Eric Fischl and his painting Sign of the Times. Image courtesy of Maryam Eisler

Internationally acclaimed American painter, Eric Fischl is not only creating some of the most iconic and of-the-moment works of art, but he is also developing and nurturing a cultural community in Sag Harbor. Here, Fischl speaks to LUX’s Chief Contributing Editor, Maryam Eisler, about the importance of community and its effect on his own oeuvre

Maryam Eisler: The support that you have given your immediate cultural community (Sag Harbor) is notable. How and why did you and April (Gornik) decide to take such active roles in the town’s cultural initiatives? Was it a Covid decision or did the idea burgeon before?
Eric Fischl: It started prior to Covid. My wife April and I were working with a group of people to buy the cinema back in 2014. We went through some very difficult negotiations, and then there was a fire that destroyed the cinema, which made it even more urgent to buy the building because it had lost its landmark status. We had to raise 8 million dollars. The big money, believe it or not, came from successful visual artists, musicians, filmmakers … signalling to me that this was a place where the artists had a say: “We want to have an impact in determining the quality of life and culture in this town.” Then The Church (visual arts centre) became available, and so we purchased that as well. Again, it was about trying to develop a centre of creativity for the community.

ME: Are you now able to see, feel and measure the impact of these initiatives on your immediate community?
EF: Yes. At The Church, we’ve been very conscientious of doing exhibitions which have both an international representation but a very local one too. We’ve certainly found that the local artists are not only grateful to be included in the larger conversation, but they are also stepping up their game to prove it. As far as the town is concerned, attendance at The Church is increasing, and people feel comfortable being there. In the summer, we have a kids camp, and the energy fits the profile of what a community centre should be all about. We’re very excited about that. We’re also in the process of fighting (and probably losing) a battle with big money developers who want to take over and determine the next life of Sag Harbor, without actually having any feel for the place.

Threading The Needle exhibition at The Church. Image courtesy of Maryam Eisler

ME: What are your thoughts regarding the artists’ relationship with this town?
EF: This is the first time where I thought there’s a real chance where the artists can actually gentrify their own place; there’s a shared feeling that ‘this is the kind of life and the kind of community we want to be a part of and want to nourish’. Developers use artists to attract investors, prices are pushed out of range, and the artists have to then move out. In this case, my hope is, at the very least, to establish artist residency programs that retain artistic presence, whilst enabling creatives to take part of the town’s everyday life, bringing in fresh blood, energy and ideas.

ME: In your own practice, you seem to dig deep into the American psyche, sometimes with an added layer of nostalgia, but I now sense an additional connection with the current political climate.
EF: Well it’s funny because on the one hand, the paintings have become very narrow in their focus, and local. Right now, various scenes are derived from this Halloween parade that takes place here called the ‘Ragamuffin Parade’ which I’ve photographed for many years. I’ve put together these weird scenes of costumed people, and in some, you feel the advent of Covid; some protagonists are in costume, some in medical masks, ironically. One scene looks like they’re coming back from war, on crutches and canes, or they’re just tired or something…

The Parade Returns, 2022 by Eric Fischl

ME: You have said in the past that the point of painting is to try and find the hidden truth so are you trying to do exactly that, at this difficult moment in time and history?
EF: These difficulties have just been compounding, and for us, here in America, the madness of the Trump administration and the way that it divided the country into such irresolvable anger, is something that hasn’t left the scene, even since he was voted out of office – so, we Americans are dealing with a constant pressure.

ME: Is there a permanent sense of malaise?
EF: Yes. How do you and can you get back from where we are now? To which you add a pandemic, further isolating and terrifying us all. That fear and isolation combined with the political anger has just presented an extremely tough time for us all.

The Church, Sag Harbor. Image courtesy of Maryam Eisler

ME: How do you reconcile your mission regarding your community work with your own art practice?
EF: I have to say that in our vision of implementing The Church, I didn’t quite realise how much positivity and hope people attach to the notion of community, its nurturing side, its playful side, its creative side. I’m personally not entirely capable of doing that within my own work; my work deals with more existential conditions, of missed connections and unsatisfied desires.

