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Lolo Y Sosaku

“alienated while completely connected at the same time”

Their work move between different languages such as sculpture, installation, kinetic art and painting. The modus operandi: to constitute itself as a subject, and from its mechanic materiality, to point to transcendence, to mysticism and to the unknown. Encompassing installation, drawing, painting, sculpture, performance, sound and video, Lolo & Sosaku’s wide-ranging practice explores the capacity of creating new meanings through the association of the objects, the surroundings and the spectator. Taking inspirations from ancient Greek sculptures, from Dada and Bauhaus School to Jean Tinguely, Alexander Calder and Jean Dubuffet, Lolo & Sosaku soon altered the traditional artistic practice concentrating on the possibilities inherent in the materials they used often metal, wood, glass, incorporating music and sound. Electronic music is certainly the highlight of their inspiration as a complex language translated into sound installations and sculpture compositions. Shapes, lines, materials and sounds are assembled together into motion sculptures that perform taking their own voice in an unpredictable continuous transformation Exploring many artistic horizons and redefining boundaries, their interest is the energy and the hidden forces that guide life in our technological age.

Lolo, Sosaku! You guys. Truly beautiful to meet you last week. So, lots of things were said and I thought of some recap key ideas that stayed floating around. I would start with SONAR, in which you just performed a few days ago.

Given the present pandemic context, you have just been part of the (first ever) virtual edition of SONAR, where you live streamed from your studio in L’Hospitalet.

How did this situation feel? How did you conceive producing this piece to fit an iPhone screen?  (Modern times…)

Lolo: We felt in a way alienated while completely connected at the same time. Is the digital streaming behind this or is it a more global thing related to the current situation? Maybe both, yet we are anxious to be back to physical exhibition dynamics.

Sosaku: Visualizing our work through phone screens was conceived as an amplified version of our usual visualization mediums or supports, always having in mind that the spectator completes the artwork, even from the other side of the screen.

L: Our piece Concert for four pianos is an audio piece interpreted by non thinking machines installed in four pianos, they are sound sculptures that generate different textures and audible rithms. With this sounds we composed a sound piece with Sergio Caballero and thats the piece we presented in Sonar, putting up three shows for a reduced audience from our studio and a concert that was showcased for the whole world from Sonar’s live plataform, it was a great experience.

We understand our artwork as something that happens between a gap in what we conceive as the “present”, where concepts of space and time are no longer a unified continuum and act as separated entities.

S: We feel comfortable working in this temporal space.

L: With the years, we have created our own reality, as Arca coined it the last time he was in the studio. “A world within a world”.

Do you have hopes that our future may shift back into a less technological reality, in a sort of resistance act, or do you encourage the exploration of technology in this sense?

L: We are living in really particular times, exposed to constant sudden changes, in an accelerated way. The Anthropocene, the current geological time according to Paul Crutzen, is characterized by the visible and signicative influence of human behaviour in the planet… for some theorics it goes back to the industrial revolution… inexorably this age would evolve into the Post- Anthropocene, which, in conversations with Maike Moncayo, we differ in how it will take place, given that for her it will be the communion of human-machine-nature, forging a new ecosystem of renewable energies and a way back to the natural equilibrium of the holocene. Our vision is a bit darker given that we believe that we will evolve to a kind of machine – human symbiotic being, to survive climatic changes and death, where nature will be in a second plane or extinguish, given that it wont be necessary.

When we met, we talked about your artwork’s translation from the physical, tangible world into the two dimensional language of video or photography.

You mentioned a particular experience with Disco, where the audience thought you were presenting a 3D render, when actually there was an actual disc and a whole physical effort behind it.

Did this experience transform how you conceive future artworks?

S: To forge Disco, a huge human physical effort was necessary. Lots of months of hard work interpolated with unplanned difficulties. It was a great adventure, and I was working sick for the whole of the production.

L: Disco is a site specific project that works in dialogue with MentalStones, a permanent installation by Tito Diaz, which is situated in an olive field in the Delta del Ebro area, far away from civilisation. To our surprise, when we published the first images of the project, we received several reactions which interpreted that the artwork was a 3D render. We had put so much into it that the final piece looked artificial, like a render…

Even though Disco exists in the intersection between sculpture, land art and video art, we had never imagined that the audience would interpret it as a digital artwork.

S: We think imagination is sometimes digital.

L: It is a constant transformation… the digital looks for the organic, the real mutates into a digital language. We are exposed and immersed in a constant digitalization of everything, I wonder if Disc would have actually been a digital render, would it be real?

As sensible subjects, what interests would you say you pursue or dig on through your practice?

L: We see autonomous intentions in the behaviour of some of the machines we create, which escapes any logic understanding, as if they acquired a soul-condition, or something like it.

S: When we did the theater piece we had various press conferences… conventionally, actors also assist to this conferences so we took with us Tipo P, one of our sculptures, which was the protagonist of our piece. I was with him for many days, travelling by metro and taxi to different places, and a really close nexus evolved.

L: Tipo P did really bad in the first interviews.. as if he were nervous. He changed attitude once he was in front of cameras… thank god he did really good in the actual performances.

S: Yes, he’s a really good actor.

Being that you come from so far apart (literally, Japan-Argentina) the fact that you have found each other and created this artistic communion, to say, feels like a magical encounter, your artwork, this synergic creative act, like an alchemic process. Do you believe in chance?

Have you ever thought about how your paths could have shifted if you had not ran into each other?

S: We’re really close friends and we sort of like the same stuff.

L: The first time we met (early 2004) we could barely communicate because we practically didn’t speak english… and naturally we started creating stuff and working together… we developed our own language and work methodology which imprints itself in all of our work.

S: Now we work in the same ways as in the begining, but in bigger projects. 

Lolo: Nowadays when I think of that first encounter, in like how this unexpected chain of events brought us together, I feel very grateful.

S: Yes, if I think about that I feel as if an exterior force had joined us in some way.

