interview by Oliver Kupper
with Estelle Hoy
photography by Steven Taylor
Paris-born, New York–based artist Camille Henrot draws on Buster Keaton’s physical comedy, early Disney animation, and pressing contemporary issues for her first live performance. In collaboration with arts writer Estelle Hoy and costume designer Sandra Berrebi, Henrot stages a tragi-comedy filled with Commedia dell’arte characters, setting the New York City housing crisis as a sharp and timely backdrop. The performance shifts seamlessly between absurdity and pointed social commentary, blending slapstick humor with moments of reflection. Through pratfalls, exaggerated gestures, and chaotic scenarios, Henrot probes how to navigate a world dominated by unpredictability and nonsense. The piece celebrates resilience, resourcefulness, and the human ability to find humor and meaning amid systemic challenges, offering audiences both laughter and a sharp, thought-provoking lens on contemporary urban life.
OLIVER KUPPER: I want to talk about your creative partnership and how it originally started. I read that you became friends around the time of the pandemic, during lockdown.
CAMILLE HENROT: It started with discovering a text by Estelle called “Ça m’est égal.” I was immediately attracted to it. It has to do with the idea of everything being on the same level, which is a feeling I have regarding the difficulty of establishing priorities; this feeling that everything is on the same level. The piece had an illustration of a fox in the snow. I felt deeply connected to that text. It was almost like somebody had been digging a tunnel through my own brain. I thought I need to meet this woman.
ESTELLE HOY: It’s been amazing because we’ve had the chance to collaborate on many projects. The piece we’re working on at the moment is related to Commedia dell’arte, an Italian form of theater. We started it on the beaches of Tuscany, where there were these clear demarcation lines between spots on the beach that you could rent. This is really very representative of the project: the amenities, access, and aesthetic varied depending on your ‘level.’ The more you pay, the more elevated your conditions, and you find quintessentially Italian striped umbrellas with lounge chairs, Campari, dolphin gelati, and a seaside restaurant. We weren’t at the very top of the beach ladder, much to our disappointment. (laughs) Apparently, Camille has always been obsessed with this form of theater—this morning, she sent me drawings from when she was fifteen years old, which were almost reimaginings of Commedia dell’arte stock characters. It’s like she’s been sitting on this for thirty years.
HENROT: It’s true that the Commedia dell’arte characters have always inspired me. Even before I was fifteen, I was drawing the Pierrot and Harlequin characters. When I was very young, there was a puppet show in the park that I’d watch. Later, I recall visiting the Louvre, where I saw a series of sad characters in costumes in a Jean-Antoine Watteau painting called Pierrot. They looked really depressed, yet they were wearing colorful clothing, like at a party. I was intrigued by that. Michel Tournier also wrote a novel featuring these characters. But there was always something quite scary and a little bit depressing about it. It’s like there was some hidden perversion in the story. I’m at my mother’s house right now, where I found those drawings I did of Pierrot, Harlequin, and Pantalone.
HOY: One of the characters in this Performa opera, Capitano, has really big shoulders and overblown calves. He’s almost a CrossFit-type character. I was thinking about that when I was looking at your early images, because you drew characters with quite broad shoulders.
HENROT: Yes, it was the ’80s. (laughs) I was watching George Michael’s music videos. I was also watching the documentary Madonna: Truth or Dare (1991). I loved her book, Sex (1992). I was interested in all of it. This Commedia dell’arte project for Performa has a lot of childhood fascination in it.
KUPPER: Your work has these abstract, childlike ideas behind it, or engages in the way that maybe children would play.
HENROT: I see that in every artist, to be honest. Most artists haven’t given up on their childhood. Louise Bourgeois said, “All my subjects have found their inspiration in my childhood.” I would say, especially for artists, the difference is whether you embrace the intoxication of your childhood or resist it. We live in a patriarchal world, but we also live in an adult-oriented world where people under twenty and over sixty are treated as if they don’t exist. It’s strange when you think about it, because we’ve all been children, and we will all grow old eventually. So, the idea that society privileges a certain age group, while disregarding others, is quite weird. It’s almost like there’s no concept of intergenerational community. Childhood determines so many aspects of ourlives. The way children see the world, what they contribute to society, is so precious, and there’s so little value placed on the way they perceive the world.