Studio wall. Image courtesy of Maryam Eisler

ME: And you’re still working through this? It seems to be a continuous process.
EF: Yes. I don’t know whether the goal in life is to work through it so that you are freed from it, or whether you just go deeper and deeper into it, because there’s a profound truth to the nature of life that lies within the process. How do you come to terms with it? I think I should write a piece for our local newspaper. At first, I was thinking about art as an expression of love, a desire to connect, a willingness to explore areas of our being that we don’t necessarily get to openly share… to try and work through stuff that way. That in itself is an act of love. Then you have a belief in your community, a belief in your society, a belief in being human. But it’s a complicated thing, because some people can actually handle a direct exchange of love. I can’t. I think most artists can’t. We have to triangulate.

The studio floor. Image courtesy of Maryam Eisler

ME: You’ve often said that you speak to a painting and that it speaks back to you. Do you paint with an end game in mind or is it an ever- evolving dialogue, until you know it’s ready for the world?
EF: You keep talking to the painting till it begins to talk back to you, and if it doesn’t talk back to you, then you haven’t found the point of the painting, and so you should just destroy it. But when it does talk back, you have to start listening to it, and it then tells you how to finish it.

Painting in front is titled Old Dog, behind is Ragamuffin Parade, both by Eric Fischl. Image courtesy of Maryam Eisler

ME: Talk to me about the old dog and the girl in this painting.
EF: Well, I was riding my bicycle and I saw this old dog in the water. It seemed happy. I was transfixed by it. The painting is about a moment between the old dog and a young girl. You can’t quite tell what her age is as you see her from behind, dressed in a sort of fancy-ish outfit, not exactly a summertime thing, a just-got-out-for-a-walk kind of thing. They’re just talking to each other, and the space has become dynamic between them, so maybe on some simple level, the painting is about age and youth, who knows…

ME: I love the idea that photography plays a role in your painting, a starting point at least. I also find your embrace of technology in general fascinating when it comes to your art practice. Can you tell me more about that?
EF: Yes well, I certainly don’t consider myself a photographer. It’s just a tool. The reason photography works for me is because everything is in motion, everybody is slightly turning, slightly blinking, slightly opening their mouths, slightly shifting a shoulder… whatever it is, a photograph lives life instantaneously. And if you’re creating narratives, you need animation, a moment where something is begging to happen, and photography allows you to capture exactly that. It’s become a huge tool that I’m dependent on.

It’s a blue which is typical of his work. Image courtesy of Maryam Eisler

As for technology, it’s not that I go out and embrace technology; it sort of shows up and then there’s curiosity about it, and if I manage to connect it to my body of work in some way, I do. It took a while to get the feel of the hard surface of the iPad and drawing on it, but there came a point where it became a fun sketch tool. The same goes with the VR paintings I make with Tilt Brush. There’s this strangeness that is both curious and entertaining with this new technology that forces me to figure out a new language of painting “effects” that is not too dissimilar to my other work – just a little more exaggerated and strange.

Deep in thought…Image courtesy of Maryam Eisler

ME: I’m interested in space and place. Do you have a sense of dialogue with or responsibility towards the artistic legacy of this area? Do you feel that you are continuing a practice that is indigenous to this particular geography?
EF: Yes, I grew up on Long Island so there’s a familiarity. I’m definitely out here to experience the art, not to play around or eat ice cream! It turns out that there is quite a history of American art which is connected directly to this landscape- the abstract expressionists for example. A lot of it is directly connected to the quality of light, unique to this place. It has to do with the flatness and thinness of the land and having bodies of water on all sides, creating this kind of refraction, a full-spectrum light, different from most other places. But I don’t paint from life, so other than enjoying the light and being wowed by it, that is not why I’m here. That would be the safe answer. Let’s not forget that we are also only two hours away from the city. This is also where the money is, where our friends are … these would be the more honest reasons to cite for why I and most other artists are out here.

Sculptures greeting you as you approach Eric Fischl’s house/studio. Image courtesy of Maryam Eisler

ME: A much lesser poetic explanation than I would have hoped for, perhaps!
EF: Exactly. Everyone wants it to be because of some kind of inspiring thing, but you know, this is also the first time I’ve referenced this particular location in my work. In the past, I was painting as if I lived elsewhere. A lot of people in fact thought that I lived in California.

ME: As you approach your property, the first thing you see, is this sculptural grouping of human figures amidst the tall grass, as if spying on you, magical and awe – inspiring.
EF: Well, thank you for feeling that way. I make sculptures from time to time; they’re not a particular focus of mine. I enjoy doing them when I need a break from painting or other things. The reason I connect to the sculptural form is because it comes from a different part of my body and brain, and that’s of interest to me. There are memories and knowledge that your hands have stored that you cannot access from your eyes. It’s the touch itself that triggers feelings; memory that creates experience.

