Black endless void. A deep rhythmic breath crescendoing. The only beacon to point to, a dim point of light on the horizon, flickering like a candle nearing its extinguishment. This is the first part in Andrew Schneider’s installation, The Stars. However, the piece really begins in the space right outside the one described.

Welcomed into the building by Andrew, we trekked the narrow staircase into an open floor plan which transparently reflected the skeleton of the building. Bathed in the yellow sun, nearly golden hour, the various objects scattered across the warehouse floor reflected a temporal occupation. While it primarily serves as filming space, for a month out of the year, it becomes occupied by accountants. Business casual to Schnieder’s casual, the contrast is dissolved just as quickly as the printers which incited this change were erected.

This strange compromise of space seemed to mold itself naturally within the narrative of Andrew’s unique practice. The row of windows which provided an extensive amount of natural light, might make it any artist’s dream playground, though, I would quickly learn that for Schnieder darkness is a resource.

Stepping into the room which holds his personal studio, furniture and rugs carefully placed on the unfinished floors make the area feel much more like a living space than a working one. Disrupting this sensibility is a dark black curtain which obscures the second half of the space, accompanied by a boarded up window that also serves to block out the light. We sat and conversed, having time to get to know each other a bit before Andrew explained what I should be prepared for before venturing forth into this casually placed void. This conversation felt like a circumstantial sequence that allowed for a surprisingly quick acclimation to Andrew and his space. However, in hindsight, with the intimacy of the piece in mind, these series of pleasantries become a more purposeful and integral part of the experience.

Schnieder is no stranger to constructing his own spaces. His early career observing and working within theatre production very quickly resulted in the realization that the avenues of theatre available didn’t suit the work that he aspired to make. The difficulties of attempting to harness the technical aspects of a space to meet his needs transpired in operating with suitcase theatre setups. Bringing in his own equipment, instead of altering that which a particular space could provide, as a means to more concisely achieve his desired production.

In his various projects, Schnieder executes a different approach to theatrical control. In a traditional setting, control extends beyond execution into interaction. The mobility of the audience is limited to the space and time in which they have been assigned. They are told to sit and watch for a period of time to be presented with the constructed story, the interaction ending as the curtains close. Schnieder’s greatest dissatisfaction is this ending. How was a performance to evolve by leaving itself in the dark as lights rose in the audience prompting their exit?

What was missing was the act of conversation. The likes of which Andrew began to implement in various productions, extending experiences beyond the time of performance. Experience here is the main differentiating factor that distinguishes these productions from their red curtained counterparts. In his harnessing of time and technology, in addition to the extensions of interaction, Schnieder disrupts long standing dynamics of storytelling. Creating an experience rather than a presentation as a means to induce thought and emotion, hopefully creating a space for reflection and understanding.

The Stars brings the audience into his space, rather than it unfolding before them, which is what brings an undeniable personability to the experience which endows the viewer with the core beliefs of Schnieder’s practice. As a recording of Andrew’s voice cut through the pitch black, it did not carry the omnipresence of a disembodied beacon. Instead, words seemed to emerge and hover behind me, it felt much more like a companion. An extension of the interaction of perceptive listening that had begun seated on the couches right outside. Except, in that instance, neither of us was listening.

As he spoke the dim point of light seemed to become brighter and brighter until suddenly, a cluster of lights appeared. They appeared and disappeared frolocking, and then, upon Schnieder’s recorded instruction, was instructed to step forth from my assigned vantage point into the maze of light. As I traversed it, the device that Andrew had provided me hung on from my neck, allowing his voice to accompany me as I weaved back and forth amongst the points of light. The lights eventually followed suit, weaving back and forth as I did, illuminating around me, soundscape further filling up the space. The words that Andrew spoke drifted in and out of consciousness just as the points dimmed on and off as I drew close and subsequently withdrew from them. From what I gathered and can remember he spoke of memories, of moments in time buried, the fleeting nature of not being able to so easily revisit them. I frolicked and pondered amongst the fragments of sound until eventually a word in the dialogue became present. Stop!

One of few cues that Andrew had mentioned in the preamble I do just this. The envelopment of light coming to a climax, lights rushing past me and around me in a dramatic display which eventually comes to a halt, leaving me in the dark again. These pauses, much like that within conversation, carry a level of uncertainty to them. Is it a moment of pause or conclusion?

This is quickly answered by a call back to the beginning, a single point of light emerging from the darkness, except this time, it comes accompanied by sound. In a way in which it feels attached, rather than simply following me like before. I once again, am welcome to move throughout the space, my exploration extending itself into the space more carefully. Visiting each of the dots of light, I am met with different pockets of sound. People sharing thoughts that don’t seem to have much in common other than being moments of genuinity, whether answering a question or telling a story. The other sounds are that of life, dog barking, windchime, that seem to be prompts for those experiencing them. For me at times they felt as though they were prompts—What does this remind you of? How does it make you feel?—other times simply spaces in which to visit. Less than stars they felt like time capsules holding on to the moments within someone’s mind.

Often, in works of performance that aim to speak to these greater ideas—connection, existentialism etc. As a matter of desensitization, I tend to tune it out, the depersonalized presentation making it feel more like an overdone lecture rather than an emotional affective train of thought. Instead, the meditative space which Andrew provides allows for a more genuine iteration of this type of mental exercise. One of taking the time in which to be present and take up space. The interactive technology extends this invitation, with the viewer’s physical movement affecting the way in which the piece manifests itself both visually and auditorily. Immersion of an audience allows for fruitful possibilities of what can be received. This could be said of any piece of art that is able to achieve this. However, instead of this being causational, The Stars anchors itself to the concept both in its presentation and technical construction.

Eventually, the lights of the room were brought up, revealing the framework of the operation and its maker. Acknowledging Andrew in the room, I still traveled a bit between the aisles, listening, perhaps trying to hold onto the appearing and disappearing moments of sound.

How big could you envision this being? The question I presented to Schnieder upon completing my time with the piece, of which he contemplated by iterating the other times in which visitors had imposed the same thought. Ideally, perhaps bringing the piece to scale, a warehouse filled with points of light that even further resemble a night sky. More realistically, cubing the size to provide greater mobility, less chances of bumping into the edges of the installation, more immersion within the fields of light.

How many people could you fit in this? He’s often asked. This current rendition is able to hold two people at a time, limited by the space as well as the technological devices that allow for the personalized experience. However, the question made me recoil a bit, I in fact brought up that I was glad that I ended up coming alone. Freedom from the consciousness brought about by accompaniment in a space, was one I took great pleasure in as I explored the darkness. It was part of the experience which catalyzed this comfort in being. Perhaps it is simply me, but enlarging the space simply to be able to fill it with more people would seem to me to be a counterintuitive direction for the piece.

Beyond the people that would enter space after me up until the exhibit’s close on July 17th, the future of The Stars, to my knowledge, is uncertain. The state in which it was operating was fleeting with the impending restoration of the building it was housed in, a change which would complete Schnieder’s residency there. To construct artist studios. He mentioned. It seems as though contradictions follow Schnieder in his practice. A studio space taken away from artists to build new, less accessible ones. Conversating through presenting. Wanting more yet losing in the process. The Stars invites the viewer to partake in this sort of existential optimism that sees the void not as a pit of despair but rather a field of possibilities.