LUX’s Chief Contributing Editor, Maryam Eisler, talks to friends and internationally acclaimed artists, Italian Michelangelo Pistoletto and Cameroonian Pascale Marthine Tayou about artistic dialogue, cultural roots and creative chaos

Maryam Eisler: I’m fascinated by this idea of creative duality, a dialogue which wouldn’t naturally come together. You have always said ‘one and one makes three… it is the fusion of differences’. How do you explain this? Why does it work?  

Michelangelo Pistoletto: It’s a perfect duality made of two antique yet contemporary cultures. All the elements that we have in the exhibition are made with these two cultures: one European, the other African. Although there is a long history separating these continents, there is a shared perpetual connection and aggression, a cultural, ecological and technological aggression. We live in a moment where we need to fuse these opposites, to produce a third phenomenology that I call ‘the third paradise’. 

Turin-born painter, Michelangelo Pistoletto, acknowledged as one of. the pioneers of the ‘Arte Povera’ movement in Italy, has a focus on reflections and mirrors across his work

ME: Pascale, I believe you’ve found inspiration in the words of Edouard Glissant; what are your thoughts on him saying that ‘the mixture of art and language produces the unexpected, this other space, this third paradise, a space where dispersion allows for connections, where culture clashes, where disharmonies, disorders, and interference become creative forces’.  

Maryam Eisler, photographer and LUX’s Chief Contributing Editor, photographs Pascale Marthine Tayou, Belgian-based artist with a focus on setting man and nature ambivalently together, to underscore the fact that artworks are social, cultural, or political constructions

Pascale Marthine Tayou: I think it’s about how you bring those elements together and finding what’s in between the lines. In terms of culture becoming a creative force, I believe a key part of my evolution was these elements influencing me while growing up. I didn’t know which path to take because there was so much confusion around my upbringing, so I had to find my own way to escape and survive. I never thought I was ‘making art’, but I’ve learnt a lot about my practice through connections and people’s opinions; I’m discovering myself through others’ eyes. For this body of work, I asked myself about the magic of form. I thought I’d find what makes these objects so special, maybe because they are so dark and it’s impossible to get through them. I thought of what I could do with transparent material, to try and catch the truth, but I went even deeper. More transparency means it’s harder to catch this truth; that is the meaning of life. There’s no answer, you must only express yourself.   

ME: You’re talking effectively about spirituality, a bit of philosophical death tying in beautifully with reflection, refraction and use of glass and mirror. Walk me through this use of light.  

MP: You see in this room we have black and white.  

The collaboration between Pistoletto’s multi-disciplinary, multi-voiced practice, and Tayou’s works, seeking to redefine postcolonial issues via the European experience, has been the rich source of creative dialogue.

ME: Yes, yin and yang! 

MP: They present the two opposites. Without them, we have nothing in between. There cannot be solely light or darkness, but together, they make a new world.  

PMT: They are like two borders. There’s always something between and that’s the mystery of creativity, trying to catch that. 

MP: But between, we have all the colours!  

PMT: Of course! The harmony comes from balancing both shadow and light. You are only visible because of both; that third paradise is in between.  

MP: The two extreme elements produce an explosion at the centre! Something chaotic, working towards harmony. The objective of the arts is to recombine with harmony. Art has always been in search of peace, and we are still trying to recombine these concepts.  

ME: Chaos and harmony, interesting words today. What is this chaos you talk about?  

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MP: To clarify, the chaos isn’t necessarily negative. Chaos is the only order possible, but we need to understand how it can be used to allow us to live in an advanced, spiritual way.   

ME: An interesting discussion in a world where everything isn’t in ‘orderly chaos’ necessarily.  

MP: Chaos is fantastic because everything is included within it; the universe is working by contrast. Despite this, it’s up to us to create harmony and dynamic balance.  

Both Pistoletto and Tayou express interest in materials and their significance within art, and both artists find that every point in the universe is a centre-point; there is not just one.

ME: Is this the power of art? Can life and politics replicate art?  

PMT: Art is a state of mind, like a group of people making soup. If two people had the same spices, water and tomato, they would make two completely different pots of soup. As we grow up and progress as human beings, we become more political. We go deeper into the traffic of evolution and learn about a life of confrontation, refraction and fragmentation, which we learn to deal with. Through art, we can share this.  

ME: Now we understand your chaotic journey, your chaos is a different kind, isn’t it Mr Pistoletto? 

