Jason Eppink pranks altruistically

Name: Jason Eppink

Age: 26

Hometown: Houston, TX

Job description: Urban alchemist, rapid prototyper, mischief maker, Assistant Curator of Digital Media at Museum of the Moving Image

Upcoming projects: Bring to Light (October: "I'll be setting up the 21st Century Bonfire, an aleatoric light sculpture consisting of seven rescued television sets topped by protruding matrices of PVC pipe that diffuse live television broadcasts into a shifting array of rich colors and abstract shapes."); throwing grand opening party for Museum of the Moving Image; documentary about air conditioner units, commissioned by Queens Council on the Arts; three secret projects; guest artist at Conflux; editing video from the previous Night Market project (“Surprise Surveillance Theater”)

Select links: “The GOOD 100: Jason Eppink” (GOOD), “Shit We’re Diggin': Jason Eppink’s ‘Take A Seat Drop’” (Wooster Collective), “The Anti-Ad Art Crusades of Jordan Seiler and Jason Eppink” (Village Voice), Official site, Self-Referential Title, flickr, Urban Prankster

Do you do many interviews?

I don’t do a lot of interviews.

How do you feel about them?

That’s the thing. I’ve actually been looking forward to this. It’s a form of therapy for me, in a way. You can only get so far thinking about what you do, by yourself. So when you have someone ask questions, even the simplest questions, it completely re-frames [things]. It helps me think about things in new and better ways.

Describe your current state of mind.

Scattered, I think? Attempting to create order out of all this information and intention. Trying to remember everything I need to remember, trying to take care of everything I need to do take care of. Trying to formulate a plan for the rest of the day/week. Trying to do it with perspective, to not take all of it too seriously.

What’s the origin of your last name?

I don’t really know the whole story. Genealogy was never really emphasized in my family. Which I really appreciate because I think, especially here in New York City, there’s such an emphasis on [heredity]. A friend of mine grew up in the city and she said, growing up, people would ask: “What are you?” That was just the thing.

My best guess is a lot of my dad’s family is Dutch. I think my mom’s family is German. So it’s either Dutch or German. Maybe it’s Dutch/German. Because there’s a lot of Epping’s. And that can easily be corrupted into Eppink. Or there is actually a Dutch politician named Eppink, Derk Jan Eppink; terrible name. And he's in the Parliament.

So when you search for Eppink on the internet, we’re competing for the top. And he’s winning right now. I used to win. But a few years ago, he came out on top.

Do a lot of people ask about your last name?

Yeah, I guess so. And I always say the same thing. You’d think I’d have found the answer by now. But there’s something fun about the ignorance. Often it’s a hard name to remember, apparently,  sometimes I just go by Epic. They’ll be like, “Epic?” And I’ll be like, “Yeah, sure.” I also own the name JasonEpic.com.

What is your idea of happiness?

I don't know if I've ever considered this.  To me, happiness implies an almost restful destination like, "Okay, I'm done. Okay, I'm satisfied". But I am terrified of being satisfied.

What’s your fondest childhood memory?

I think it’s when I was at a camp. I was a Christian. I’d always really been sort of doing everything that I was supposed to do, doing everything that was right. I still probably do. I still haven’t figured out how to be wacky. It’s a long story. But my roommates and I started this thing called, Wacky Wednesday, where we wore this mesh clothing and decided to be a force of chaos on the campus. [We] tried to get as many people to join us as we could. In retrospect, super juvenile. But I just remember understanding the prankster element to that. [The] transgression about that was really appealing and helped me become who I would later become. Literally, it was a fun childhood experience. Because it was the first time I came to understand my agency, in that way.

Do you remember how old you were?

I was 14 or 15.

What kind of camp was it?

That was the other thing. It was Christian. It was about learning these rules that you’re supposed to follow. Christianity is always searching for ways to make those rules hip for a new generation. So I would say we were more than tolerated. Still, I think it was a foreshadowing of things to come.

And when did you stop practicing Christianity?

That was fairly recently, actually. When I was 22. It’s funny, I usually don’t tell this story until the second date. [laughs] This is actually a good story. I went to Pepperdine for two years; Pepperdine is a Church of Christ school. And then I transferred to USC to do film production. After my first year of USC, my junior year, I came back to Houston in the Spring [as] a media intern.  It was a new position, working for someone who for someone who started her own media production company and did commercial production. I knew her growing up.