HOY: Even in the embryonic stages of this collaboration, it was geared towards children. It evolved quickly from a target audience of kids to a more adult one, but children will still enjoy it because it’s hyper-visual.
HENROT: Initially, we wanted to do a play for children, a bit like Peter and the Wolf. Then, with the type of drawings I made and Estelle’s writing, we realized it would be inappropriate to say it’s for children. (laughs) But I do think kids will come and laugh, because there are elements of humor that are clown-like—Commedia dell’arte’s signature tricks and physical gags.
KUPPER: Commedia dell’arte is really the origin of modern-day slapstick comedy, but it’s also serious in the sense that it reflects the class struggles of that time. Obviously, we’re living in a time when the socioeconomic divide is so vast. But going back to silent film, I was thinking about how Buster Keaton or Charlie Chaplin were also exploring similar tropes, which helped people get through the Great Depression.
HENROT: Buster Keaton is a big inspiration for me and for this project. I went to a one-woman show by Christina Catherine Martinez, a stand-up comedian and art critic from Los Angeles. I told her about our project, and it was incredible—she connected all the dots, showing how much French culture is affiliated with vaudeville theater, which stems from Molière, who drew inspiration from Commedia dell’Arte. She explained to me how Buster Keaton’s parents were vaudeville actors, and that the European culture of theater was influential to him. There’s a continuity between Buster Keaton’s vaudeville and comedy, the first cinema with sound. Apparently, when creating a comedic play, the actors requested that an audience be present during rehearsals so they could determine if the material was funny. This is actually the origin of recorded laughter in TV sitcoms. I decided to integrate recorded laughter into the play because I find it amusing to take something from TV and bring it back to the theater. But I had no idea that it came from theater in the first place.
KUPPER: This project is an exciting way to encapsulate many of these ideas for the modern age.
HOY: Engaging actors has been a completely different format from what Camille and I have done before, and that’s presented problems while also being enlightening. When I write an essay, I know the cadence I want it to have; I have a fixed idea of how it should sound when read aloud. It’s been remarkable to see all the iterations that manifest with actors. We had an audition for New York performers with a wide range of talents, including Pilates, juggling, and stand-up comedy, and their depictions were diverse. And definitely not as intended—much better. They were embodying the characters, developing their signature movement, posturing, and intonation. Truly extraordinary to witness, albeit through a laptop on a stool. (laughs)
HENROT: I completely agree. I believe we still need to continue rehearsing and workshopping the script, as we want the project to be very physical—to be grounded in movement. It’s not easy to write movement. At many points, we skirt around the topic of dance, but never actually discuss it. This is where the complexity of writing and documenting movement lies. It was difficult for me to write the dialogue because when I had it in my head, it was too fast for me to put into words. Then, when I write it down, I lose the magic, because I need to hear the dialogue or to speak it myself. There’s a huge difference between the written text and the text performed, because you can really simplify it.
HOY: It has to be quite reductive. I’m not sure if it’s essential to document precise movement. Perhaps because every performance will be different, depending on who’s cast. One character might have a juggling skill, then the next person in the role won’t have that same ability. So, it might even be better to indicate gestural movements that they adapt themselves, which I noticed they did anyway. They really run with their own characters.
KUPPER: An artist collaborating with an art critic is a unique dynamic. When you first started collaborating, did you feel any intimidation?
HOY: From my perspective, absolutely not. I’m not easily offended by feedback. One of the ways that I know Camille needs to be emphatic is that she switches to French. She’s not the type of artist who is intimidating—she’s just a very kind and generous person. Camille, do you think that my being a critic might lead to giving you negative feedback?
HENROT: I think about it as a positive thing. It’s better to receive criticism when you’re in the process of making something, rather than after. I think about it as a luxury in the sense that I know Estelle is sharp-tongued; she wouldn’t let it go if something isn’t exactly right. I trust her to be completely direct with me if she thinks something’s good or not, and I’m the same. I always speak my mind. It’s easy for us to work together because we’re both direct. Additionally, we don’t have huge egos, so even if we can’t align, it’s effortless to negotiate because we always approach things from an analytical perspective: how can we make it work, rather than trying to have the last word. I don’t think we’ve ever had an artistic or personal conflict.
HOY: There are numerous constraints around our projects that make them more complicated, but on an interpersonal level, we’ve never had any significant disagreements. And even when we disagree, we just acquiesce. If I don’t agree with something, you might run with it anyway, and next time, if I love a bad joke you don’t, you’ll give me more room—depending on the project.