L: Maybe that is chance, two independent processes that converge… Lucrecia, you were asking if we believed in chance, we do believe and we implement it in lots of our artworks, maybe the most evident one would be Panting Machines.

S: We build machines that have as an objective to paint or draw, and though we are very present during the process, they paint what they autonomously desire to paint, and when there are more than one of them, lots of times they collide, change paths and generate new lines and shapes, mixing their traces.

L: There’s a whole narrative revealed in chance.

This issue of NR has the concept of Change as its main trigger. It is obviously a word that resounds in all of us given the pandemic context, in any of its multiple consequences. If you would be able to propose, within a utopian scenario, activities or rules for a different society… what would you suggest, if anything? All valid. And… calling on utopia, would you recommend any readings, movies, or tracks that have triggered your imagination, your conception of life or reality?

S: Create a new civilization, without violence, where everyone has access to everything.

L: In the conversation we had before this interview, we really liked something you asked regarding the spaces we use to install our artworks, which are generally abandoned spaces or spaces in which our artworks establish dialogue or modify them, you were asking if we had thought of building an entirely new space that would not only host our pieces but be an intentional enviroment for them. We could do the excercise of replying to this question with the creation of a utopic social space, a place where there are no physical limits, where anything you can imagine is possible.

I’d recommend the amazing documentary “L ́homme a mangé la terre”, by Jean- Robert Viallet

S: Yes, I’d say also the last book by Yuichi Yokoyama “New engineering”.

Credits

www.vimeo.com/loloandsosaku
www.instagram.com/loloysosaku
www.loloysosaku.com

Lolo and Sosaku’s work has been exhibited and performed, amongst others, at 
Museo Reina Sofia (Madrid, Spain), MACBA Museum of Contemporary Art of Barcelona (Barcelona, Spain), PSA Museum Power Station of Art (Shanghai, China), MIS Museu da Imagem e do Som (São Paulo, Brasil), Fundation Gaspar (Barcelona, Spain), Fundação Casa França Brasil (Rio de Janeiro, Brasil), Sónar (Barcelona, Spain), Matadero (Madrid, Spain), Palace of Culture (Iasi, Romania), MAVA Museo de Arte en Vidrio de Alcorcón (Alcorcón, Spain), O Art Center (Shanghai, China), Luis Adelantado Gallery (Valencia, Spain) and Instituto Cervantes (Milan, Italy).

Designers

  1. Lolo & Sosaku by Cecilia Díaz Betz
  2. Stellar, 2017
  3. Studio view, 2020
  4. Untitled, side A Painting Machine 68cm x 56cm x 10cm x 8cm
  5. Piano I image by Silvia Poch – Lolo and Sosaku (Buenos Aires, Argentina, 1977 and Tokyo, Japan, 1976 ) investigate the possibilities of sculpture as an expanded field. The nexus that unites his works is the search for an object in contact with his surroundings and with the spectator. An object that seeks friction and tension.

Tomihiro Kono

“it was something I grew into loving”

Tomihiro Kono, a hair stylist and head props creator, currently based in New York City, is best know for his outstanding work with designers such as Jil Sander and Junya Watanabe. His launch of his own book ‘Head Prop’ is a ‘documentation of distinctive head prop work produced’ by himself. Not only does Tomihiro produce ‘visually striking head designs’ but ‘designs that focus on functionality in the beauty of form’. Kono has grown to become the master of a genre he created from himself.

I understand that your career started in Japan, where you worked as a hair stylist. But how did the idea of creating wigs and head props appear in the first place? What was the starting point for you?

I started my career as a hairdresser in Osaka, where I studied basic hair skills. Four years later I had gotten seriously obsessed with geometric haircut techniques and decided to master the method. I ended up working in a few different hair salons in Tokyo and acquired the best haircut skills. In 2017, when I branched into session styling, I moved to London. I started head props originally to satisfy my own creativity but I’ve always been obsessed with new hair and head creations. The act of hair styling and designing head props are, according to me, closely related to each other. They go hand in hand. Therefore, as a hairstylist it’s also my responsibility to keep working with hair designs in order to grow as a creative.

Was this all a part of your childhood dream or was it something you grew into as you got older?

When I was a young boy I wanted to become a veterinarian, which is quite different from what I do now. So I would definitely say that, as I got older, it was something I grew into loving. Even during the beginning of my career as a hairdresser I wasn’t dreaming about working abroad as a session stylist. I have just always been focused on doing the best I can and working hard. This is where it has taken me.

From a creative point of view, what was it like to grow up in Japan? Did the Japanese culture become a strong source of inspiration to you or was it just an influential cultural background?

Personally, I always got more inspired by the Western cultures. But when I moved to London I started to find more understanding of my own background. I think that the Japanese culture used to be something I would just take for granted. After moving to London, I created a Geisha inspired portrait series. This is a classic example of our distinctive heritage, which I’m proud of.

Many successful people have said that having access to a big city is always an important part of your career. After living in both London and New York, two of the largest fashion capitals in the world, what do you think is the most significant difference between the designs you’ve produced in each city? In what way did the city affect your work?

I believe that my first choice of city was the right one. London has a great hair culture, especially the avant-garde style with its young creative- and punk influential spirit. It’s a city where people really appreciate originality. For me,

“working in London was a mix of crazy dark, romantic goth and experimental design, which was very satisfying from a creative aspect.”

But I do think that New York is the best place to establish oneself. I always try to adapt my work to the city I’m in and its current fashion trends. Therefore, since I moved to Manhattan, my work has been quite clean and modern.

The line between most creative subjects and art is often very blurred. Do you consider yourself to be an artist? If so, did you always feel like one or was there a significant moment in your life when you realised that you wanted to become one?

If there is one hairstylist that could be called an artist, I might be that person. But that is not how I see myself. However if I could choose, I would much rather be the only one than the best one.

By being involved in the fashion industry, you are constantly surrounded by the idea of beauty and how it should be presented, but in what and where do you personally find beauty in the world?

Personally I find beauty in the world of nature, music and old Japanese films – which I like the aesthetics in.