MP: Not necessarily. We just have different approaches. Mine is more rational and his is more emotional. But from his emotions he grows a diverse dimension, amalgamating emotion and reason. Personally, I start with rationality. I try to research and give reason to the basic phenomenon of existence. That’s why the mirror painting shows reality without personal interpretation. Just as it is.  

Read More: Maryam Eisler: Confined Artists

ME: I find it very interesting that you’ve referred to these mirror paintings as a symbol of society, with each fragment representing an individual.  

MP: I included society, nature, day, night, time and space. While doing these paintings, I saw the universe concentrate on the infinity of the mirror. This is a phenomenon; its not something I decided. I had no feelings about it, nor did I want to have any. Finally, when I saw the real truth, I experienced the biggest emotion one can experience : that related to reason. I had the answer to my question.  

ME: At the end of the day, it’s about a collective memory, is it not? 

MP: In my work, there is Pistoletto, not as one, but as everybody. They are the author of my work, not just me. I simply raised the formula that includes everybody and everything. The mind has the power to bring images to reality; the mirror is the image of existence. While the image doesn’t know it exists, I know I exist. This is what is important: art has the capacity to interpret existence. 

Tayou’s work explores movement, changes, economics and the environment; the artist uses repurposed materials for a lot of his practice. 

ME: From this dialogue, what have you learnt from each other? This is the third exhibition you’ve done together? 

MP: I think there’s love between us, not in a romantic sense.  

ME: What about respect? 

MP: Love is a precursor for respect. Respect is not sufficient; one gets to it with sentiment.  

PMT: Personally, I think respect is something innate and platonic. For example, my father’s love for me is just that of a father’s love for his son, not because we are on the same level.  

Pistoletto’s iconic mirror images are photo-silkscreened images on steel. These works were developed in 1962, and represent Pistoletto’s interests in conceptualism and figuration. The reflective nature of the pieces force the viewer to become an integral part of the piece, as well as the gallery itself.

MP: I say ‘love differences’, which I mean literally; the Mediterranean is surrounded by cultures. Loving differences isn’t just accepting or respecting, but ‘loving’ goes further. Between two people, in order to create, you have to love. Nothing else.  

ME: This is possibly the most positive message we can project out there in the universe, precisely with this very recipe.  

Pistoletto and Tayou underscore the importance of friendship in spurring concepts, art and art theory in fruitful dialogues.

MP: Today, we share the human spirit; we have common ancestors from Africa, where the concept of humanity was developed. This spread North and South, to America and everywhere else. We are the first and last threads of history. We’re talking about the art of this very wave which unites all these ideas.  

PMT: Honestly, it’s not easy for me, coming from a continent polluted by the conquering European race. We might say that I am sold, as reality is rather conditioned by the material.  

MP: This reality means that we are conditioned to ask questions where there are problems. We’re not going to look for wealth elsewhere; we must redefine all of this. If I’m involved in this, art does not exist. It doesn’t interest me. What interests me are people.  

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This interview was conducted at Patricia Low Contemporary, Gstaad, in February 2024, during the exhibition ‘Alternative Centers‘, a dialogue show between Michelangelo Pistoletto and Pascale Marthine Tayou, which ran fro, December 26 to February 11 2024.

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Photogenic Painting, Untitled 75/31, Barbara Kasten. Copyright & courtesy the artist

Barbara Kasten is one of the most intriguing and influential photographic artists of the past 50 years. Born in the US before the second world war and initially influenced by the Bauhaus movement of the 1930s, her work seems to meld two dimensions into three and defy easy categorisation. In a rare interview, she speaks to Millie Walton about some of her techniques ahead of her postponed solo show at Kunstmuseum Wolfsburg in Germany

“I do not think of my work as abstract photography. My abstraction is a search for a fleeting moment in time when a nondescript, real thing is transformed and perceived in another state of being. By definition a photograph records reality. I use photography to capture a unique abstraction of perception which can only happen with the interaction of light. It’s about how materials interact with light and how light is so essential to the way that we look at the world.

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“Normally, my interest is in the material that I’m using and its properties so there’s a lot of controlling and experimentation, and that’s the initiating point for me. I make shapes out of these materials that have no representational value; they are basic geometric shapes, building blocks, which is where the relationship to architecture comes in. Everything that I build in front of the camera is not held together, it’s balanced on each other. I’m building something that looks like an object, but I don’t want it to look like an object so I cancel it with what happens when the light hits and the shadows create other objects that are fleeting. The shadows also become building blocks, but they’re not there so it creates this contrast between the real and the unreal.

