acrylic, spray painton canvas184 x 250 cm
slate tilesmineral oiltrolley120 x 112 x 43 cm
acrylic, spray painton canvas160 x 200 cm
acrylic, spray painton canvas130 x 150 cm
(Catch Me series)
acrylicspray paint on wood 81 x 122 cm
(90 Degrees, working title)
(Catch Me series)
on canvas130 x 150 cm
painting on woodplastic bagschalk spray painttape122 x 81 cm
galvanized steel400 x 200 x 400 cm
acrylic on canvas
90 x 80 cm
acrylic on wood
91 x 87 cm
paper210 x 75 x 40 cm
acrylic on canvas150 x 140 cm
inkjet printsplastic bagsIKEA frames91 x 61 cm
As I look at your practice through pictures on the world wide web, the thoughts that I can form on it remain unclear. Not because your work might be unnoticeable, but because it seems never to wait for someone to look at it. It moves, as if every work is still tangibly tied to the process, the dynamics that have created it. What do you think it is that makes it difficult to grasp, to pin down into interpretations and explanations?
And at the same time, it feels layered. It feels as if your work opens dialogues on its own. It emits different conversations that unfold in a polyphonic entirety, that float, as I can float on their unstable rhythm. I could ask it, you, many questions. But maybe your work itself asks more questions than it could ever answer?
Maybe it keeps the answers within it? In the process that produces it? The materials that carry it? The space it resides in?
Maybe its answers remain always unclear, leaving me with more questions. Maybe it resides in limbo, between photography, sculpture and installation?
We saw each other at your studio, and agreed that your work really needs but few words, that questions communicate enough. I agree with you. Its movement may be arrested when fixated in answers. So I am hesitant to write you again.
Yet the work I saw in your studio clings to me. I have quite an unclear picture of what was said that evening. Sentences moving like your practice – ‘focus shifts all the time’, you said –, impossible to finish one before another comes to mind. But your images and objects do persist in my mind.
What universe will your works create, what space within the exhibition space? Will they draw lines right through it, allying disparate objects, subtly but surely, as they have in my thoughts?
Is it contradictory that I think about your work as creating a universe, shaping a space, drawing lines of alliance, while the word ‘fragmented’ was omnipresent in our conversation?
‘Fragmented’, ‘broken’: poignant characterizations of that conversation. And of your work’s materiality. For however a space is shaped – or however shape exists in space – what can we see of its material dimension but fragments?
Is more information, then, simultaneously more fragmentation, more movement, multiplying lines of alliance? Will looking at the photographs you made, choreographing and signifying your objects, further blur any possible sentences about them?
Now caught up in the polyphonic movement of your practice – the movement that before I was merely observing – what I can clearly and unambiguously understand is its relation to our Zeitgeist. Or maybe it is a paradox, this unambiguous understanding. For is not our Zeitgeist essentially ambiguous? Polyphonic, fragmented, and shaped by a an ever growing multiplicity of transforming lines of alliance?