Working with craftsmanship and creating each design by hand must be very creativity challenging from time to time. What is currently your biggest source of inspiration? When you lose track, where do you go to find it?

At the moment, my source of inspiration comes from wigmakers around the world. That is the subject I will build my new project around. Luckily, I never feel like I “lose track” so I always just keep moving.

What motivates you to grow and do better?

I motivate myself to be original at all times.

A lot of people tend to seek comfort in hiding behind their hair, do you ever feel like your bold and fearless style comes as a shock to people? Would you say that this is a part of the purpose for you?

My designs tell a story of what I do in life, if that tends to shock people, I take it positively. I know what I have done in the past three to four years is completely different to what most other hairstylists in this industry do. I personally like both natural hair styling and over-the-top head prop design at the same time, because I feel confident in both shadowing trends and being original at the same time. Whilst working in the fashion industry, you’ll always have the choice to create a trend as well as following a trend. So if head props become something that inspires upcoming artists and they want to follow that, or even keep building on this path I have created for them, that is something that would be very interesting to me.

Have you seen any good examples of how people have adapted your creative work into their everyday lives?

Except for my friends, wearing my creations on an occasional night out,

“I never think of my head props as being used in people’s everyday lives. I see them as head art.”

What is your best piece of advice for the people who want to follow your footsteps?

Be creative and work on building your originality. If you want to be a hairstylist and make head props as well, you need to learn about the basics of hairstyling, then play with your imagination from there on. This is how I started my career and I hope that my story can be helpful for young artists who want to pursue their dreams in Fashion.

You have worked with some of the biggest names in the current fashion industry and has had your work published in the most influential magazines and online platforms in the world. Now, just a couple of weeks ago you had your very first book launch as well. Where do you see yourself going from now on?

I never really expected my first book to get so much attention! It was a big surprise for me to see that people are curious about what this book was all about. I created the concept one year ago and I haven’t changed anything since. Towards the end of the process, after having had several meetings with some very talented good publishers, I decided to publish the book myself, because I wanted to keep the creation as pure and personal as I possibly could. I consider the release of this book too both mean the end of one chapter and the beginning of a new one. What’s next for me? Well, as you go, your career establishes your style and, for now, I have a lot of wig making to do. Hair will keep me busy for a while.

Credits

‘HEAD PROP’ by Tomihiro Kono is a documentation of distinctive head prop work produced by Hair and Head Prop Artist, Tomihiro Kono from 2013-2016.
Available to buy now with pink vinyl cover exclusively at www.konomad.com

Designers

  1. Copyright Tomihiro Kono
  2. Copyright Tomihiro Kono
  3. Copyright Tomihiro Kono
  4. Copyright Tomihiro Kono
  5. Copyright Tomihiro Kono

Mari-Ruth Oda

“I’ve always had this desire to belong somewhere because I never really have”

There is a calming serenity in the sculptures of Mari-Ruth Oda, and the importance of the natural world is made abundantly clear in the organic surfaces, shapes and curves that can be found in her work. This makes sense, given the influence of the Japanese principles of Shintoism on her practice – that there is something inherently divine about nature.

Having been based in Manchester for a number of years, Mari has recently left the city that was rapidly changing for the worst behind her, opting for a new way of living, ‘in the middle of nowhere on the Llŷn Peninsula of North Wales’. The move, which Mari explains she had been considering for a number of years without never quite making the leap, makes sense for someone so invested in the beauty of our surroundings.

No more is this made clear than when she describes the personal relationship that people can build with objects and natural formations that can be found anywhere – an ‘odd-shaped boulder on the beach; I bet loads of people will have a different name for it, or way of referring to it.’ Mari’s consideration for the characteristics of the natural world, of a ‘pebble on a beach that just makes you think, “Ah, that’s a comforting shape,” translates into her approach to the materials she uses in her sculptures. Discussing the process of sanding clay, she describes the way in which bits of grit and grog emerge at the surface – simultaneously revealing the process and the constitution of the material. And it is through this process that the intentions of Mari’s work are conveyed; that the ‘material composition gives rise to visual composition.’ 

I suppose it may be too early to say but, what influence do you think your new surroundings in rural Wales will have on your work?

We’ll see, but I think having the beach really close by will have a massive effect, because I’m already looking at pebbles and stone. I’ve not done a great deal of stone sculpture – in fact, it was my first time working with stone last year when I was commissioned to carve a water feature for Chelsea Flower Show. It’s an area that I’d like to go into a bit more. I started off in ceramics, but the move to Wales meant I couldn’t take my 3 phase kiln – and I was also already starting to move away from ceramics. There’s been a lot of letting go of the old, and we’ll see what the new brings, to be honest. But the light is amazing here, which was one of the driving forces behind the move. In Manchester, as my work was getting bigger and bigger, I needed a ground floor unit (because relying on lifts in an old mill wasn’t great), but the windows are often covered in the ground floor studios around the city. I just really craved an abundance of natural light and there’s a lot of it here, which is amazing, so I’m really looking forward to making work in the light. 

Am I right in thinking you moved around the world a lot growing up? 

As a youngster, my dad worked for the UN so we tended to move around – though I’ve not moved as much as some people in the same situation might. I’ve always had this desire to belong somewhere because I never really have; wherever I’ve been, I’ve always been a foreigner – even going back to Japan, I’m not that ‘Japanese’ because I’ve not lived there for such a long time, so there’s a lot of the contemporary culture that I don’t know or understand. I’ve always longed to belong to a land, and hopefully, this move to the countryside will be it. 

Does that yearning for belonging manifest itself in your work at all? 

I think, what it’s made me do with my work, is strip it back to the basis of my emotions. I’m not so much swayed with culture – I don’t have a real drive to do social commentary for example – but I think that’s because I’ve shifted from one culture to another and recognise that it’s something that can be quite transient. Nature has always been inspiring to me; who isn’t touched by an amazing sunset? That awe of just being hit by a beautiful view, or even just seeing the shape of a shell; there’s a lot of inspiration that can be found in that. When I went to art college, I kept being asked what I was trying to express. I had been quite sheltered, and I didn’t have much angst; I didn’t recognise anything that I needed to express. I came to realise that I didn’t need to express angst, and that came to be what I did express. At my degree show, I got a lot of comments about the work being contemplative and calm, and I thought, yes: why can’t that be the expression? 