Architectural Site 19, July 19, 1989, Barbara Kasten. Copyright & courtesy the artist

Architectural Site 17, August 29, 1988, Barbara Kasten. Copyright & courtesy the artist

Architectural Site 15, Whitney, 1989, installation shot with the artist. Copyright and courtesy the artist

Read more: In the studio with the radical New-York based artist Mickalene Thomas

“All of my work is in the studio so I can move the light to achieve a different perspective of the object, but I don’t move the camera. I build in front of it and because [the viewer] is large, I can look at it as I might look at a painting where if a shape is not in a compositional relationship to another shape that I like then I can go in and change it by moving the object or the light. In that way, it’s a very painterly organisation and composition that I create, but then there’s also the three-dimensionality of the sculpture that is a different experience to the three-dimensionality as it is translated to the flat surface. I think that’s one of the reasons why more recently I’ve been taking what I call the set-ups in front of the camera and treating them more like standalone sculptures. I don’t make a photograph, I just use the same kind of material elements and I allow the audience to see what I see before I go to the back of the camera because once I’m looking through the camera, it’s my point of view and it’s frozen in the moment. Now, I’m more interested in how I can broaden this experience so that other people see the discovery for themselves.”

Crown Hall, Artist City, 2018, Barbara Kasten. Copyright and courtesy the artist

Due to Covid-19, the artist’s solo exhibition ‘Works: Barbara Kasten’ at Kunstmuseum Wolfsburg has been postponed, and is expected to open later this year. For updates, visit: kunstmuseum-wolfsburg.de

View the artist’s full portfolio of work: barbarakasten.net

This article will also be published in the Summer 2020 Issue, hitting newsstands in May 2020.

‘Charline & Blanche’ (2019), by Viviane Sassen

Dutch artist Viviane Sassen is known for her visceral portrayals of the human form in all its beauty and frailty. Maisie Skidmore meets the Deutsche Bank Lounge artist for Frieze London this year to discover more ahead of her new photographic series set in Versailles

DEUTSCHE BANK WEALTH MANAGEMENT x LUX

Tucked quietly into the extensive grounds of the Palace of Versailles, on the outskirts of Paris, the historic Small Stables contain the Galerie des Sculptures et des Moulages. It’s a secretive institution, closed to the public except for special events, within which the Palace’s damaged sculptures are kept for restoration. For many, the rows of fractured alabaster bodies make for an eerie sight. For Viviane Sassen, discovering them was like stumbling upon buried treasure.

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“I started shooting the old sculptures, many of which were broken, missing hands, or legs, or arms, or heads,” she says, her voice quickening in excitement. The Dutch photographer’s masterful work has long distorted and elevated the human form, so the Galerie made for fertile soil when she was granted run of the Palace’s grounds to create a new series inspired by Versailles. The resulting work, Venus and Mercury, is on display as part of the Visible/Invisible exhibition in the Palace’s Grand Trianon until October 2019, when it will be reconfigured for Deutsche Bank’s Wealth Management Lounges at Frieze London & Frieze Masters. “It was amazing to see. Usually these bodies don’t have flaws, they’re beautiful, sculpted to perfection,” she says. “Seeing them in decay, ripped apart, or in storage with stickers on them…” It couldn’t be more appropriate given the illicit and often disease-ridden underbelly of life at the French court in days gone by. “I loved it.”

‘La Mauresque’ (2019), by Viviane Sassen

Sassen’s fascination with Versailles’ regal sculpted forms had been seeded long before, when her parents first brought her to visit the Palace at the age of 13 or 14. Then, coming from her small hometown in the east of Holland, its sensuality came as a pleasant shock to the system. “I vaguely remember being overwhelmed by its beauty, the very first time I visited Versailles,” she recalls. “I was especially drawn to all the nude sculptures in the gardens. I think it triggered my imagination on an erotic level; as a young teenager I was just waking up, in that sense. Seeing all these gorgeous bodies…” Her soft, clear voice still sounds somewhat awestruck. “And you’re allowed to look at them!”

