Mika Rottenberg: 'Giant things are often triggered by tiny reactions'

To spend time with a Mika Rottenberg work is to feel it on your tongue and in between bare toes. Things drip and squish and squirm and tinkle. There is tinsel, pollen and shattered glass, manicured fingers emerging from walls, disembodied feet wriggling upside down in baskets of pearls. Tiny besuited men lie on plates and people sneeze, a lot.

Over the past two decades, the Argentinian Israeli artist has used film, sculpture, drawing and installation to explore different systems of production and exploitation through absurd imagery.

For the largest retrospective of her work to date, titled Antimatter Factory, at Museum Tinguely, Rottenberg has brought together several films, a series of hybrid kinetic sculptures and lamp sculptures that pair bittersweet vines from upstate New York woodlands, where her studio is, with discarded plastic waste.

The show's title, Antimatter Factory, references your time spent as artist-in-residence at Cern, the European Organisation for Nuclear Research. Given how tactile your work is, I was wondering where language sits within it.

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