Going in, I knew that it would be a sort of make or break it summer. Either this would affirm my faith, or cause me to reject it all. Which was very exciting.

I was very excited to go in and express my faith in the moving image. I got sort of skeptical to seeing a lot of how flat scripture can be if you can’t identify with the character. How do you break through that and present something spiritual? I kept copious notes because I knew something interesting would come of it.

The things I was making weren’t asking questions. I want to get in there, ask the hard questions and tackle those things. There were three patriotic holidays. And for each one we made a video; Memorial Day; Independence Day; Flag Day. We made this video for Flag Day, with schmaltzy music [and] people saluting a flag for church service. How is that helping? What is that doing to further the core message of the Gospel that I believe in? And there was all of this infighting and politics. I just saw the man behind the curtain and that sort of led me to end that.

Would you say that you’re still religious in some respects?

No. I would say that, because of how I grew up, I still long for a mystery or magic. And that’s part of why I really love the city and getting involved in, specifically, the DIY culture, or whatever you would call the group that surrounds what Nonsense NYC is.

And how did your parents feel about you not being Christian any more?

We have not talked about it.

Is that a conversation that you think you’ll initiate?

When I first made this decision, I was composing a letter. I was just going to be very upfront about it. I had other friends who went through the same thing. One friend said, “This is probably not going to help you. And I would recommend that you don’t.” So I [got] busy and just never did it. [laughs] I was less motivated because of her advice. I’m sure they suspect something at this point. But we’ve never had a conversation. I think maybe it’s better that way. And, of course, if they find this, then they’ll probably have a reaction against it. I probably can’t link to it.

You went to school in California. What was the best and worst thing about living in LA?

I grew up in Houston. Basically anything was better than that place.

When I was living there, LA was great. I’d come from a car culture. So that wasn’t new. But the weather was better. The cultural opportunities were better. And, at the time, I was really interested in mainstream film. So I thought, That’s where I should be. In contrast, I went back a couple years later [and] immediately realized it wasn’t as great as my memories had led me to believe.

And why New York?

As I was nearing the end of my undergrad, I was looking for things to do. I wanted to travel, but I didn’t have the cash. I was involved in the interactive media division out there, saw a listing for an internship in New York City, and [thought], It’s closer to Europe than I am now. It’s a paid internship and a short commitment (three months). Might as well see what happens.

Is Europe your ideal?

At that time it was. I didn’t really know much about anything. I just wanted to get out.

When did you move to New York?

2006. And the funny thing is, I didn’t really know that New York City was a place [where] people wanted to live. The thought never occurred to me that this was a destination, just one interesting place to live for a few months.

How old were you then?

I was 22.

If you didn’t live in New York, where would you live?

I’ve been thinking about that a lot because I may want to move again. But I don’t know where that would be. Specifically, if I wanted to go to school, where would that be? Berlin. Some Scandinavian city like Glasgow.

Would you pursue a masters degree?

The answer is, Yes, but I have no idea what end. That’s the decision that needs to be made. Philosophy? Sociology? Psychology? Art? I feel like Art’s the obvious choice, but it’s one that I don’t want to do. Electrical Engineering? I don’t know.

 What are you most curious about?

Vaguely, media systems, just the way information or values flow. Big picture things. Cultural systems. Social systems.

Right now, I'm learning a lot about media systems and organizational dynamics, to use some big words that sound very uninteresting. But does this mean I'm most curious about those things? I guess the answer is people. What people feel and need and how they interact, identify, form groups, hold onto old histories and create new histories. Why and how they do all the beautiful, wonderful, incredible things they do (but also the infuriating things!), and how I fit into all of that.

What offends you?

Here’s what’s offensive: when people say, “Oh, you have too much time on your hands.” Or, when people say that about someone else when they’ve done something. I was researching murals and how they’re a solution to graffiti [for a talk]. And [the general public] talks about graffitists as kids with too much unstructured time on their hands, as if structured time is the only thing that a kid should have.

