We meet in a quiet corner of the Grand Restaurant at the Kulm Hotel. The relative silence matters to Carsten Höller. Music bothers him. Not aesthetically, but physically. He hears too much. He’s always listening. Between the clink of cutlery and the upholstered hush of alpine luxury, it becomes clear this is a man calibrated to frequencies most of us tune out. Outside, in the middle of the ice rink, the artist’s latest installation for the Kulm—Pink Mirror Carousel—turns slowly. Its surface reflects skaters, snow, mountains, and the choreography of leisure back at itself. It looks like a jewel dropped from another planet, or a thought experiment rendered in steel. Beautiful, slightly awkward, impossible to ignore.
Höller is one of contemporary art’s most recognizable figures, though he has never behaved like one. Trained as a scientist before turning to art, he has spent decades turning institutions into playgrounds and playgrounds into philosophical traps. He is the artist who installed slides inside Tate Modern, scaled mushrooms to monumentality, and reconfigured perception at places like the Fondazione Prada. His work insists on participation.
In person, he is a man of few words, but each one is deliberate. He pauses often, listening as much as speaking. He likes quiet. He distrusts grand explanations of happiness. Fun, he says, is messier. And far more powerful. Birds aren’t a hobby so much as a long-term way of paying attention. As we talk about art, wealth, exposure, and the peculiar intimacy of sitting on a rotating machine in public, the conversation drifts from Alpine history to pagan rituals to birdsong competitions in Thailand. Nothing feels off-topic. Everything connects. Like the carousel outside, the exchange moves slowly, deliberately, in circles. Here, Höller explains why.
Alex Kessler: Had you been to the Kulm before this project?
Carsten Höller: Yes, I stayed here when we first met to work on the carousel. That was February or March. I’ve been to St. Moritz a few times before, but I’m not a regular.
How did the idea for this come about?
I’ve made carousels before. Mirrors too. But never a pink one, and never this shape. The idea was to bring something alive into the outdoor space. We gravitated toward the carousel.
Why put it right in the middle of the ice rink?
Skaters already move in circles. I liked the idea that some people sit down and rotate slowly while others rush past. It’s beautiful. And it will be here in summer too, surrounded by green and blue instead of white. At night it feels almost alien.
Was that intentional?
Yes. Completely. It feels like it arrived from somewhere else. The pink mirrors against the snow and mountains create a very strong presence.
Why pink, especially here?
It’s foreign, but it connects. St. Moritz is about leisure, wealth, visibility. The carousel is shiny, jewel-like, but also a machine. You’re exposed when you sit on it. It doesn’t resolve into one meaning. It contradicts itself. You’ve talked a lot about fun in your work.
Why is it so important?
Fun is not noble. Happiness is noble. Fun is dirty. Philosophers avoid it. But it drives decisions. We don’t just avoid pain anymore. We maximise fun. Why we need it is a very serious question.
What do you want people to feel when they ride it?
I don’t want to decide that. Some will feel disappointment. It’s slow. Others will feel calm. It’s like sitting on a train, watching the landscape pass. You’re thinking. You’re also being watched. It’s slightly awkward.
Your work often involves people inside the sculpture. Why?
An object without people is finished. With people, it’s animated. Behaviour changes. You wouldn’t sit rotating in circles otherwise.
You seem very sensitive to sound.
Yes. I’m very acoustical. I can’t switch it off. I’m always listening for birds.
Does that way of listening change how you experience the world, or even how you work?
I’m gravitating more and more toward sound. I’ve seen a lot. I haven’t heard so many things. With birds, you learn to listen before you look.
You live with birds, right?
Thirty of them. Two bird rooms.
Do you ski?
It’s the only sport I’m good at. I ski in jeans. No helmet. People stare.
Are you a Christmas person?
Not at all. I don’t like receiving presents. There’s no such thing as a free gift.
What are you enjoying right now?
Several books at once. Music, but never in the background. And birdsong. I’ve seen a lot. I haven’t heard enough.