“I started looking to sculpture as an expression of an energy or a certain emotion that I want to convey.”

What informs the choice of materials you work with? 

I’m still in search for the ideal material to work with. I began to find ceramics quite restrictive in the way I was working and, of course, the kiln was a constraining factor for the size of the work. I would have had to compromise the smoothness and the uniformity of a piece, and having to fire it in segments wasn’t something I was prepared to do. I had this attachment to the idea that the clay comes from the earth, that I was moulding the earth to make these shapes, which is such a romantic idea. I realised that it was more of a hindrance for me than an expression. I recently did a project for an old people’s home in Japan, and the client specified using fibreglass resin, which I really dislike the idea of, in terms of the environment and the toxicity for the person using it; but, in terms of what it can do, functionally, it’s the perfect thing. From my experience of seeing my parents approach older age, I can see what really benefit these spaces, and I wanted to create a shape that was comforting and enriching – and this took over trying to perfect the use of material. In that instance, it was better to make something that would enhance the lives of the people using that space. So, I’ve given up being an idealist for the time being.

I realised that I’ve just got to give to my work what I can. 

So, is site specificity important in your work?  

That always helps. I do work both ways, where I make what I want for an exhibition, that will then eventually end up in someone’s house. But I do a lot of site specific work, or commissions where I know the people who will be having the work, and I actually find that, when I have a site in mind, that makes my intentions easier to define. It’s a bit clearer that way – and more of a collaborative process. Going back to the Japan project, for example, I was working closely with the landscape architects and my work had to be in line with their vision. I find that really exciting because, as a maker, I end up spending a lot of time on my own, stewing in my own energy. So, to have that input from somebody else gives me the opportunity to shake it up a bit. And in terms of energy, I’ve done work where I’ve thought that, in that particular space, something invigorating would help and so I’ll make a sculpture that has a lot of movement; the emotions that I want to portray can really change from work to work. What I find interesting with the creative process is that if you have an intention, something that you want to express, the creative force works to bring that about. Having a certain site and the intentions for what that space needs gives the maker another dimension to work in, which is exciting.  

Is there anything that you think is important for viewers when they experience your work? 

No, not at all really. I think the freer you are of preconceptions, the better. I’d rather someone intuitively understood it, or not. Of course, each person has their own experience that they bring with them when they look at a work. I had a piece of work that I was told an astronomer had bought because it reminded them of the stars. What it was, was a piece that had white specks in it that were revealed by sanding the material, so it was like the universe – that’s how the person took it. That’s a very specific way to engage with the work, and a very personal way, and I think that’s a really important thing. When you have a piece of work, you want to bond with it in your own way and that’s not something I can dictate. I can say what it’s been inspired by, but maybe sometimes that’s a hindrance rather than a help. 

Credits

Frederik Nystrup-Larsen

“Say no: say no the market, say no to people, not just following along”

Growing up in Copenhagen, Frederik Nystrup-Larsen was surrounded by the principles of design. ‘I thought I was going to be an architect because that was the most prestigious and important thing you could do’, he explains. But, when, as a young teenager, he realised that this would involve a lot of technical drawing and ‘sitting in an office’, his ambitions shifted towards becoming an artist. An awareness of the uses of space, and the ways in which users interact with their surroundings, nonetheless underpins Frederik’s work. The installation of much of his work, whether sculptural or more performance-led, is shaped by its siting and the ways in which people respond. Those factors are no more present than in last year’s Off Licence – Cash Only, a project with long-term collaborator, Oliver Sundqvist, in which sculptures of everyday objects were made out of found trash and papier-mâché, and sold at a pop-up shop, priced according to their retail value at that moment. If Off Licence – Cash Only was, as Frederik suggests, an ‘analysis of consumerism’, the importance of having a critical approach is key. And, on the day we speak, the innerworkings and underlying motives of the art world is something that has overshadowed the importance of integrity that appears to push Frederik forward. Last year’s installation, How to Build a Blanket Fort, designed in collaboration with Sundqvist for the Tuborg Lounge at Roskilde Festival, presented Frederik with an unfamiliar set of challenges  – mainly, designing a space from London, to be installed by a team in Copenhagen. ‘It becomes about communication; how good are you at saying what you want to have made and what is the result of that?’ But, it seems, the result was more than he bargained for,  where the reality of commercial involvement (and ensuing ulterior motives) have jaded his view of an otherwise well-received project. The tensions between art and critique are extended to the materials that Frederik uses; the Eros Torso vases, repurposed single-use plastic containers, have been latched upon by certain fashion brands keen to champion the importance of ‘sustainability’. Yet, as Frederik maintains in our conversation, neither he nor Sundqvist vocalise the fact that most of the materials they use are recycled; ‘it’s not a selling point’. Rather, he continues, ‘I think it’s irrelevant, I think it’s something that is necessary and everybody should just do it.’ Across the various mediums that Frederik’s work takes, there’s a  quiet emphasis on organic matter, which in turn, translates into a necessary critical engagement with the world around us. 

How do you anticipate the way people might interact with your work?

I think I’m quite open to it, for sure. I mean, a lot of the work is made for interaction; that’s an important part of it. But it’s also always quite interesting to observe how people act around things. When we did the Off License – Cash Only project, when people started coming in, there was a line for the opening of the store and, in the beginning, people would go up to the counter and say, ‘I want that piece’, and the store clerk would say, ‘Just take the piece and come pay for it’. Then, people in the shop realised that that was the whole point, so people just started to grab things, and they would just be holding like five, six pieces to reserve them so nobody else could take them. That whole thing was kind of funny, and interesting, and it obviously worked as a critique of consumerism. People bought the cheapest stuff first, and then it went from there. So it was this analysis of consumerism. 