Which is absurd if you think about that, historically. In fact, unstructured time is very important to learning how to play and interact. Anyway, “these people are doing this because they don’t have anything better to do”, is such an absurd notion and so narrow in value. Not just for graffiti artists, but anyone who has an interest or obsession with something. Often, when I explain the Flux bus tours to people who don’t get it, and I tell them about the places they’ve gone, they’ll just be like, “Some people have too much time on their hands.” Okay, how would you prescribe that we spend this time? Watching more sports on television? Going and getting drunk more? And trying to pick up random people? It’s like saying, “You are using your time incorrectly. Here’s how one should spend their time.” That’s offensive to me.

What’s the most difficult thing that you’ve ever had to do?

There's this specific kind of public speaking, not necessarily in front of an audience, but sometimes, where you have to just talk out of your ass about things. You just have to come up with something, and my God, I dread these situations, because I just can't imagine what I

could talk about that would interest these strangers. Or, maybe it's the opposite problem, not what to talk about, but where to even begin?

You’re a self-admitted prankster.

Sure.

What do you like about playing pranks?

They’re disruptive and they create a moment where you question everything around you. [Pranks] don’t follow the script of everyday interactions. So you have to step back, evaluate the whole script, and see what’s changed in the script and why. It gives anyone, who’s willing to engage you, a moment to reflect. I think there’s something very site-specific about pranks. And a prank done correctly can be very generous. It is very much about being a part of that space and a part of that moment – more [so], I think, than a lot of other creative endeavors.

There are also practical jokes, which can be very mean-spirited.

How can a prank be generous?

I think all art should be generous. The worst thing about theater, in my opinion, is when people are on stage and they’re like, “Look at me. I’m so beautiful. I’m so interesting. Look at me.” I’ve seen a lot of that and I hate it. Instead, it should be, “This is my gift to you. I’m up here for you.” It’s such an intangible thing. But I think you know it when you see it. That’s what I think is good art.

So pranks are about like I said site specificity is really good for that. It’s saying I’m grounded I’m connected to this space. I’m connected to this moment. And I want you to be too.  That’s when I think generosity comes in and you can go even further and say I want you to be involved and I want you to participate in this.

The Handbell Strikeforce is one that comes to mind, which is something that I actually proposed to Charlie Todd of Improv Everywhere, who made it happen. You know the Salvation Army bell ringers outside the stores? They’ve always driven me nuts. So I thought, Wouldn’t it be fun to get a whole handbell choir and to one-by-one have the choir members assemble next to the bell ringers [and] burst into a song? There’s nothing mean-spirited about that. Yet it was poking fun of it, but in a really nice way.

My Astoria Scum River Bridge project: There was this leaky pipe that flooded the sidewalk with water. So my friend and I were like, “Let’s solve the problem. But let’s do it tongue-in-cheek.” And we built a 7-foot long bridge that we plopped down in the middle of the sidewalk. We made a plaque: “Astoria Scum River Bridge”, dedicated to the stick-figured pedestrian. I think that was generous. But it was also a prank. In the end, it got the city to solve the problem. Which was totally beyond our expectations. Even some of the stuff that I did before people started calling what I did art.

For two Christmases, my sister and I pulled anti-pranks, which was what we called generous pranks. We had read an article about someone who had been around Los Angeles, parking poorly, trying to see what kind of looks [he/she] could elicit. Kind of funny. So my sister [said], “What if we went around and gave notes to people who parked well, thanking them for their parking job?” And so we did. It was a packed mall. It was a couple days before Christmas and were like,  “It’s a really busy, stressful time, but we really appreciate that you took the time to park appropriately.”

My parents they have a Christmas lights contest for Best Home Signs. So we were like, “What about everyone else? The next year, we made 30 participation award signs, and went around one night and took them into people’s yards to give them participation awards. Stuff like that, you know?

Have you always been mischievous?

I always wanted to be. I don’t always execute it as much. I was always reading the prank books.

What are some good prank books?

Kids Shenanigans by Klutz Press. That was like a childhood manifesto. It was such a great attitude: if you’re a kid, you can get away with anything, you know? I don’t know how it got past parents. But there was such a curiosity and a playfulness to it. But the world is your oyster. It’s this place where you can get into lots of trouble.

You ran a surveillance truck at the Night Market where an audience is watching a narrative unfold, unbeknownst to an arbitrary participant. Can you talk about the premise, what happened, and how that project came to be?

Were you there?

Yep.

