Ulrich Obrist, Hans. ‘I Learned Enormous Things: Hans Ulrich Obrist Remembers (1931-2019)’. Frieze Online. 8 August 2019.

I Learned Enormous Things: Hans Ulrich Obrist Remembers Marisa Merz (1931-2019)

The only woman affiliated with the movement resisted machines, definitions and permanence

I first met Marisa Merz in 1986, when I was 18 years old; I was travelling through Europe on the night train in order to make studio visits during the day. Calling on Marisa was a key moment in these early investigations. During the late 1960s, she was the only woman affiliated with the -based group involved with the Arte Povera movement. She shared a home and a studio in Turin with her husband, the artist Mario Merz (1925–2003). It overlooked the bustling Porta Palazzo market and was crowded with drawings, and ; the walls were covered with small handwritten notes on paper. I was struck with how Marisa and Mario’s works blended together; as in so many of their exhibitions, it was often hard to tell them apart. Marisa would place her sculptures on Mario’s tables and each would unfold as new works, intermingling in ever-changing ways. The history of the depth of this communion of souls is yet to be written.

Marisa Merz, 2013, installation view. Courtesy: Serpentine Galleries, London; photograph: © Luke Hayes

From the moment we met, we had the idea of working together. This opportunity finally arose when Laurence Bossé, Carolyn Christov-Bakargiev and I invited Marisa, amongst other artists, to work in the gardens of the Villa Medici in Rome for the exhibition, ‘Le Jardin’, in 2000. When Marisa and Mario arrived, having travelled by taxi from Turin to Rome, she had with her a marvellous violin made out of wax. As we were installing the violin in the garden, it started to melt in the summer sun – it was going to be an exhibition of her work that would last no longer than 15 minutes. Marisa wasn’t bothered: ‘Why would an exhibition have to last? Who made the decision that it has to last for two months?’ she asked.

This resistance to the idea that any material or encounter was forever was something she insisted upon. Nothing should ever be fixed, she explained to me – the works have to be alive. This is one of the reasons she disliked the concept of exhibitions: freezing artworks in time was not something that corresponded to their vivacity. The transformative quality of objects and materials is key to her oeuvre. Wax was ever-present because of its ability to change over time, just as it did in the gardens of the Villa.

Mario Merz, Santa Giulia, 1968, neon, installation view. Merz home, Turin, 1968. Courtesy: © Fondazione Merz; photograph: Paolo Mussat Sartor, provided by Archivio Merz, Turin

Marisa never finished her sculptures – they were always in progress. She would constantly re-work and rename them in her studio. A resistance to linearity and hierarchical order was something she encouraged in her exhibition at the Serpentine Gallery in 2013. As many of her pieces are undated, instead of following a chronology, she wanted the exhibition to be presented in a way that would create free associations: a world in the state of becoming.

Despite meeting many times over the years, I had never succeeded in formally interviewing her. The idea of it made her nervous. When our paths crossed in Paris in 2002 – Marisa was preparing an exhibition for the Marian Goodman Gallery – we finally arranged to sit down together. Just as we were about to start, without explanation, Marisa got up, left the room and never came back.

Marisa Merz, 2013, installation view. Courtesy: Serpentine Galleries, London;