Entrance of the studio with Eric Fischl’s sculpture. Image courtesy of Maryam Eisler

ME: So, is your own hand at play when it comes to sculptures, in the same way as it is with your paintings? It seems that your own physicality has presence in all your art forms- a rare practice these days.
EF: Yes. When I start any new work, I don’t know what I’m looking for so how can I possibly get other people to do it for me? There is also a great amount of pleasure and satisfaction in the act of making art, even when it is frustrating. The difference between painting and sculpture for me is that you mainly commit to whatever you’re sculpting way sooner in the process than you do with painting, because with sculpture you know that you’re making an armature, and so it gets hard to take that down or move it around. With a painting, on the other hand, you can paint over it, paint it out, or start all over again; so, you can spend more time in the discovery phase.

Image courtesy of Maryam Eisler

The other aspect of my practice has been about trying to reassert the body back into painting and sculpture. If you take Rodin for example, he was someone that absolutely believed in the ability of the body to express itself, no matter how painful or how dramatic or how erotic and lustful an experience, and that this body was able to express all these feelings and states of mind. That began to go away with modernism. The next sculptor of great impact was Giacometti. His position was different from Rodin’s. With him, the body was no longer able to express itself, but be expressed upon. For him, the body was more or less frozen with the anxiety that is eating away at it. So, we went from being able to express pain, joy, eroticism and anxiety to not being able to express anything at all, rather opting to internalise it all whilst allowing it to destroy us.

Studio interior. Image courtesy of Maryam Eisler

And then the body disappears for a while and when it reappears, it comes back as reproduction, body casting, silk screens, one step removed from the animation of the actual body itself. It becomes something that takes on a literal quality because when you’re casting somebody, you’re dealing with the specificity and limitations of individuals; height, weight and shape. The imaginative and distorting part of emotional expression disappears. Artists today prefer the representation of our bodies to be dolls and mannequins – both surrogate forms. As for me, I’m trying to find ways of keeping the physicality of the body in the forefront of our experience of our lives. In doing so, it becomes about truth, about who we are. We’re all in this container, trying to figure out the interface between our interior world and the exterior world, through this thing called skin.

As an artist, I strive to get comfortable with my need to answer these existential questions with my inability to resolve them. I see my role as an artist to witness and to record, creatively and imaginatively, the experience of life’s journey.

Eric Fischl’s exhibition ‘Towards the End of an Astonishing Beauty: An Elegy to Sag Harbor, and Thus America’ opens at Skarstedt, New York, on September 14 2022

Installation view of Looking Up, Helaine Blumenfeld’s exhibition at Canary Wharf 2020. Photo © Sean Pollock

Helaine Blumenfeld OBE is best known for her large-scale public sculptures whose undulating, ethereal forms evoke a sense of fragility and movement, transforming the environments into which they are placed. In the light of a major exhibition of her works at Canary Wharf, Digital & Art Editor Millie Walton speaks to the artist about working intuitively, the importance of touch and how public art brings people together

LUX: What’s your creative process like? Do you follow a routine, or need a particular atmosphere to create?
Helaine Blumenfeld: I think I have quite an unusual creative process which has changed in a few ways over the years, but essentially, it has always been a process of trying to coordinate what I am feeling and thinking with what I am doing with my hands. That has taken a very long time. Now, when I go into the studio, I am able to disconnect from everything that is going on around me. Francis Bacon used to say that to release that [creative] energy he would either need to be drugged or drunk or both, to allow him to enter into a kind of trance state. I can go into that state, happily, without drugs. For me, it is a state of being. I go into the studio, close the door, and I am there.

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I don’t really look at the work whilst I am making. I take clay and I just keep adding to it or taking away. I have no plan of what I am going to do; I have no drawings. I just communicate with it, and that is how I have worked almost from the very beginning.

I had been working on a doctorate of philosophy, and I could never find the exact words I wanted, but when I made the very first piece in clay, I just thought: ‘This is just incredible! Did I really just do this?’ It was a talent that I had never understood I had, and yet it was so clear. Every piece I made in those early days was a wonder to me and then, we moved back to England from Paris and during the move, some of the pieces got broken. I thought I’ll never be able to do anything like that again.

Now, I do not have that feeling; I see it more as a process. There is a communication between what I am in terms of experience, and the work, and if one piece is interrupted or breaks or collapses, the next piece will follow it.