I read that you were planning on doing Off License – Cash Only in other cities as well, is that still your plan?

Yeah, for sure. I mean, I don’t think it’s going to be in the near future – maybe next year. The work was extremely fun to make – I really enjoyed it – but it was also a case of, when you sell a piece of work for £1, you don’t earn any money. So, it’s more of a fun project, that you can’t do all the time, because you can’t really live…

I read too that you bought fake followers for the Off Licence Instagram account: How did having an Instagram account for something like that work? Did people realise what it really was, or?

No, I don’t think anyone really noticed it. I mean, I had a couple of people asking like, ‘How did you get so many followers?’ But what I saw was that, when the Instagram had so many followers, a lot more people started following it just because it had a lot of followers – which is obviously how things work, with algorithms and stuff like that. But I was like, really? That that amount of followers becomes this signifier of authenticity – like, ‘like, ‘Oh I need to follow this as well because there’s a lot of other people following it’, but’, but it would take you five seconds to realise that all the followers are fake. When you go through the process of buying followers, you also realise how many people buy them – and I started to realise how many people actually do this, and it’s incredible. I don’t remember the number, but it’s something like 60% of all influencers have bought followers, so it’s a big thing.

How did you get involved with the kind of materials that you use in your sculpture? 

To be honest, it probably begins with the fact that, if you want to make big things and don’t have any money, how can you actually do something for nothing? Especially with the Off Licence – Cash Only project, which is made from trash found around London – we weren’t going to spend any money on that because we were going to sell it for nothing. The Eros Torso vases was a similar situation, using found plastic barrels. I mean, I’m not saying I’m going to do this forever, but I like to think about where stuff comes from. It’s also about the concept of the work, and that the concept fits together perfectly with the materials. 

You’re in your final year at the Royal College of Art – has that experience impacted on the work you’re doing outside of the Masters? 

Yeah, quite a lot I think. To be honest, I haven’t been to school a lot because I’ve been busy, and I’ve been sad about that because the whole point of going was to have time to reflect and develop my practice. So for this past year, I’ve been spending a lot of time thinking and not necessarily producing, which is good because I came to the MA confused about what to call myself, in terms of the work and myself as a title. I think doing an MA in sculpture makes it easier because that’s sort of the label; sculptor. Also, London is extremely different to Copenhagen, and that’s been great. Coming from a place that has zero diversity, it’s amazing to be in London and seeing the way people work. In Copenhagen, it’s the easiest place to live – everyone’s has the same sort of ideas. So I think it’s extremely interesting to be involved in a community like RCA to see how other people are working.  

A lot of your work is in collaboration with Oliver Sundqvist, have you got anything that’s in the pipeline?

Not anything I can really say anything about. I mean, I had a long talk with the V1 Gallery that I work with a couple of weeks ago, and we agreed that I will focus this half year on my Masters. For the moment, I’m really into saying no, and I think that’s going to be playing a big part in things coming up. Say no: say no the market, say no to people, not just following along… 

As a young artist, being able to say no is quite a bold thing to do. 

Yeah, for sure. And I think everybody should do the same because I feel like commercial partners take advantage of young artists, using them as figures that they can put their commercial work up against. For the artist, it becomes sort of like peeing in your pants – it’s really nice when it happens, and warm, and then after, it’s a reality check: you showed yourself up and nobody else of value will probably want to work with you anymore. When I started out, I was having a hard time dealing with this. And, after a couple of bad situations, I’m not going to do that again. That’s not why I’m in this game, it’s not about that. 

Credits


www.frederiknystruplarsen.com
www.instagram.com/ok.international
www.instagram.com/offlicense_cashonly
Words · ELLIE BROWN

Designers

  1. Artemis Tears
  2. Floor Standing Pedestal Champagne Bucket Cooler
  3. Folding Electric Scooter
  4. Firechief Pressure Water Fire Extinguisher
  5. Gold Plated Family Portrait Frame
  6. Japanese Army Sword

Darby Milbrath

“I see my art as a collaborative spiritual practise”

The significance of the theater in Darby’s art practice began in childhood and later into a profession as a contemporary dancer. Her commitment was primarily to the technique of the late pioneer, José Limón, which is based on the falling and recovering of a human body. It explores the adaptability of a body in space, indulging and resisting the polarities of high and low, swinging from one extreme to another like a pendulum. The tension and duality of these echoes in the complexities, miseries and beauties of human life as a trope of Melpomene and Thalia, the theatrical masks of tragedy and comedy. In this dance, bodies are instruments in an orchestra, working alone or in solidarity, suspending and releasing, giving and taking, descending and ascending. The cyclical nature of ebb and flow, death and rebirth are ongoing themes explored in Darby’s paintings which express empathy, sexuality, sorcery, womanhood and ceremony. Her paintings are intimate and confessional self-portraits of her life as a young woman. A mystic, Darby believes her work is a collaborative process with the spirits and a parting of the veils between the realms.

When did you start painting and creating?

In childhood I began as a dancer. After training at The Winnipeg School of Contemporary Dancers, I continued dance and choreography professionally. In the last three years drawing and painting have become my primary focus.

How do you find the balance between the vision you have and the mediums you are using?

My work is a practise of letting go of my own ideas and expectations so that I can listen to the guidance of the spirits and my intuition. I see my art as a collaborative spiritual practise. By painting and studying everyday I hope to better understand my mediums so that I can more skillfully and freely denote without doubt.

What inspired your style of work?

As a dancer I understand line, movement, expression of emotion, harmony and music, all which inspire my painting. I was immersed visually with female bodies in motion, on stage, backstage, in costume, in the nude and in a myriad of emotions for most years of my life. These images still permeate into all of my drawings and paintings. My flat backgrounds are inspired by theatre stage set designs. Theatrical elements such as the colours and textures of stage curtains and costumes, masks, props and lighting as well as the mystery, drama, superstition and magic of the theatre often come to play in my paintings.

Where do you get inspiration from? Are there any particular artists, photographers, painters or designers you look up to their works?

