
and a reflection of the self in relation to the artist.

How did you come up with this idea for the Confessions?

Initially the idea was actually quite different. It started when I was reading a science fiction
book that discussed the ethics of a mind-reading robot. And at the same time, I was thinking
about confession, the process of confession (I was in Mexico, so I was seeing a lot of
confession boxes) and, specifically, how the idea in Catholic confession is not just that you
confess when you’ve done something bad or that you feel guilty about, but it’s also when
you’ve had guilty thoughts, sinful thoughts… so I thought, what about combining this idea of
the mind-reading robot and the confession of sinful thoughts and the initial idea was to have
an installation (the ‘Confession Bot’?) which people could go into and would be told ‘you just
need to think the thoughts that you’ve been feeling bad about – not actually say them – but
you just think them, and the bot is gonna absorb those thoughts. It’s not gonna do anything
with them, but it’s gonna store them.’ So the idea was kind of playing into AI and ownership
of our thoughts. I’ve always been interested in what happens when you give up ownership of
your thoughts, and how does that unburden you, or does it burden the other person? Does it
make us closer? Anyway, for this installation I would need the technology to make it and the
right location. So I thought, let’s simplify it, forget about the bot (for now), I’ll do it in my
studio. So I started inviting people into my studio, and having them confess.

What does the set up look like?

In my studio in London I set up a divider in the middle of the room. Here in Beirut it’s the
same division but with a white lace curtain, one side it’s my working studio, on the other
is the clean space for confession. I found the structure of the confession box itself really
interesting, the way it creates intimacy and connection but also privacy. But in the case of
the church there is also a hierarchy. So I wanted to re-interpret this structure in a secular setting, without the weight of religious judgement, but with the potential for artistic creation. I wanted people to be free to say whatever they felt and at the same time for myself to be free to translate what I heard using an element of artistic license.

And what do people confess?
Haha, well I can’t tell you specifics. And to be honest not that many people come with an
actual confession in mind, although sometimes they do, normally people are more curious
about the concept. So when they come, I give them a piece of paper so they can write / draw
throughout if they want. I’ve found it is quite useful for people to have something they
unconsciously do while they talk and sometimes they draw an image, word or symbol that
ends up being in the final piece. I ask a few questions that kick off the process and at some
point a confession, or at least an exploration of what confession + guilt means to them,
comes through. Sometimes it’s a feeling that the person wasn’t previously aware they were
holding onto, so in this sense the process is quite cathartic for those who come.
Do you find that people really do feel free to say whatever?

People will often say they’re not religious and nor do they believe in objective moral facts,
but then as we dig a bit deeper, it’s clear that most people have internalized at least some
shame or guilt. And I am not saying that guilt or shame is necessarily a bad thing, some of
my most interesting confessions have been an exploration around why it can also serve a
purpose, but I have noticed how people will think of themselves as ‘open books’ or people
with nothing to hide, but in reality there’s a lot of lying we do to ourselves.
The thing with the structure of the confession box – or booth in this case – is that both myself
and the person confessing do not have eye contact. In this installation I used a white sheet
with a lace diamond in the center that replicates the lattice in a typical confession box. The
lattice means you may catch small glimpses of the person, their silhouette for example. But
without the full frontal eye contact it is easier for people to talk and talk. They’re also not
confronted with eyes that they might perceive as judgmental. It’s like how people always
say the best time to have difficult conversations is in a car drive! Also the lack of eye contact
means that we’re not anticipating the other’s response and waiting to jump in. It’s a much
more ‘active’ sort of listening, you know?
So yes, in this structure people can talk and talk, sometimes the confessions last around two
hours. And during this process some of the confessors might reveal things that they were
previously unconscious of.

Then what happens after the Confession?

After the confession I always look at anything I drew and wrote down throughout the session
and also at the person’s paper, was there anything there that links up? I try to create a composition immediately. In London I was making each confession a painting itself, but in
Beirut, I decided to make each confession a character or symbol that represents a story, but
with integrated within a larger story. I started to create these different characters and then
map them out and see how they would relate to each other in like a certain structure. So
there’s interpersonal relationships playing out along with their individual stories. At this point
(to quote John Berger on his process of writing) I am drawing in the spirit of a geometrician, establishing coordinates by likening aspect with aspect using symbols and images. I actually prefer this way of working because I really do believe that we’re all one and that the more you can see the connections, the easier it is to embody that oneness. When the painting is made I always write to whomever it is before sharing (as anonymous) anywhere. I tell them what I was thinking when I made the confession, but I also love to hear their own interpretation.

What’s your process like when you paint?

I have the most fun when I am experimenting and not restricting myself with the technique.
In Beirut I bought a water gun and used it to create new textures on the canvas. Also, I am
self-taught so I guess I don’t have that learnt technique. With confessions I want to tell
certain stories, so I start to map out the piece a little bit and then I get frustrated, smudge up
the paint and erase it. Then later on I go back to that part and dig out the forms again like an
archaeologist re constructing the layers.

Why did you want to do the Confessions in Beirut?

I had been working on Confessions in London for almost a year and wanted to try the
process in another context. Beirut was an obvious choice for me. Firstly because Lebanon –
one of the most religiously diverse countries – is literally a confessional state which means
that it’s political constitution are relative to respective religious populations. So I wanted to
see how people of different religious backgrounds would respond to the idea of confession.
Secondly the country has been through unbelievable amounts of trauma in the recent and
more distant past. It’s currently in another very tense time with Israel threatening, yet again,
to bomb the country into the stone age. Yet despite that, the Lebanese diaspora keep
coming home and maintaining joy, it’s a form of resistance. So that leads me to my final
reason, my heritage is Lebanese, my father is Lebanese but grew up in Australia and it’s a
culture that I am so drawn to. There is a Lebanese spirit that is really unlike anything else in
the world and it wasn’t a surprise that people were very into this idea.

How have you found doing the Confessions in Beirut as opposed to London?

A lot of the general themes are universal: relationships with family, the past, grappling with
one’s identity etc. I get a lot of people who seem to be in transitional or limbo states which I
guess is to be expected. But doing this in the context of Beirut has one clear difference:
people here bought up Beirut, or Lebanon at least, normally within the first five minutes
of their confession. In London it’s not like that. In fact I think Lebanon is very unique in that
the country has such a hold on people, it’s inextricable from their lives, for better or for
worse. For some people – normally those with dual nationality – or who can live abroad, they
sort of romanticize the place and feel like it has this special connection, special energy,
which is true, and it’s definitely what I feel, but you also get a lot of people who have a
kind of very different view of the country; people who can’t leave because of financial
reasons, maybe like their parents lost all their money in the crash and they have to look after
them, or they don’t have dual nationality or are Syrian or Palestinian, and that makes it a lot
like more difficult here. And even if you were to feel neither extreme, you still can’t escape
the sound of the generator going off, a daily reminder of where you are.

Is that something you explored in the painting?

Yes exactly. I wanted to kind of highlight this existential tension that tugs at the heart of
Lebanon: the magnetic pull and the crushing claustrophobia. And the stories of people’s
lives in limbo in between.

Finally, what’s next for the project?

Well I’d really love to re-interpret the set up I had in Beirut in other places around the world
and see how people respond to it. Maybe in Germany one day! I am still working on
Confessions here in London and I don’t see myself stopping any time soon. I love this
collaborative way of working with people, it’s an endless well of inspiration
See more on @electrasimon or www.electrasimon.com