Helaine Blumenfeld with one of her sculptures. Photo © Sean Pollock

LUX: You mentioned that you were studying philosophy – when did you start making art?
Helaine Blumenfeld: I always had these amazing dreams that I could never seem to translate. The only way that I knew was words, and yet, to have an incredible dream and then to use words is so bizarre because it is a completely different language. For a while, philosophy seemed like the right method for my expression, but I was never satisfied. When I discovered sculpture and began to understand what very simple forms could communicate, I decided I wanted to be a sculptor.

I think that being an artist is not just about having something to communicate, but also finding the right way to communicate it, and if you don’t, you can be frustrated. Discovering sculpture opened up the whole world to me.

Helaine Blumenfeld, Exodus V, 2019, Photo © Henryk Hetflaisz

LUX: Was lockdown a creative time for you?
Helaine Blumenfeld: Well my main studio is in Italy, so I have not been able to go back at all. In fact, because I had this very big show [Looking Up] in Canary Wharf, I was meant to go back before we had finished the installation to bring back two pieces that I had not quite finished, but my husband said not to go. It was lucky that he did because otherwise I would have spent the whole lockdown without my family.

In the end, we managed to get the entire show of 40 pieces up at Canary Wharf just two days before lockdown. The opening, which didn’t happen, was intended to be the day of lockdown. When I went back to Cambridge, I was suddenly aware of the virus and what it was doing, which I hadn’t been, and the first two weeks were very anxious. I thought I would have contracted it because I had been working with so many people, including one of my assistants from Italy who had come over, and whose wife had the virus. But after that period, and I think a few artists will tell you the same, it was one of the happiest periods in my whole life. No pressures from the outside world, no commitments, no engagements, no travelling back and forth to Italy, which I normally would do for two weeks here and two weeks there. I was with my husband all the time which I hadn’t been since the beginning of our marriage. And I had clay; I had all the clay I needed. I was working, and I have done more work in the period of lockdown than I have in the last three years I think. So, yes it has been immensely creative.

Read more: Confined Artists Free Spirits – artists photographed in lockdown by Maryam Eisler

LUX: Do you ever start a sculpture and decide to abandon it if it’s not working?
Helaine Blumenfeld: There are different ways of working. Someone like [Constantin] Brâncuși, who I admire enormously as an artist, was held back by his own sense of perfection. Each piece had to reach what he wanted, and it never did, so he would have to abandon and try again. He was tied to certain ideas, whereas I believe that each piece is as good as it can be. I work through the idea rather than trying to get it right in that particular piece. As I said, I never have a clear idea of where I am going or a vision that I need to achieve; the vision comes in the piece.

Helaine Blumenfeld, Taking Risks, 2018, Photo © Henryk Hetflaisz

LUX: That sounds very liberating.
Helaine Blumenfeld: In sculpture, the gesture can be completely yours. When I am working, I don’t look at what I’m doing I feel it intuitively as it happens. Very often when I am in Italy, I finish something in clay and I cover it and wrap it with wet cloth, and then when I go back, I have no idea what I am going to find. I have never seen it objectively or critically, I have just seen it intuitively. When I do unwrap it, then sometimes I will say  ‘Oh, that doesn’t work’, and I won’t go on with it. At that moment, I am really seeing with a critical eye. It’s like seeing your lover in another way from the corner of your eye or a different angle which allows you to seem them objectively for a moment. When I come back to the work, I am able to see it objectively, and at that moment, I know intellectually whether or not it is working.

It is a bit of a different process if I want to do a large piece, however, because when I am working, I have no armature or inner support system. If I had that I would know exactly what I was going to do because the inner structure would dictate what I was going to make. Without that structure, the sculpture is initially incredibly fragile and if it is going to last, I need to have it cast in plaster quickly. Then, when I know the forms, I don’t feel the same resistance to having an armature. At that point, I have an assistant who will mechanically enlarge the piece for me with a proper armature and leave it in a rough state for me to take over. It does happen when I think a piece is very good, but when the scale changes, it doesn’t work. I think that is a mistake that certain sculptors make, thinking that everything can be large when some pieces work better on a small, intimate scale.