I’m currently looking at works by Odilon Redon, Marc Chagall, Edvard Munch,  Raoul Dufy, Emily Carr, Van Gogh and  Édouard Vuillard for inspiration.

How long does it take to create a piece? What is the process being it?

The time fluctuates depending on my emotional state and level of resistance. A painting can take as little as one hour and as long as half a year. I approach a canvas similarly to performance which is very ritualistically and superstitiously. The canvas which I stretch and prepare myself is done and ready on an easel. I will often burn herbs and rub oils onto the backs of the paintings and myself for luck. A candle is usually lit. Always I paint to music. Always I physically warm up my body so that I’m loose and present. I paint from memory and imagination, without a plan, reference or sketches, so I try to be as open and physical as possible to avoid fear or judgment to cloud my sense of intuition and play.

Would you say that there is a main thread connecting all your artworks and if so, which is it?

My work is diaristic. I am the thread connecting the artworks. Femininity, nature, mysticism, and dance are all very strong themes in my life and painting. I am deeply connected to my childhood which was spent on the West Coast gulf islands in Canada where the nature is overwhelmingly wild, fruitful and erotic. Since childhood I have had visions and hauntings of ghosts and spirits. Mysticism and magic are embedded into all my works. I am closely knit with my sisters who I paint metaphorically in nearly every painting. Sisterhood and expressing the lightness/darkness of being a woman is an ongoing theme in my work. All of these elements weave and dance together on the stage of my canvas.

 

What kind of talks would you like to hear around your artworks? 

I need to stay present in the process of creating rather than in the consequential conversations of the work that is finished. I need to just keep going on in the dark, forward.

Designers

  1. Mirror
  2. Women in the Field
  3. The Fortune Teller’s Tent
  4. The Flowering
  5. Fruits Of Paradise
  6. Red Moon In The Orchard
  7. Dancers in the wings

Yoann Bourgeois

“The relationship with physical forces has an eloquent capacity that can be very big; it has the kind of expression that is universal.”

Online footage of performances choreographed by Yoann Bourgeois, such as the 2014 piece, Celui qui Tombe, can be disorientating to watch. Six performers navigate a suspended platform which moves and tilts at varying, and at times, uncompromising, angles. At first, the six are disengaged from one another but, as they become increasingly restricted in their movements, begin to interact as a group. At moments, members of the group fracture off, only to realise that they cannot go it alone; at one point, the six appear increasingly discombobulated as Frank Sinatra’s My Way plays eerily in the distance. Celui qui Tombe becomes, like many of Bourgeois’ performances, the universe – society as a whole – in a microcosm. There is something quite fantastical about Bourgeois’ work, as is the case in La mécanique de l’Histoire, an instalment at the Panthéon in Paris in the Autumn of 2017 – the third edition of the annual ‘Monuments en mouvement’ event organised by the Centre des Monuments Nationaux. Within the interior of the Panthéon, a series of separate performances take place simultaneously; like the dancers in Celui qui Tombe, these performances are detached, but not unconnected. In front of François-Léon Sicard’s monument to The National Convention, four performers, clad in grey, climb a spiral staircase, each taking turns to fall off the steps onto a trampoline enclosed below within the rotating structure; which, in turn, springs the fallen performer back onto the staircase. Ad Infinitum. 

Nothing is left to chance in Bourgeois’ work – not the choice of the four figures in grey who, from, from a certain angle, seem indistinguishable from Sicard’s figures, nor the precision of each movement. For Bourgeois, who was trained in circus art at the prestigious Centre national des arts du cirque, it is our relationship with time, space and the physical forces that is central to his practice. His performances unsettle the equilibrium and, often, induce a sense of vertigo, but it is through this process of exploring the constraints of the physical forces that our humanity is brought to the fore. Though it can be almost reassuringly soothing to watch as a figure repeatedly falls and rises on a rotating structure, it also brings to mind an endless stream of questions.

Namely, given the importance of site specificity in Bourgeois’ work, can watching footage of performances of La mécanique de l’Histoire come close to capturing the overall experience? The question of recording presents its own set of rules, Bourgeois believes, as different mediums present different possibilities; ‘I think, if we try to transfer living art into video, we will only be disappointed, but that goes both ways; things can appear in the video that aren’t possible to see in real life.’

How did you develop your practice?

It starts with where my practice came from, as a child who had this desire to never stop playing. There’s a moment when a child chooses a direction, as part of growing up, and that is a step that I never managed to take. Fortunately, I found the circus, which allowed me to remain undisciplined. Within circus, I realised that what really resonated with me was the relationship between physical forces. Of course, circus isn’t just about this but, personally, I wanted to be able to make closer contact with these forces. So, I worked with a team to build structures that would enable me to research the interactions that we have with the physical forces. 

What is the relationship between the body of the performer and the structure of the set? 

I would call it a device rather than a set; it’s through this device that the individual becomes a subject. The devices amplify specific physical phenomenon. In science, we’d call them models – they’re simplifications of our world that enable me to amplify one particular force at a time. So, the individuals, when they become the subject of these particular model worlds, they are able to engage with forces in a new context. Together, this ensemble of devices, this constellation of constructed devices, tentatively approaches the point of suspension. And so, this makes up a body of research; it’s a life’s research that doesn’t have an end in itself. 

Is the space that surrounds a device important to the overall performance? 

Yes it is; all the performances are site specific, so when I talk about ‘suspension’, that also involves the relationship that the device has with the environment. As such, the art work is poetically enhancing the environment, and vice versa; the environment is poetically enhancing the device. I’m looking for something that works both ways, and it’s also through this that I’m looking for the point of suspension. 

La mécanique de l’Histoire, performed at the Panthéon in Paris, embodies that relationship between the device and the environment – would you be able to explain the concept behind that work? 

