*Portrait: Nile Koetting, Photo: Pedro Pina.*

Nile Koetting (born 1989, Japan) is an artist, works with a diverse range of formats, such as installation, light, performance, scenography, and sound. His artistic projects explore a new perception of dramaturgy in a biodiverse atmosphere of performative time and space. Koetting’s works and projects have been presented internationally at CAM – Centro de Arte Moderna Gulbenkian Foundation, Palais de Tokyo, Centre Pompidou x West Bund Museum, Tai Kwun Contemporary, Kanazawa 21st Century Museum of Contemporary Art, Fondation Hermès Tokyo, Somerset House, Museum of Contemporary art Tokyo, Kunstverein Göttingen, Thailand Biennale, ZKM Karlsruhe, Hebbel am Ufer Theater, Western Front, and Mori Art Museum, among others.

LUCIJA ŠUTEJ: What are the current projects you're working on?

NILE KOETTING: I'm working on a new project for a show at E-werk Freiburg in Germany this September. It’s an idea I’ve been researching and developing for some time. The exhibition space is a former power plant—an industrial setting that resonates deeply with the concept. The project is called Powerhouse, and it explores contemporary phenomena of self-improvement, analysis, and optimization—seeing myself through the lens of self-enhancement, empowerment, and self-forecasting.

*Sketch for powerhouse - total optimization for studio. Nile Koetting*

A specific perspective for the project is collaborating with a consulting agency and experts—from business consultants to futurists—to analyze myself and simulate different versions of my future. Bridging a self-portrait with future forecasting is a technique often used by corporations to model scenarios. In this journey, I’m essentially transforming my position as an artist into a quasi-corporate product.

At the same time, I’m fascinated by how many former power plants are being repurposed as art and cultural institutions globally. There’s an intriguing parallel between the historical role of these spaces—once distributing energy to the city—and their transformation into sites of cultural power. But I wonder—is there a limit to this kind of power? Is there an overconsumption of creative energy? And what are the ethical implications for both creators and consumers?

This also makes me reflect on the exhaustion and overconsumption of creativity, where artists themselves become power generators. The global pandemic has only intensified this pressure with the accelerating content production to new extremes. Through this project, I am aiming to explore this landscape.

LŠ: That’s fascinating. Why did you decide to work with a consulting agency?

NK: I’ve always been interested in consultation as a form of language. My curiosity in this field deepened when some friends started working at consulting firms—a popular career choice these days in Tokyo around my friends. I grew up in a family where my father worked as a self-employed translator, and my mother assisted in his business. So InI never really knew what went on inside those towering, mirrored corporate buildings.

I think I'm fascinated by the infrastructure of society—how we move, work, and behave—whether in traditional or contemporary contexts. To me, consulting agencies function like dramaturgs for society, attempting to make sense of complex structures and offering guidance, whether for individuals or large corporations.

As an experiment, I’ve been exploring consultation within my studio, working with a smaller consultant who uses Vensim, a production simulation software. Together, we analyzed my past exhibitions—from fees to the opportunities they generated—and created a diagram that simulated different outcomes. One of the most revealing insights was predicting how many burnouts my colleagues and I might experience if I took on 10 shows. This micro-simulation of my studio is scalable, and I want to take it further—almost like creating a market analysis report for my practice.

*Down Time Salon - (2023) Sonic analysis for exhibition - Musik Installation Nürnberg - music emotional parameter analysis interface - supported by cyanite.ai*

LŠ: A market analysis report for an artist—it’s interesting how you’re blending self-reflection with the “cold” efficiency of corporate tools. There’s a tension there. (laughs)

NK: Exactly. (laughs) We live in a world where everything feels programmable—health, feeling, gadgets, task managers. It’s as if we’re micro-computing systems, yet we still crave real emotions. I don't think we’re becoming robots, but there’s a certain beauty in how we celebrate life through this computational language. It’s a strange, yet fascinating, reflection of our life mode.

LŠ: Your work often explores rituals - how do you see these concepts playing out in our current moment, which is characterized and guided by technology?

NK: Whether these social moments are guided by computational systems or natural elements, I see the act of creating moments and protocols between people as a form of technological language. It directs behavior, perception, and emotion. The obsession with shared moments has always been present.

*Performance view “Blossoms” (2024), one of the performer performing outside of the museum CAM - Centro de Arte Moderna , Gulbenkian. Photo: Yoshihiro Inada.*

*Performance view “Blossoms” (2024), CAM - Centro de Arte Moderna , Gulbenkian. Photo: Yoshihiro Inada.*

*Performance view “Blossoms” (2024), one of the performer performing in the collection room of CAM - Centro de Arte Moderna, Gulbenkian. Photo: Lucas Damiani.*

LŠ: Fascinatingly, your background is in theatre and dance. How does that influence your work?

NK: I started with Butoh in Japan, which taught me to see the body not just as a performer, but as a device that changes the atmosphere of a space. At the time, I was studying visual art at university, but I struggled with the education system—a strange mix of imported Western art language and Japan’s traditional hierarchical structure. I found it difficult to get inspired in that frame.

As an escape, I started attending more performances, just to take my mind off school. Eventually, I joined a workshop at a studio, which turned out to be a far more meaningful education for me at the time. In 2014, I moved to Europe, primarily working as a performer in dance theater while also developing my non-performance-based art. A practice that became a reflection of what I couldn’t express on stage.