‘Penicilline’ (2019), by Viviane Sassen

The human form has long been a source of fascination for Sassen. A sensitive and intuitive child, she was born in Amsterdam, but spent three formative early years in Kenya, where her father, a doctor, ran a polio clinic. Sassen grew up playing with young friends whose bodies looked profoundly unlike her own, marvelling together at their similarities and differences. Later, back in the Netherlands, when an adolescent growth spurt propelled her slim frame to just under six feet tall, Sassen’s curiosity with the body manifested in strange corporeal sculptures which she would create herself, standing naked in front of her mirror. Limbs contorted into unexpected shapes, and twisting torsos closely cropped, have been a recurring motif in her work ever since.

Read more: Spanish artist Secundino Hernández on flesh & creative chaos

Which, of course, serves to set Sassen apart from her peers in fashion photography – an industry whose primary occupation is to reify the human body, and a world she has deftly kept one foot in for many years. She has worked with Dior, Hermès, Missoni and Miu Miu, and has shot editorial fashion images for many magazines. All the while, her personal practice continues quietly but fervently, news of a new solo exhibition or book surfacing with stunning regularity.

‘Syph #01R’ (2019), by Viviane Sassen

How does she switch so effortlessly between the two? It’s a question of balance, she says. “To travel in a light and simple way in Africa with my husband and son, and two weeks later, to be in a studio shooting in Paris with a big team, with so many professionals. I feel very lucky that I’m able to go in and out of these very different worlds.” The two sides seem to maintain a symbiotic relationship, she continues; the fact that they are so unalike in nature doesn’t faze her. “I’m really drawn to opposites,” she says. Light and shadow; introversion and extroversion; heaven and earth; they all underpin her practice. She mirrors them in her character, even. “On the one hand, I am, like the Dutch generally, very blunt and straightforward, practical, pragmatic. On the other hand, I’m a dreamer.”

‘Occo’ (2019), by Viviane Sassen

Nonetheless, Sassen’s practice is rooted not in logic, but in emotion; it’s often only in hindsight that a series’ conceptual roots within her own lived experience becomes clear. Take, for instance, Umbra, a 2014 project about shadow and, more abstractly, a way to wrestle with the idea of death. “It was a kind of revisiting of my past,” Sassen says, softly. “My father passed away when I was 22. He ended his own life. That has been a huge influence in my life and also on my work. He was a doctor, and the human body as a form of expression – but also containing many ambiguities and paradoxes – that is always present for me somehow. In Venus and Mercury, it comes across again; the erotic, or the body as a sculpture, but also the decay. Fear of sickness, fear of death…

Read more: Art photographer David Yarrow on his image ‘The Unusual Suspects’

“But after I did Umbra, I had this urge to do something about life and fertility, and my own motherhood. Femininity and the organic, as opposed to the more masculine and the abstract.” Looking back, she can trace the origins of these ideas to their starting points within her own story, she says. “[But] when I start working on something new, I often don’t really know what it is about. Along the way it becomes clear. I think, ‘Oh, wait a minute, this has something to do with me!’”

‘Leïla’ (2019), by Viviane Sassen

Looking at her most recent body of work through this lens, Sassen has yet to determine the resonance of Venus and Mercury, which extracts five stories from the Palace of Versailles’ tumultuous history for examination in image form. The result is at once sensual and sinister, often profoundly poetic. But it’s vivid and experimental too; the images are punctuated with paint and pigment, multimedia studies of subjects, scenes, manuscripts from throughout the Palace’s past and grounds.

As is often the case in Sassen’s practice, the stories it tells were unlocked in part through the characters she cast to enact them. Stepping outside the Palace’s sprawling confines for lunch in a nearby Japanese restaurant, she met Leïla, a French-Senegalese teenager, who seemed an ideal candidate to disrupt the oppressive interior. “She was such a cool girl – she had these grey braids, she was wearing cool clothes, she studied psychology in Paris. So I invited her to be photographed at Versailles, and to bring her friends.”

‘Secret letter/pink’ (2019), by Viviane Sassen

The resulting juxtaposition: of a troupe of young women at ease in denim within the gilded walls, is irrepressible; a modern-day incarnation of the frivolity we can only imagine once took place there. “They went wild doing their own photoshoot while I was shooting them – on their phones, doing selfies, owning the place and themselves in it,” she continues.

Seen through Leïla and her friends’ eyes – and, in turn, through Sassen’s watchful lens – Versailles’ ornate monument to opulence becomes fresh, exciting and relevant once more. “It would be amazing, wouldn’t it, if they could gatecrash their predecessors’ party?” Sassen says, laughing. We can only imagine what Marie Antoinette might have thought.