Helaine Blumenfeld, Exodus IV, 2019, Photo © Henryk Hetflaisz

LUX: What role do you think public sculpture can play in urban environments such as Canary Wharf?
Helaine Blumenfeld: I think that sculpture, in general, in a public place, creates a private space for people to enjoy. In a way, it creates a space that people can claim ownership of. My idea is to somehow mediate between the personality and the mechanism of a landscape and to create something that is personal and that people can relate to. For example, my first public commission was in centre of a walkway, and I went around and had a look at how people used space. There was a gigantic sculpture there that people would walk around to avoid. Somehow the massiveness of it mirrored and competed with the architecture in a way. So, I decided to do a sculpture in five pieces, that people could walk in between and interact with that would be on a human scale, and it was such a success.

Helaine Blumenfeld, Fortuna, 2016, Photo © Sean Pollock

My piece Fortuna, which was put up in 2016, was originally meant to go to the new area of Wood Wharf. When it was finished, it was temporarily put into an area in Jubilee Park, and in a very short space of time, that area in the park was overwhelmed with people coming to interact with the sculpture. When word got around that it was going to be moved, people were horrified. That particular area was meant for changing exhibitions, but the piece remains there and people still go to see it.

Read more: American artist Rashid Johnson on searching for autonomy

Also, in that same area, there is a sculpture called Ascent. After lockdown when you could have groups of six, I went back to see the piece and they had made circles on the ground around it so people could sit in those circles and know that they were social distancing. On that lawn there were six different circles of people sitting. They obviously knew each other and they were celebrating something. I had gone there because wanted to photograph the piece. When I arrived, a man looked at us and said ‘Oh, I see that you want to photograph Ascent‘ which was amazing, that he even knew the name. He said ‘Let me show you the best view!’ He took me round to the side and in fact, it was my favourite view. My friend told him that I was the artist and he knew my name too. He announced to the group of people in their circles: ‘This is the artist’. Every person in that area stood up and clapped. It was like it had been an opening. He told me that he came to the sculpture every day and that it was his point of light in the darkness, it gave him some hope that things could be better. It was an amazing experience for me.

Helaine Blumenfeld, Flight, 2019, Photo © Sean Pollock

LUX: Speaking of intimacy, you’ve said before that you like people to touch your sculptures. Why is that important for you?
Helaine Blumenfeld: Oh, I think it is vital for people to touch the work. I think we do not touch enough in our society. So much of our feeling and experience comes from touch. As babies, our world  is all about touch, but we are are losing that. Very early on I had a show with people from LightHouse for the Blind, and all they could do was touch. You would be astounded at what people could feel from touching a sculpture, another level of understanding, from just their hands.

You can see that people are entering into the sculptures where the bases have worn away. I often ask the children who are sitting inside, ‘What are you feeling?’ And they say something like, ‘I am in a secret forest and I am protected from all the things around me.’  It is lovely to see how a sculpture encourages imagination.

Often at public exhibitions, whether it is in a cathedral or in Canary Wharf, I see people discussing with each other, and they don’t know each other. ‘What do you see in it? What are you looking at?’ Not only does art introduce a huge audience to beauty, it is also allows people relate to something outside of themselves, it introduces them to another realm. I think that is an incredible way that art brings people together.

LUX: One final question: what’s inspiring or interesting you at the moment?
Helaine Blumenfeld:  It is hard for me to use the word inspiration; I feel incredibly moved. When an artist dreams a dream that is so deep within his own being, it is not just his dream, it is not just his pain, it is universal. That is what I hoped I was doing before, it was coming from within, but much of what I am doing now is coming from without. I am thinking about how people are trying to connect at this time, to reach out and see the perspective of other people. There is a much greater effort because we are all in this together. It has broken down that sense of isolation which I felt was leading to the precipice. So instead of expressing something deeply personal, I am trying to feel something that effects everyone. I think that is where the new work is going.

‘Looking Up’ by Helaine Blumenfeld runs at One Canada Square until 6 November 2020 and throughout Canary Wharf until 31 May 2020.

For more information visit: helaineblumenfeld.com

The Silent Evolution (2009) by Jason deCaires Taylor, at Cancún Marine Park, Mexico.

Artist, diver and marine conservationist Jason deCaires Taylor creates mesmerising underwater art that draws divers away from delicate coral ecosystems and helps scientists study the effects of pollution. He speaks to LUX about his new project near the Great Barrier Reef

Jason deCaires Taylor

LUX: How do you ensure the materials you use don’t cause harm to the environment?
Jason deCaires Taylor: I’ve been researching materials now for around 14 years with artificial reef companies and universities and marine biologists to find the best metal for the job that doesn’t degrade and that is pH neutral, doesn’t leach any toxins into the environment and encourages marine life to grow.