However, at the core are the ideas I learned from Butoh—the in-betweenness of body and space, and how they merge to create an experience. It’s almost like putting your body inside out - the performance in my practice is an act of evaporation of the physical body. The physical body doesn’t always need to be visible to the audience. Sometimes, it shouldn’t be seen at all. What the audience might witness instead are reflections—like water droplets on a window—left behind after the body has saturated the space.

*Installation view “Remain Calm (petit+)” (2022), Performance in the collection storage in the museum. CAPC, Bordeaux. Courtesy of CAPC museum.*

*Installation view “Remain Calm (mobile+)” (2021) Taikwun Contemporary. Courtesy of the artist, and Tai Kwun Contemporary.*

LŠ: Could we look at specific examples where you felt the body change the atmosphere of the space? Also, the idea of “sensing” is central to your work. How has your understanding of this concept evolved? With the added layer of technology, how do you sense in artificial environments?

NK: A good example of this idea of sensing comes from my experience as a performer in the theater. No two performances are ever the same, even with identical shows or choreography. The energy of the audience, the vibe of the space, and even subtle shifts in timing or movement create distinct variations that can’t be replicated.

In my previous work, Downtime Salon, we used a machine called an atmospheric water generator to create drinkable water from the air. During a winter exhibition, the environment was so dry that it initially couldn't produce much water. However, as the audience entered the space, especially during the opening, their presence increased the humidity, eventually filling the tank and providing a substantial water resource.

This experience revealed another layer of sensing: the technology responds to mood, filtering and adapting more effectively as moisture increases. It’s a complex ecosystem that creates layered spaces.

*Installation view “Downtime Salon 23-24” (2023), Galerie Wedding. Photo: Wataru Murakami.*

Installation view “Downtime Salon 23-24” (2023), Filling a cup with drinking water generated from the atmosphere of the exhibition site for an audience member. Galerie Wedding. Photo: Wataru Murakami.

LŠ: Which of your Butoh performances remains the fondest memory and why?

NK: When I began exploring theater more deeply in my student time, I encountered a piece by Saburo Teshigawara, a Japanese theatermaker who blended Butoh with Western classical dance. His work, Glass Tooth, featured dancers moving across a stage covered in broken glass, their movements casting reflections.

Watching the performance, there were moments when the dancers almost slipped or fell on the glass. It was both terrifying and utterly mesmerizing to witness. The choreography transcended mere movement, becoming a dialogue between body, glass, and light. As spectators, we were simply there—watching, witnessing.

LŠ: You’ve also worked with startups. How do you choose the technologies you incorporate into your practice?

NK: I'm drawn to people who approach the future in their way. The water generator I mentioned was developed by an Indian startup that creates drinkable water from air, and I also worked with a Berlin-based company that uses AI to analyze sound. These collaborations excite me because they extend beyond art—they’re about problem-solving and imagining new possibilities. I see parallels between their work and my own as an artist, as both involve exploring new ways of thinking and reshaping the world around us.

LŠ: You mentioned the project Atmospheric Solutions—how did this project come to life?

NK: Atmospheric Solution began as an imaginary corporation or startup—a hybrid between a consulting agency and a corporate durational performance. At its core, my artistic practice focuses on shaping moments, gestures, and organizational structures that operate in specific, intentional ways. At the same time, friends began asking me to design soundscapes for theater or lighting for shows. What started as these smaller contributions organically expanded—into designs for museum exhibitions, fashion shows, videos, and even advertisements. Through these ongoing collaborations with peers and friends, I began questioning whether what I do fits within traditional artistic direction. Instead, it feels more like crafting an atmosphere—creating a space where others can bring their work to life.

With the fashion show I collaborate, we go beyond lighting, sound, and stage aesthetics. With my collaborator, Dylan-Spencer Davidson—an artist and performer—we build a system that brings designers, musicians, models, and production teams together. Sometimes this manifests as poetry readings backstage and other times, it might develop a web app to structure how models' movement affects the space.

Ultimately, Atmospheric Solution functions almost like a performance of the agency, prioritizing the process as a creative act rather than being purely output-driven. I see this work as an ongoing dialogue between art and other disciplines—a way of collaborating with those shaping possible futures, whether in technology, science, or design.

*Atmospheric direction for a runway show - CFCL, vol.6. view at Palais de Tokyo. Courtesy of CFCL.*

*Atmospheric Direction for The Well Tempered. View at Espace Niemeyer. Photo: Martin Lazlo Rouillé.*

*Atmospheric direction for a runway show - CFCL, vol.8. view at Palais de Tokyo. Courtesy of CFCL.*

*Atmospheric Direction for Hermès special concert. View at Shogunzuka Seiryuden Kyoto. Photo: Yoshihiro Inada.*

LŠ: Your work feels deeply layered, weaving together technology, corporate structures, and human experience. Where do you see it heading next?

NK: I prefer not to confine myself to a single field or method—success for me isn’t about sticking to one approach. I see my artistic practice more as a think tank than a production house. I’m curious about how it will evolve, and I find it more compelling to remain fluid rather than fixed in one role. Sometimes, you have to step back and become the audience of your work.

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