So, it was following the same line of enquiry as global research into the point of suspension. The Panthéon is emblematic of our history, and so I wanted to make something that would be appropriate to that space. It’s a place that embodies the footprints of our history, a history that is both eventful and full of conflict. So I presented a series of devices which could be seen in 360 degrees; the audience could move around the devices because they were all placed in spaces that would allow for that circular movement. In the centre of the space, there was Foucault’s Pendulum, a device which, in the nineteenth century, provided tangible and visible proof that the earth turns.  At the heart of this work was this fascination with movement. 

What is the relationship between physics and performance?

The relationship with physical forces has an eloquent capacity that can be very big; it has the kind of expression that is universal. This is something I look for through my work, because the physical phenomenon is something that happens across cultures. 

Are the costumes of performers important or secondary in a performance? 

No, the costumes are actually quite important for exploring the relationship with the physical phenomenon. The costumes help to create something concrete. I’m trying to make our humanity visible, it’s not about being a specialist acrobat or a dancer. I’m playing with the most elementary gestures of our daily lives – like, just standing up, for example. The costumes work to enhance this elementary simplicity that I’m looking for.  

How do you want viewers to engage with your work?

I think it links a bit to the previous question, in the sense that I’m trying to generate empathy from the audience. The essential question is one of relationships, I’m considering the idea that, as beings, we are about relationships. A performance is something that only exists through the relationships of the present; it exists only here and now. Something that is extremely important to me is seeing our relationship with the universe, in times of ecological catastrophes, looking at our relationship to the earth. And it’s here that the poets have their role to play. 

Credits

Photography GÉRALDINE ARESTEANU
www.instagram.com/yoann_bourgeois
www.instagram.com/celuiquitombe

Designers

  1. La mécanique de l’Histoire (All photos)

Shaquille-Aaron Keith

“I like emotions, they should always be the centre point of anyone’s art form”

Shaquille Keith credits his mum for being the drive behind his creative output; as a child, she would always make sure a young Shaquille had the tools – pens, pencils, paper – to draw with. But it wasn’t just art that she encouraged Shaquille to pursue; ‘she made me play the trumpet for eight years. These are things that I’m so grateful for, even if I wasn’t at the time.’ Those formative experiences have helped Shaquille get to where he has today, as a painter and a poet; he attributes the rhythm that helps structure his poetry to learning the trumpet. Many people familiar with Shaquille will know him as one fourth of PAQ, the YouTube streetwear show that he started with friends Danny Thomas, Dexter Black and Elias Riadi in 2017 when they were all on the cusp of their twenties. The show, which carved out a space online to passionately discuss men’s fashion, without the pretence and sincerity that often comes with the territory of high-end and streetwear gear, is an unequivocal success. To date, the show, which airs every Thursday, has over 84 million views and not far off 800,000 subscribers. Shaquille, himself, has nearly 275,000 Instagram followers, and shots of him wearing an array of covetable attire – including campaign shoots for some of fashion’s biggest names – are interspersed with his paintings, his poetry and other musings about his creative process. The success of PAQ can be attributed to how personable its hosts are, and the same applies to the kind of inclusive community that congregates on the comment section of Shaquille’s Instagram posts. At this point, Shaquille has reached a level of success that many can only dream of, but it’s clear that this is only the start of where he hopes to eventually get – with dreams to take his painting and poetry to new heights.  ‘Oh the artist, Shaquille Keith, did you see him in that music video with – I don’t know – Drake?’ he muses in our conversation; ‘Did you see the artist Shaquille Keith acted in that new James Bond movie?’ There’s little doubt, however, that, when that day comes, Shaquille won’t share it with his PAQ peers, his online fanbase and, most importantly, his mum. 

To start with, when you’re creating your artwork or poetry, what inspires the direction that you take? 

I would say it’s all about how I’m feeling at the time. In my experience, I find that, if I’m talking, it never stays in the person’s head. I always feel like, when you go to a concert and see the way fans know all the lyrics, they’ll say, ‘I love this song so much because it resonates with me especially when,…’A four minute song resonates better than a 30 minute conversation, so that’s why I like to write poetry. And when it comes to painting, it’s about the idea of identity and how I feel. When you’re trying to explain how you feel to someone, they don’t always get it. But, sometimes, when you do a picture that’s more than just a pretty picture – something with meaning – and you give it a title that reflects how you feel, and the image depicts how you feel, I think that can communicate it a lot better. Whenever I create an image, or put pen to paper, I would like to think it’s always for the purpose of communicating something important. And it’s also for reassurance that, whatever I’m going through, I’m not the only one. Sometimes it can be daunting when you’re going through something and you don’t have anyone to really talk to about it. I’m grateful to be able to put my work out there and have enough people see it and say, ‘actually, I’m going through this too.’

I think it’s quite interesting the way you share your poetry online; posting photos of handwritten poems is quite a personal thing to do. What do you hope people reading your poetry in this way will gain from that experience? 

I can’t lie, my handwriting is absolutely shit, but I don’t mind it because I feel like, that’s what my aesthetic is. Sometimes it looks good, sometimes it looks bad, but I really like to think people would read it if they can make out the words. I like to think people do read it straight from the book because if you do that, it’s more raw – which is why I want to make my own poetry book, with the pages of what I’ve written with a type out on the back so you can read it. I would rather people read from the actual book itself, rather than just reading the caption if I’m posting on social media.

You’ve got quite a big social media platform for people to engage with your work. But, as an artist, what role does sharing your work have for you?  

I don’t rely on my social media to define my work as such, but I guess the role it’s played is that I’m able to get immediate feedback from people. Until you share a poem or a painting, they’re pretty much done for yourself. If I’m writing something, I’m pretty much talking to myself, and then when I share it, I’m putting it out there for people to engage with so I can understand what they take away from it. So I think the one good thing about social media is that it allows me to see what people think about my work, who it’s for and whether it’s for everybody. When I get comments from people saying, ‘you know what, I’m not into poetry, but I like your shit’ – that makes me feel good, that’s kind of inspiring. 

Do you think you would have been able to get to the place you have with your art without other platforms that you have, like the YouTube channel PAQ? 