‘Agias, Red’ (2019), by Viviane Sassen

HIDDEN HISTORIES

In Venus and Mercury, Viviane Sassen sheds light on the history of Versailles through five stories. Here, she shares some of the tales from the palace’s heyday that still fascinate her:

‘Code/Blue’ (2019), by Viviane Sassen.

1. “In the 17th and 18th centuries, Versailles and its gardens were full of prostitutes. There was a lot of syphilis. One of the signs that people had suffered with it was that their noses caved in to their faces, so they wore prosthetic noses. I was fascinated by the fact that all these people are long dead, but their noses are still there.”

2. “Historians still don’t know exactly what the relationship was between Marie Antoinette and her longtime friend Axel von Fersen – if it was purely platonic, romantic or sexual. They kept up a correspondence from when they met for the rest of their lives. Now those letters are in the Archives Nationales in Paris, where I photographed them. They’re written in code.”

3. “La Mauresse de Moret was a mixed-race child who was brought to an orphanage in the South of France, where she became a nun in a convent. She was supposedly the daughter of the Queen of France, Maria Theresa of Spain. The French court always denied it. Nobody knows exactly who her father was.”

4. “La Voisin was a kind of witch who lived in 17th-century Paris. She made potions. People in the upper classes went to her – she was very renowned. But later, she was convicted of poisoning people, sacrificing newborn babies to use their blood in Black Mass, and was sentenced to death.”

5. “In 1783, Marie Antoinette had herself painted by the female painter Élisabeth Louise Vigée Le Brun, who became a friend of hers. She painted her in a muslin dress, which was very modern at the time. But it became a scandal; it was too sensual.”

Viviane Sassen’s series ‘Venus & Mercury’ will be exhibited at the Deutsche Bank Wealth Management Lounges at Frieze London & Frieze Masters from October 2-6, 2019. For more information visit: deutschewealth.com

This article was originally published in the Autumn 19 Issue.

The artist Secundino Hernández in Venice, holding one of his preparatory studies for a larger palette painting

LUX Contributing Editor and photographer Maryam Eisler is entranced by Spanish artist Secundino Hernández. Here, she visits and photographs him on his residency in Venice to discuss inspiration and physicality in painting and the organised chaos of the creative process

Maryam Eisler: It is intriguing to hear about your visceral/carnal take on Venice; its tones and its ‘fleshiness’, as you call it.
Secundino Hernández: It was a coincidence. I only noticed it when I came here. I never had these memories about Venice before; I never thought about the colour of the buildings looking like flesh. It suddenly became evident as I looked out the window of my studio. I walk the city streets inspired, and I now combine the flesh tones by mixing them in the studio.

Maryam Eisler: What about the parallels with the work of L.S. Lowry?
Secundino Hernández: Yes, the palette! It’s amazing how Lowry developed his whole career with only five colours! The challenge is not to imitate, but to be inspired by his process. I have done this before with watercolours, based on Cezanne’s 14 colours.

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Maryam Eisler: It’s interesting that you’re taking a figurative approach to painting in Venice. It seems to me that you are very much about this yin and yang, constantly meandering between lightness and heaviness; between monochromes and colour, the abstract and the figurative.
Secundino Hernández: Yeah. Someone asked me once, after I was done with these black and white works: “What is next?” and I said, “Back to the body.” It was shocking but it was true. After the freedom of the abstract paintings, I needed to go back to the exercise of representation. The mentality changes with the technique. It’s a new, open field for me. This is the most exciting part of painting. It’s not that I feel obliged to do this or that, but I push myself to try something new all the time. That’s what makes it rewarding.

Maryam Eisler: You have taken an almost academic and art-historical approach to figuration; you even use a human model, although your figurative work is quite abstract.
Secundino Hernández: I want to explore how to paint figuration, after painting abstraction for a long time. It’s what I feel comfortable with. That’s why I paint with a model present and be academic in that way, but I always try to go a step further.

Maryam Eisler: So, you layer your work? You take all your past experiences, including the abstract, and layer it with the figurative. And then there’s magic…
Secundino Hernández: Yeah. I don’t move to figuration just for the sake of it. It’s about this inner exercise in order to see where the abstract works lead to. It’s like a mirror game. I want to test my abstraction, and for that, I need to have a reference, and that reference at this moment is the figure. This is the starting point for something new. The main thing is to open possibilities and new potential. I always thought it was easier to explain figurative work more than abstraction because abstraction is based on concepts, but I am realising that figures and bodies can also be very conceptual. We have seen the figure represented in paintings for centuries, so how do I paint a figure as if it’s being painted for the first time?