Okay, cool. So you got to see it.

I got to see it.

What I like about the Night Market is the modularity of it all. You have each of these establishments inside a truck. It’s modular because it can travel anywhere you want. I wanted to create a space inside the truck where people could watch, with cameras, what was going on with the rest of the market.

Mark Krawczuk, one of the two people who runs the Night Market, is really good about getting people involved. [He said], “You should do a truck.” I said, “I want to but I don’t know what.”

 “Well, what do you already have?”

“I have 20 TVs.”

“Great, good start. What could you do with those TVs?”

“I want to do something, but I want it to be interactive.”

David Glass, who has also done trucks [for the Night Market] in the past, had this great idea for a surveillance truck, where you would have people come in and eat doughnuts. So you could see camera shots of everything.

[Krawczuk] said, “I like the cameras. I don’t like the interactivity. How can we make it more of a game?”

So we went through these iterations: maybe it’s a game where you find someone in the audience. You’re watching everything and an MC picks someone on the monitors. Someone has to go out, find that person and bring them back. Or, maybe if someone is planted with bright LED’s on their hat, that is visible on the cameras, but not on the live footage or something.

It wasn’t going very well at all. And then I hit on this interactive fiction and the idea of having this audience watch, live, an unknowing participant. I think the first idea was something with kings and that sort of stuff. I was like, “This is so stupid. This is not going to work.” And then [I thought], of course, a cloak and dagger.

So we had 16 televisions, 14 cameras and an audience of like 30 or 40 people every time, inside this truck. I actually rented two trucks. The first was to house all of the TVs and the audience. And the other was closed-set where later actions happened. And we also had a deal with some friends to let us put some cameras in their trucks, as well. And then we had a cast and crew of two dozen people, just to take this one person through this entire narrative.

The narrative was about this black market that happens underneath the trucks. The trucks are just these fronts. And it’s actually the fronts for this very nefarious happening. It starts with someone holding a sign that says, “Ask Me How.”

We wanted to make sure the first step was made by the participant and not by us. Instead of grabbing some random person and saying, “Hey, we need you to do this.”

So someone says, “How.” [The actor] explains the whole thing and says [to the participant], “I need you to do me a favor. Someone who’s supposed to make the delivery hasn’t shown up. It’s been awhile.” And [the actor] leaves. Some people come in and say, “The guy isn’t who he says he is. We need you to wear this wire.” So they put this wire [on the participant], which serves two purposes: one, so we can hear what’s going on, and two, so that it sounds real.”

[The actors] leave. And when [the first actor] comes back, [he says], “Go see my boss two trucks down. Here’s the password.” The bouncer lets them in. Inside is a woman sitting there and two bodyguards. The target goes up to the boss. By this time the boss has communicated the target’s name. So she says, “Welcome Gabrielle. Dr. Von is going to come in with this package.” Sure enough, here comes a woman in this lab coat, passes off this giant black box and gives really specific instructions: “Don’t tilt it. You need to hold it like this.” They’re very serious about the whole matter. And the woman delivers it two trucks up. And they leave and they deliver this box to the truck where everyone’s been watching the whole time. As the curtain’s pulled back, [the particpant] sees the TV’s and realizes what has transpired. [The audience] opens the box and inside are cupcakes. So everyone gets to eat cupcakes and it’s a cupcake party.

What’s the key to timing all of that? The walkies?

On top of the six wireless mics that we had, we another six or seven walkies. For each actor we had a handler with a walkie. So they could communicate about what was going on.
 

What’s your experience been like with the cops?

I’ve only dealt with the cops a little bit. I do a project, called "Take A Seat Drop", where I relocate perfectly good chairs that are in the garbage to locations that need better seating, mainly subway platforms. So I brought one to Staten Island. I put it on the platform,  just me and some friends. I couldn’t get the shot on my camera; it was a wide angle camera. But I needed to be on the tracks if I wanted to get this shot. I was like, “I don’t know guys. You think I’ll be fine? Can I get on the tracks for a minute?” We knew the train wouldn’t be there for another 35-40 minutes and there was no one around. So they were like, “Oh yeah, you’re fine.” And I think I had been on the tracks before. So I hopped down. I took my time taking photos. I hopped back up and there were these two cops.