The thing about PAQ, and not a lot of people know this but, with the very first episode of PAQ – before we even knew what it was going to be – was my idea. So obviously, all four of us got together with the idea of making a show and everyone came up with good ideas for the first episode but in the end we ran with the one I offered and I think, that alone, is testament to what I wanted to do creatively anyway. I feel like, if I didn’t have PAQ, in another reality it would have been something else – or, my art itself would have been the platform. But I’m so grateful for the PAQ platform; it’s something that’s completely different, something that’s not been done before. And I do feel like it’s given me access to things, particularly in the fashion world, that I wouldn’t have had access to before. PAQ has enabled me to find more interesting ways to mix art and fashion, which also contributes to my other stuff.  

Something that strikes me about your work is that the emotion behind it is really important; is communicating that emotion as central to the artwork itself? 

Yeah, 100%. In art, whatever platform it takes: music; movies; literature; whatever – if it doesn’t move you then, in my opinion, it couldn’t get further away from an artwork. Art should essentially be made up of raw emotion. Things that are very bland, where you don’t know much about the artist and what they’re thinking, aren’t for me. There are other artists that I’m not really interested in, like sometimes Jackson Pollock’s work – it doesn’t always interest me. It’s very contemporary, but just not the style of art that I would have in my house because it doesn’t represent how I’m feeling. I like emotions, they should always be the centre point of anyone’s art form.  

You’ve touched on this a little already, but what ambitions do you have for your work in the future? 

When everyone talks about my stuff now, they call me a presenter. Also, I hate people calling me an influencer; I’m like, ‘bro, I’m not an influencer – please don’t call me that.’ I want to do what I love as a lifestyle, but also redefine the respect that painters get. It’s like, I always see hip hop stars, actors, presenters at fashion shows – I’d love to get invited to all these things with my main title as ‘artist’. That’s the kind of respect I want for painters, because I think there’s a lot of talented people, artists, poets working at a level of quality that I appreciate. I’m grateful for the fact I’m able to do PAQ, but grateful for my artwork because that allows me to blend the two, you know? So, that’s pretty much the goal: to redefine the level of respect for artists everywhere – and also for the black community as well. I feel like the black community is constantly left out of the art world. I mean, it’s a very tough world for black people to get into, but I believe that we’re in the right time, in the right generation, to make that change. So, I would love to be one of the people that spearheads that as well. 

I think that’s a really valid point – I think you can definitely see in the fashion world, it’s opened itself up more to include more people, but art is still quite closed off. I guess it’s easier to say, ‘I’m into fashion’ than it is to say ‘I’m a poet.’ 

I feel like it’s going to be a mission, but I’m willing to do it.

It’s going to be fun too; a lot of ups and downs, but it’ll be rewarding in the end. 

Tiffany Nicholson

The Wonders We Seek are Inside Us

Credits

Photography · TIFFANY NICHOLSON
www.tdnphoto.com
www.instagram.com/tdnphoto

Aëla Labbé

Apparition Disparition

Apparition Disparition is a series of photographs that belong to a larger multi-disciplinary ongoing project called MOSI (meaning moss in Icelandic). MOSI was initiated in 2016 by french photographer Aëla Labbé and icelandic choreographer Bára Sigfúsdóttir in collaboration with norwegian composer Eivind Lønning and french performer Stéphane Imbert. Body, space, instincts, nature, flesh, soil, sound, rock, breath, softness, matter, water, presence, time, landscape, air. In search of connections between what is visible and invisible.

Apparition Disparition was created in Mývatnssveit, Iceland during May/June 2016 and July 2018.

Mary Elizabeth Ford

“Whatever someone thinks is out of my control, and I like it that way”

When did you start drawing and creating?

More intentionally, about 4 years ago.

How do you find the balance between the vision you have and the mediums you are using?

The vision I have is always so rough. I’m a moody person and because of that, I make things on a very emotional basis. I don’t quite set out with a vision of what I’m going to make. It just sort of happens. The mediums honestly differ by whats in front of me, or how much money I have to make something. When I started doing wire faces I was just too broke to buy paint and I had a lot of dry cleaner hangers, so I started furiously bending them. Most of my paintings on paper, are on really crappy paper because I don’t plan ahead and that’s usually whats lying around. So, it changes frequently and there is no method.

What inspired your style of work?

I don’t know if I can really control the style I have. I don’t even know what style it is, but every time I try to do something that doesn’t feel like me it really bleeds through and I have to scrap whatever I was trying to be.

Where do you get inspiration from? Are there any particular artists, photographers, painters drawers you look up to their works? 

The environment that I’m surrounded by plays a huge part in what inspires me. What I’m feeling, specific colors, where I live, structures, and personalities all play. Without thinking about it too much, Basquiat, Helen Frankenthaler, Vivian Maier, Kindah Khalidy, are what come to mind immediately. It really varies. I really lean towards following and getting inspired by people that have very different styles or approaches to me.

How long does it take to create a piece? What is the process being it?

Time varies. The process differs too. I tend to have an idea of what I’m feeling drawn too, go with it, hate it, rework it, like it, again and again, until it feels good, lots of layers. I’m a goddamn onion.

Would you say that there is a main thread connecting all your artworks and if so, which is it? 

I don’t know. I definitely get emotional with all my pieces. Maybe that bleeds through or maybe it doesn’t. But, I guess the main thread is I don’t hold back from all the things I want to make or how into it I get, so they are very honest to who I am and I guess I really hope that translates to all mediums and works of art that I do.

What kind of talks would you like to hear around your artworks? What kind of conversations would you like your artworks to spark?

You can not control what people say. If you make a thing and it’s out in the world, you cant get mad if someone feels differently about a piece than whatever idea or intention you had. I definitely put language to a piece after it’s done, not the other way around. Which is for context, not the only way it’s to be thought about. I don’t want to manipulate anyone’s thought process when viewing my work. I guess all I could hope is that someone felt something and wanted to talk about what that feeling is or lack of feeling they have about it. Providing a thing that encourages conversation is really what I want to happen. Whatever someone thinks is out of my control, and I like it that way.

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