Artificialis: the hybrid post-anthropocene

Laurent Grasso’s Artificialis, which premiered at the Musée d’Orsay, takes viewers on a cinematic journey through a world where the boundaries between the artificial and the natural dissolve. Blurring the lines between reality and virtuality, the work challenges our perception of the environment, evoking the spectral territories of the post-Anthropocene era. Through this monumental installation, Grasso explores the shifting notion of exploration and captures a moment in time when our reference points have completely unravelled. 

hube: Your exhibition Artificialis explores the intersection of nature and technology. How did the use of LIDAR scanners and hyperspectral cameras shape the narrative of Artificialis?

Laurent Grasso: Most of my projects deal with the idea of invisibility. I focus on realities that are real but obscure or difficult to perceive. When working on a project, I think of film and sound not only as vehicles for information but also as signals – visual, colour, sound, frequencies. These are elements I try to incorporate into my practice.

To extend this exploration of the invisible, I’ve always used different technologies, often new ones. They engage our brains in ways that we’re not used to. For example, I’ve been filming with drones for over 30 years. At the time, they offered a perspective that was not commonly available, a free, aerial view that felt connected to dreams or altered states of consciousness.

I’ve used photogrammetry, LiDAR scanners, and other cinema tools, but I also want to put the camera in non-human, autonomous machines, which are not controlled by humans but are more like free, independent entities. It’s not directly tied to artificial intelligence, but there is a similar element in the sense that I’m projecting a view that isn’t completely human, something more liberated.

The LiDAR scanners, for example, were originally used by scientists for archaeological research, helping to discover ancient Maya ruins. The technology allows us to see different materials, giving us a unique perspective on the world I used scans of Amazonian forests, as well as ice floes in the polar regions and many other places. This technology creates a new reality, a new kind of exploration, which fits perfectly with my concept of artificiality. Through the scanners, I add another layer to express this idea of discovering the invisible.

h: In Artificialis, you collaborated with musician Warren Ellis, who composed the soundtrack in real-time. How did this collaboration influence the atmosphere of the film?

LG: The collaboration with Warren was key. Artificialis was commissioned by the Musée d’Orsay as part of a show about the concept of nature. My contribution focused on exploring the future of nature, which was especially interesting considering the lockdown restrictions. For the first time, I couldn’t travel to shoot, so I organised a massive digital collage using stock footage, 3D scanning, and other technologies.

The lack of physical movement added an interesting layer to the project, fitting with its themes of virtuality and artificiality. We had to get creative with the editing process, which was intentionally mechanical and somewhat brutal. And sound was a huge part of this. Warren Ellis created a soundtrack that was hypnotic and fascinating, and it enhanced the atmosphere by complementing the collage of sequences and environments we created.

h: You’ve been inspired by Frederic Edwin Church in your new paintings. How do you reinterpret their ideals of nature and exploration to reflect the anxieties of the modern world?

LG: My connection to Frederic Edwin Church is rooted in my search for representations of northern light in paintings. Church’s ability to capture that light was exceptional, and I started a series of paintings about time travel and revisiting history with a contemporary twist, bringing strange phenomena from today into historical contexts.

I also revisited Church’s work during the Musée d’Orsay exhibition, which focused on the representation of nature in art history. This is a recurring theme in my practice, the idea of combining past and present, nature and artificiality, and exploring the emotional and psychological effects of these contrasts.

h: The tension between nature and technology, past and future, seems to be at the heart of your work. What do you hope people take away from Artificialis?

LG: I want people to feel the layers of artificiality in the natural world, to question what is real and what is manufactured. The technology we use to explore these environments creates a reality that feels both familiar and alien. Through Artificialis, I hope to spark a conversation about the future of nature, the role of technology in shaping our perceptions, and the invisible forces that are constantly shaping our world.

h: Your works often create a ‘feeling of déjà-vu’, blending historical references with futuristic elements. What draws you to this juxtaposition, and how does it shape the viewer’s experience?

LG: The feeling of déjà vu is quite important in my work. It comes from the use of science fiction, which I don’t approach as a genre of fantasy or distant, unrealistic speculation, but as a method for imagining possible futures. I think it’s a tool that helps us better understand our present. The déjà vu effect, in this context, helps prepare the viewer’s mind by showing them a constellation of objects that share a similar idea but come from different places or times. Some might belong to the past, while others come from the future. The experience of crossing time boundaries allows different objects to intersect, interact, and resonate in the viewer’s mind, giving them a rich and immersive experience that invites them to feel and process information in new ways.

h: In Artificialis, you place artificial forms in seemingly natural landscapes, like the black rectangles in idyllic paintings. How do these disruptive elements challenge traditional representations of nature in art?

LG: I think the key here is the simplicity of the visual language. I’m not an activist in the traditional sense, but I do believe that art can be a subtle and effective way to engage with urgent issues like climate change. By using minimalist elements – such as the black triangles that appear in my work – I’m not creating overt messages or protesting. Rather, I am exploring ways to visually communicate complex ideas in ways that bypass the standard responses. It’s about making the viewer slow down and reconsider what they see and feel about the world. It’s an indirect approach, where the work is less about telling people what to think and more about creating a sensory experience that makes them aware of the complexity of the world.

h: You’ve described your work as creating ‘ambiguous realities’. How does this ambiguity reflect your views on the current state of environmental and technological change?

LG: Ambiguity is a deliberate choice for me, especially when it comes to tackling complex issues like environmental change. We live in a time where we’re constantly bombarded with simplistic answers – good or bad, black or white – but the reality of our technological and environmental challenges is far more complicated. I believe art, especially in its more ambiguous forms, has the power to communicate these complexities in a way that bypasses the rhetoric we encounter in the media. I don’t want to offer easy answers or solutions. Instead, I want the audience to be able to feel the full scope of complexity and to sit with that complexity. Art isn’t always about clear communication – it’s more about creating an experience that forces the viewer to confront the unknown. This is where ambiguity plays a role, inviting people to embrace the complexity of the world rather than just finding quick solutions.

h: This exhibition combines multiple mediums – film, paintings, and advanced imaging technology. How do you decide on the appropriate medium for each concept?

LG: I think selecting the right medium is one of the most exciting parts of the process. It’s not always a calculated decision – it’s also intuitive. You know, when you’re working on a project, sometimes the medium chooses you. For example, I recently created a copper cloud sculpture for an outdoor project in Normandy, France, at an ancient 7th-century abbey. I felt that copper was the right material for the location and context of the piece. It’s the kind of decision that comes from a feeling that aligns with the history, the space, and the idea that you’re trying to communicate. In another project, I might work with something completely different, depending on the environment and the concept. I love the idea of using a range of different periods, aesthetics, and mediums to express the same spirit or idea. Whether the references are historical or futuristic, each material and form comes together to serve the larger conceptual aim of the work.

h: As our understanding of nature evolves with technology, do you believe art has a unique role in questioning or documenting these shifts? How does Artificialis contribute to this dialogue?

LG: I do think that art has always had a responsibility to document and observe the changes in the world, but in a way that challenges how we understand these changes. Just like the introduction of perspective in the Renaissance helped us see the world in a new way, art today still plays the role of helping us visualise the evolving world in ways that we might not have considered. With the rapid technological advancements and the pressing environmental issues we face, art has the unique ability to draw attention to these subjects without directly shouting about them. Art doesn’t just reflect what is happening; it organises these ideas in a way that allows us to understand our world in a more profound and complex way. That’s the unique role that art plays – it’s not just about observing, but about offering us a new way to process what’s happening in our world.