I pretend that I’m on the phone and walk away. If I was in Chinatown I could get away with that, right? I would go underground and I would be fine. But it’s Staten Island.

There’s a reason that I was walking: it’s because I had a warrant out for my arrest for an open-container ticket, which is also a bullshit charge. It was not an open container. I plead not guilty and I haven’t heard back from them. So, technically, I should follow up on that. But I didn’t because I’m like, Not my fault!

So, anyway, [the cops] radioed back. They had another cop pull up at another exit. They cut me off and put me in cuffs. I ran away from them. I’ll have you know I was walking the whole time. I was an idiot the whole way around because I didn’t want to show them ID. And I didn’t have to. Cops think that you have to show them ID, which is bullshit.

You don’t have to show them ID?

No, only if you are operating a motor vehicle. Because you don’t have to own an ID.

People think you do and they book you.

Yes. If nothing else, [to] the people reading this article, I want you to know that you do not have to have an ID on you at any time, unless you’re operating a motor vehicle.

What’s overrated?

Art. [laughs] Oh, Jean Barberis gave that answer to me; I shouldn’t have read any of these.

Also: hating on art.

What’s underrated? [laughs]

Walking. Because you have all of these people who like bike power and I feel like walking is kind of lost in that. Man, I’m totally all for biking culture. [But] I feel like walking doesn’t get the attention it deserves. A good friend of mine is walking across America. He’s in Washington now.

Matt Green.

Yes, Matt Green. I still think I underrate [walking] sometimes. He led these great 20-mile walks around the city. That’s how I came to know him. It was really extraordinary how fulfilling it was. I don’t know if I could ever tell you why.

I really enjoy walking, just getting lost in my own thoughts. Even if you don’t even have anything conscious in your mind, it’s very therapeutic.

And there’s something about being in that same state of mind, meditating as well, something about always being in motion.

And you don’t have to think as much.  When I’m on a bike, I have to be alert. But I feel like I can walk endlessly.

It’s a dérive. It’s the psycho-foundation of geography. Guy Debord wrote about the dérive, which translates as the floating down the river, as letting the streets take you.

You were involved with the Tourist Lane project.

Yeah. I just did camera on that. But I loved the project so much that I want to be attached to that as much as possible. It was so brilliant.

How would you describe the interaction between tourists and New Yorkers on the street? Do you think it’s a safety hazard?

Oh, absolutely. Tourists and residents have two separate goals that are at odds with each other, right?

How can you justify those two lanes?

In retrospect, maybe it should have been four lanes.

How so?

Two for each direction. And I think some people pointed that out in the comments, that both lanes were pretty narrow. For residents, it’s a means to an end from getting from point A to point B. [For] the tourists, the travel is the end; they’re in the moment. Whereas, the residents are not. They’re in the future in a way.

Do you ever feel like you want more?

All the time.

How would you define more?

If I had one pizza, I want two pizzas.

So, if you were to replace those pizzas with something else what would it be?

Opportunity, maybe. I would want more time to meet more people, read more things, [and] pull more pranks.

What’s your schedule like day-to-day?

After this, I have to go to another meeting; that’s pretty typical. It’s way too much. I think I’m going to quit art next year because I work 9-to-5, Monday through Friday. Having a social life and trying to do a lot of projects, I’m almost booked two weeks in advance for anything.

I’m just so out of balance and I haven’t been able to hang out with the people that I like or the cool people that I’d like to meet. I just found myself, many times, turning down invitations to something so cool because I have to sit at home and write emails to coordinate something. I’m sick of doing that. I’ve done that a lot this year. And I think I just need to take a year where I read more, go to more movies [and] see more things. 

You don’t think that can be encapsulated in six months? [laughs]

Ha! Everybody tries to talk me down. [laughs]

You don’t think you’ll get bored?

No, you’re right, I can’t help that I want to make things. I'm thinking about my rules. So, my rule is: if I want to do something creative, it has to be a collaboration. It has to be within the same distance; it can't be something where we go apart for a day, write something, and come back. It can only be with that person. That's my one caveat, exception. We'll see what happens.

What kind of advice would you give to aspiring urban alchemists?

The first one is: don’t ask permission. Second: open source it; travel; or be a fresh pair of eyes. And the last one is the best one: be a good storyteller. I think that’s most important.