Hernández works with a live model to inform his figurative yet abstract works

Maryam Eisler: Going back to the language of the figurative and carnal, you often talk about ‘skin’ and ‘bones’, even with your abstract paintings. You scratch the surface of the painting like the surface of the skin and you dig deep into its bones.
Secundino Hernández: The pure linen is the bone because everything starts from this structure. I also like the idea of going backwards. It’s more like a sculpture, where you are sculpting and taking away from the form. Normally with a painting, you add to it. I like the idea of working with almost no paint at all, or even just with the primer.

Maryam Eisler: You talk about ‘scars’ and you’re interested in dereliction. I see it so evidently as we walk through Venice. Anything that peels, anything that’s scratched, anything that has weathered texture to its surface. Is there an element of temporality and or timelessness in your work?
Secundino Hernández: Yes, that is very much present at the beginning of the palette works. They are nice to admire, but for me, they’re about the memory of what happens in the studio – every day, the process, the passage of time. I used a clean brush and I started to mix colours and they started to grow and grow and grow. I like this idea of growth and subtraction because the works are like pendulums. Some are about adding, and others are about taking away. Everything happens in between and in the physicality of the paintings.

Read more: Louis Roederer’s CEO Frédéric Rouzaud on art and hospitality

Maryam Eisler: Speaking of physicality, your act of painting is very physical, almost performative. You also ripple between large and small-scale works…
Secundino Hernández: It’s demanding. I like it now, but maybe in ten years’ time I will not have this energy level. It’s about not repeating the same process, the same scale. So, going back to the body, I thought it was nicer to paint on a small scale because it is more practical and, in a way, easier to develop the idea faster.

Maryam Eisler: In both your abstract and figurative work, in the way that you use the power-jet, the steamer, in the way that you peel and scratch the surface of the canvas, it seems to me that there is an element of chance and creative fate.
Secundino Hernández: It’s all about fate, you know. I believe that it’s got to be that way, otherwise I would never do any of it.

Hernández is inspired by derelict surfaces and the ‘fleshiness’ of the colours in Venice, such as this peeling wall and rows of buildings

Maryam Eisler: Does the sublime play a role in your practice? Spirituality, or just trust in the universal powers of being?
Secundino Hernández: It’s about reflection. When you work every day as I have for so many years, there needs to be something meditative and spiritual in the process.

Maryam Eisler: Primal?
Secundino Hernández: Yes. I’m a very primal person [laughs].

‘Untitled’ (2018), by Secundino Hernández, rabbit skin glue, chalk, calcium carbonate, titanium white on linen, 276 x 249 cm

Maryam Eisler: You also go from monochrome palettes to a plethora of colours. Is there something emotive going on when you do this ?
Secundino Hernández: Actually, it’s about practicality. When I go to the studio, I start mixing colours and I work on these palette works which have no limits. If I get a bit overwhelmed or stuck, I go back to the palettes. The palette works are always there because their physicality enables the creation of other paintings. Without them, the others don’t exist.

Maryam Eisler: Coexistence and codependence? From peace to chaos?
Secundino Hernández: Yes, but it’s organised chaos. I’m not that chaotic, as you see in this studio. I’m very tidy. The surface of the canvas, on the other hand, looks chaotic because I tried this and I continued with that; everything is very well planned, most of the time. I even do small sketches to plan it all out in advance. Especially for the large canvases – because if you start painting a 5-metre canvas like a crazy monkey, it’s going to be a crap painting.

Hernández on a bridge near his temporary studio in the city. Above, on the roof of the Peggy Guggenheim Collection in Venice, overlooking the Grand Canal.

Maryam Eisler: You’re often compared to American Expressionists, such as Pollock.
Secundino Hernández: I think it’s fine, but I feel more comfortable with ‘slow motion’ Expressionism.

Maryam Eisler: Let’s talk about your studio and the lonely business of being an artist.
Secundino Hernández: It’s always a lonely business. Because right or wrong, you are the one and only final judge. And you have to trust yourself.