HENROT: It’s almost as if we’re two scientists conducting an experiment. We’re putting a little bit of sodium and a little bit of oxygen, a little bit of phosphorus, and we’re like, “Oh, did it explode?” Being funny is so difficult. I feel like you really need to check your ego at the door. For this project, we consulted numerous people, received feedback from friends, and tested our audience.
HOY: Artists are given a chance to truly concoct an experiment for the Performa Biennial. They want people to take risks, even if that means they could fail. Maybe Camille and I approach art-making in the same way; we’re not afraid to fail.
HENROT: No, no, to be honest, I am afraid to fail. I’m terrified. In fact, I’ve pushed back several times when given the opportunity to do performance, because an immediate audience is one of the most frightening things for me. I’ve been trying to avoid it my entire life. Nothing exemplifies being avoidant of live performance more than doing film, because it’s quite the opposite. In film, you control everything—the angle, the movement, you can change the color, you can do slow motion. And in performance, it’s basically an imitation of life: it’s the law of gravity, the law of time, it’s real humans in the flesh. Sometimes I look at the actors rehearsing, and in my mind I’m like, “Can we zoom in and get a close-up of that?” (laughs) I have to keep reminding myself that I can’t.
KUPPER: I think your work deals with incongruity—things that don’t fit into things. Underlying this, I think, is trust in yourself as an artist, as well as trust in Estelle and your collaborative relationship. If one person falls back, you’ll catch each other in these sorts of creative nets.
HENROT: It’s true. I would not have accepted this commission if I hadn’t met Estelle. I never saw myself doing it, as I don’t see my type of creativity fitting this format very well. But then I met Estelle, and I knew I wanted to work with her. And I have friends who are musicians and costume designers, so this very quickly became an ambitious project—it’s not quite a performance, it’s almost like a musical.
KUPPER: Can you talk about the fashion and costuming involved?
HENROT: For me, the costuming was a big drawcard for the project. It came first. I have this friend, Sandra Berrebi, who’s a costume designer for cinema. She’s also done costuming for Hermès. I really like her creativity—I feel in sync with her mind. We’ve been friends for almost twenty years, and I always wished we would have a project together. She often posts these images on her Instagram, referencing children’s films from the ’80s—these little operas, musical characters, and muppets. I loved the idea of having a more cartoonish approach to the design of the costumes. Rose Lee Goldberg, the founder and curator of the Performa Biennial, was interested in having me integrate sculptures. It’s intriguing to be given the possibility to sculpt instead with the set in some ways, for example, with light materials like fabric and cardboard. We have references to West Side Story, The Apartment, Tex Avery, etc. I’m more interested in sculpting a silhouette than sculpting an object that the performers dance around, because for me, a sculpture doesn’t need anything to exist around it. And I think a prop has to be light and unprecious, and to engage with the body. I’m more interested in bodies—my sculptures are bodies. If there’s already a body on stage, I don’t want to issue another lifeless body. The body of the actors is so much more interesting because it can move.
HOY: One of the characters’ costumes is built up over his head, so you never actually see their face.
HENROT: It’s a character called Pantalone, he’s the landlord—he is just a pair of pants. In Commedia dell’arte, it’s always the same recurring characters, and he is one of them. Pantalone is one of the bad guys. His greedy hands are always coming out of his pockets, and sometimes from the fly of his pants. We have one character who’s a grasshopper, inspired by Aesop’s fable The Ant and the Grasshopper. There are numerous artistic references for the characters.
KUPPER: They are all archetypes of people that are living in the real world now: crypto influencers, landlords. (laughs)
HENROT: Yes, the crypto character was difficult for us to write; that’s where the limits of your own experience show, because neither of us is a guy, or in tech. (laughs) Also, neither of us is American–it’s a totally different culture from Australia or Germany or France. It’s tricky not to be cliché when you approach something unfamiliar and exotic. However, we’re actively working on it; we’re having Aperol Spritz with real tech experts, trying to capture some of their behavior and phrases.
HOY: The grasshopper character Camille mentioned, Dagmara Zalezinska-Swierszczynska, has Sandra designing an incredible costume, which is compartmentalized and detachable. She’s making all these segments that will be disseminated at the end, which wewon’t elaborate on, so you’ll have some of it to look forward to as a surprise