Throughout her decades-long career, Sophie Calle has never been shy about her fondness for voyeurism. The 63-year-old French conceptual artist once followed and photographed a stranger for days, tailing him from Paris all the way to the streets of Venice. She worked briefly as a hotel maid and rummaged through guest rooms while capturing the various personal items inside. And perhaps her most famous works of art, The Address Book, was born after she stumbled upon a man’s contact book on the street and called numbers in the pages in order to create a crowd-sourced portrait of its owner.
Her fascination with the lives of others is again at the center of her latest project with Creative Time in New York. On Saturday and Sunday, Calle is asking strangers to share their deepest secrets with her at Brooklyn’s Green-Wood Cemetery, where she will write them down and insert them into an obelisk marked Here Lie the Secrets of The Visitors of Green-Wood Cemetery. (When the grave becomes full, the remains will be cremated and the process started again.) But unlike much of her past work, this piece of art will leave no trace besides the obelisk. “I’m not going to tape the people; I’m not going to photograph them; I’m not going to keep their secrets written because I give them the piece of paper,” Calle explained over the phone last week. “Nothing will be left of this, except a grave.” While Calle will only be present at the installation this weekend, visitors to the cemetery will be able to jot down and bury their darkest confessions at Calle’s obelisk for the next 25 years. Below, a conversation with the artist about her latest project, her recent fears, and where she would like her own secrets to be buried one day.
Why the fascination with graveyards and cemeteries? It’s a theme that is recurring in your work.It started when I was very young, because my mother lived on one side of Montparnasse, and my school was on the other side. So for many, many years, I crossed the graveyard four times a day; it was the quickest route between the school and my house. Also, we don’t have many gardens in Paris, so even when I was a baby, my mother took me in my carriage to the graveyard; it was our garden. It was lovely, full of sculpture and benches. For me, it’s poetic. A romantic place of my youth.
You were never afraid of it?Never. I would always invent stories that would have happened in that graveyard. I invented the story of a man that lived under a grave, and I would come see him at night. Just a sentimental fantasy with someone hiding there.
Why did you choose the Green-Wood Cemetery for this latest project?Creative Time has invited me to do a project since quite a while. But the main reason is that Green-Wood Cemetery was open to such a project and, as far as I am concerned, that it is absolutely gorgeous. I like graveyards; this one is splendid, especially now with the cherry blossoms.
Why did you choose to set the project over 25 years?Well, 25 years is not my choice. In France, when they give you a grave forever, it means 25 years. I don’t know exactly in America how long it’s for, but “eternity” in France lasts for 25 years.
What happens to a grave after 25 years in France?If those responsible feel that nobody comes to visit a grave, they put a little sign by it asking the potential visitors to contact them. And if nobody shows up, then the grave goes to another person.
Oh, that’s so sad.Well, we need the space. And in the case of my grave [in Green-Wood Cemetery], after 25 years I don’t know if people will still remember me. If the artistic intention disappears, [the project] should disappear also. But if somehow it becomes a ritual to put secrets in this obelisk, it would go on, I hope.
I read somewhere that you used to throw elaborate birthday parties because you had a fear people might forget about you otherwise. Is that still the case?No. I stopped doing the elaborate birthday parties on my 40th birthday, when my fear stopped and when I realized it had become something artificial. Fear comes and goes; fear changes.
What are your fears now?I can talk to you about my work, but not about who I love, or why, or what I’m afraid of.
So then does my question about whether you’re more afraid of death or of having your secrets exposed count as talking about your work?Oh, well, I am going to make an effort. I am thinking more about death than I was at 20, like everyone else. I am not obsessed about death, but I start taking decisions linked to death. I never did this before. [Laughs.] It’s a very recent fear.
Has age also changed the way you now think about exposing yourself? Your work has always featured so much about yourself and your relationships.I don’t reveal that much. People think they know a lot about me, but they don’t. I control what I say. I try not to describe my emotions because otherwise there would not be room for the spectators. It is not about telling my life. I don’t have a blog, I don’t have a diary, I don’t have—what’s the name?—Facebook. I don’t use this kind of communication at all. I try to create a work of art, to write with style, to make photos that stand out on a wall, or, in the case of this grave, to create a poetic moment. There is no object that will be coming out of it. I’m not going to tape the people; I’m not going to photograph them; I’m not going to keep track of their secrets. Nothing will be left of this, except a grave. I said I would keep the secret; I’ll keep the secret. Except if somebody tells me a great story, a story that brings me elsewhere, and that this story stays in my head . . . What I can say is that I won’t use those secrets, because otherwise I would not be playing the rules of the game.
In your explanation for the piece, you mention a story about an ex-boyfriend telling you a horrible secret that has stayed with you ever since. Why?I was amazed of the generosity of that departure. Generally, when you leave somebody, you are afraid of the consequences that come after. But in this case, the guy gave me power over him when he left me. It was amazingly courageous, and it was brave. I would never tell his secret in any occasion, ever.
You’re not going to write it down and put it in the graveyard with all the rest of the secrets?Ah—maybe! Good idea.
Do you ever worry about taking too much of a burden by listening to other people’s secrets for hours?No. I already did this kind of performance once in Geneva, and some secrets were very light. For example, a fisherman revealed me the special spot where he found lobsters; he gave me the precise location. It’s a real secret because if anyone else finds it, he loses his living. So a secret doesn’t always have to involve something dramatic. It can be something funny. It wasn’t all drama. But even if they are heavy, I think I can handle it.
Have you thought about where you would like to be buried?I wanted to be buried in Montparnasse, but so far they don’t accept me. Since there’s not much space left, there’s a new rule: Now you can only buy your plot when you’re dead; you can’t buy it in advance. I have been fighting to try and do it, but so far I failed. So I bought a plot in Bolinas, California, because it’s where I took my first photos of graves. I thought it would be nice to go back where I started as an artist. But if tomorrow they change the rules in Paris, I’ll go back to my home town. Or maybe I’ll buy three or four graves, choose at the last minute, and have as an epitaph: “Is she really there?”
This interview has been edited and condensed.