Read more: Spring Studios Founder Francesco Costa on creative networking

Maryam Eisler: How much work do you destroy?
Secundino Hernández: I try to be successful with everything. But if I do destroy work, I don’t think about it anymore. I learn from the failure and move on. Now, with age, something strange is happening. I sometimes struggle with my paintings and what I can’t control is the frustration. With age, your passion is meant to lessen. It’s not the case with me… it’s getting stronger every day, and I judge myself all the time. I always said there are no mistakes in painting. But how do you know when something is good or bad, right or wrong? It’s difficult. It’s about the relationship between your actions and what you present to the world. I guess I’m only human!

Maryam Eisler: Would it be fair to say that painting is about reality – your reality?
Secundino Hernández: Yeah. That’s the miracle of painting. With some dust and a little bit of egg, you paint something that never existed before. It’s amazing. This is the miracle of painting I think. Also, painting for me is a way of naively understanding the world. Here, with the act of painting, I see Venice with different eyes. I see its surface, its different skin colours and its many people.

‘Untitled’ (2018), by Secundino Hernández, acrylic, alkyd and oil on linen, 261 x 196 cm

Maryam Eisler: What does it mean to be a painter in the 21st century?
Secundino Hernández: I don’t really know what it means. But I want my paintings to age in a timeless way. I want them to still feel fresh and talk to you in 40 years. This is the whole point. I may be asking for too much. But that’s what I am trying now and always will. Now, more than ever, I’m getting very ambitious. This morning, I was reading an article about Rembrandt and it said that the difference between Rembrandt and his contemporaries was that he not only was a great painter, technically speaking, but that he provided the figure with a certain life and soul. And that’s why his paintings look alive, even today. This is the point. And I was wondering if Rembrandt was even conscious of this. Maybe he was simply enjoying painting or maybe he was suffering and struggling as well, but it’s nice that at least someone writes in this way about your work, 300 or so years later.

Maryam Eisler: And the role of social media in the life of a 21st-century artist? Unlike most artists, you’re not present on social platforms?
Secundino Hernández: I’m not on Facebook and I’m not on Instagram. I have no time for that. Once I went on Instagram and I saw that there were 2,000 posts with my name, then I calculated, if you spend one minute per post, that’s 2,000 minutes of my time, which means two days of my life nonstop doing this sh*t. I just couldn’t do it. I prefer to sit and do nothing.

Maryam Eisler: Is it actually important for people, especially artists, to do nothing?
Secundino Hernández: It’s very important for everyone to be bored. I’m even making big efforts to check my mobile messages once or twice a day only. It’s difficult. It’s like cocaine. I feel like my brain needs it.

Secundino Hernández is represented by Victoria Miro Gallery. His latest exhibition runs at Victoria Miro Venice until 19 October. For more information visit: victoria-miro.com

This article was originally published in the Autumn 19 Issue.

‘1989 Wandeling’, Luc Tuymans. Photo credit Ben Blackwell. Courtesy David Zwirner New York

Venice is gearing up for the Biennale with a whole host of exhibitions opening up around the city. One of the most interesting is La Pelle by Luc Tuymans at Palazzo Grassi, François Pinault’s gallery on the edge of the Grand Canal. The exhibition is extraordinarily wide-ranging with more than 80 paintings on display from 1986 right up to Tuymans’ most recent works. The title, which translates as ‘skin’ in English, takes its name from the infamously controversial novel by the Italian writer Curzio Malaparte, set in Naples at the tail end of the Second World War.

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War is a theme that permeates Tuymans’ work too, or more specifically the horrors of Nazism. The first artwork visitors come across is a giant floor mosaic of pine trees, based on a painting that the Belgian artist made outside a German labour camp at Schwarzheide. Vertical lines cut through the composition in representation of the way prisoners tore up their drawings to hide them from the guards. Overlooking the mosaic is a small portrait of Albert Speer, the chief architect of the Nazi party.

Installation shot from ‘La Pelle’ by Luc Tuymans,
Palazzo Grassi, Venice

Many of the artist’s works are based on secondary images, such as photographs taken from a television screen, YouTube or Netflix. Tuyman’s paintings favour bleached-out colours, giving the work a spectral quality as if the images are fading right there in front of your eyes. And the show is haunting in the sense that it will stay with you long after you’ve wandered back down the grand staircase and into the Venetian sun.

2015 ‘Isabel’, Luc Tuymans. Photo credit Studio Luc Tuymans.

‘La Pelle’ by Luc Tuymans runs until 6 January 2020 at Palazzo Grassi. For more information visit: palazzograssi.it/en/exhibitions/current/luc-tuymans-la-pelle/