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LUX: How does your work contribute to the ocean environment?
Jason deCaires Taylor: On a basic level my sculptures become artificial reefs designed to encourage marine life and create a habitat. We also use the sculptures to control tourism, as a way of drawing tourists away from fragile coral reefs so their impact can be minimised. Part of the process is changing the laws about how the sea is used in that area and to create marine protected areas. Also, most of the pieces have an environmental message behind them about themes such as global warming or ocean pollution.

LUX: How did you progress from being a diver to being a sculptor, marine conservationist and photographer?
Jason deCaires Taylor: It was a kind of a slow evolution. I studied to be a sculptor first. After that, I wanted to explore the world a little bit and so I became a diving instructor. I then decided that it would be ideal if I could try to combine my two interests and it just kind of evolved from there.

LUX: Your Molinere Bay Underwater Sculpture Park in Grenada has been listed as one of National Geographic’s top 25 wonders of the world. How did this come about?
Jason deCaires Taylor: That was my first project. I was living in Grenada teaching and diving and a hurricane that passed through decimated one of the bays and damaged all the coral. There was only one bay left pristine and so all the tourists were heading there and having a big impact on it. So, we needed to draw people away and that’s when I started producing artworks. I didn’t have a firm plan for it, I just thought I’d experiment for a year and see what happens. It became extremely popular and led on to bigger works.

Read more: How Gaggenau is innovating the ancient art of steam cooking

LUX: Tell me about the work you do with conservation organisations.
Jason deCaires Taylor: I have worked with the World Wide Fund for Nature and with Greenpeace on campaigns about ocean plastics and other issues. I have found the fact that the sculptures are dramatic and unusual means they’re good at generating publicity, so I’m able to smuggle in other stories as it’s not so easy to talk about some of these things.

LUX: You’ve started working with Gaggenau?
Jason deCaires Taylor: It’s quite a new relationship. They have a strong connection to the arts and often support artists. They contacted me a few months ago about working together and that was how the exhibition of work by myself and others alongside their designs came about.

The Coral Greenhouse (2020), Great Barrier Reef, Australia

LUX: You have a major ongoing project in the Great Barrier Reef. Can you tell us anything about that?
Jason deCaires Taylor: We have completed the first two stages, one of which is a piece called Ocean Siren. This work actually changes colour according to what the temperature of the reef is. It’s positioned just off the coast of Queensland, above water this time, standing on the water. It’s linked to a weather station on the reef and the figure, which is based on a local indigenous girl, changes colour as the reef changes and as the risk of coral bleaching becomes higher. The idea is that she issues a warning to an urban environment or to a coastal community about what’s happening to the reef. The other stage is a large underwater building called The Coral Greenhouse. We’ve been working with a group of marine biologists at probably one of the biggest marine science universities in the world, at James Cook University in Queensland, and also with the Australian Institute of Marine Science. We’re using this new building as a kind of underwater laboratory/art installation and we’re going to be planting thousands of different types of coral in this greenhouse and installing monitoring devices to see what the dissolved oxygen count is, to help keep tabs on what’s happening on the Great Barrier Reef.

LUX: It sounds like you do a lot of scientific research into these projects yourself. Do you have a scientific background or do you learn with each project?
Jason deCaires Taylor: I haven’t got any science education behind me. I’ve worked in so many places around the world and it’s impossible to be an expert in all of these different sites, so I work closely with local biologists. I also trained as an underwater naturalist when I was doing my diving course. I think I’ve learned what I do know by being underwater for so much of my life.

View Jason deCaires Taylor’s portfolio: underwatersculpture.com

Interview by Emma Marnell

This article was originally published in the Summer 2020 Issue, out now.

Building Bridges (at the Venice Biennale 2019) by Lorenzo Quinn

Italian artist Lorenzo Quinn has been commissioned to create artworks for the likes of the Vatican, the State of Qatar, and the Venice Biennale. Here, the sculptor speaks to Charlie Newman about poetry, the symbolism of hands, and durability.

Lorenzo Quinn

1. Can you talk us through your creative process from the conception of an idea to the finished piece?

Once I feel the inspiration, I begin by drawing a sketch of the idea. This sketch might change many times until I feel it is right. Then I make a model in my studio, this model could also vary from the sketch as I go. Finally, when I am satisfied with the model, we proceed to cast the piece in metal.

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2. How does your approach differ when you’re working on public art compared to smaller sculptures?

The approach is the same, apart from when we are considering a sculpture with large dimensions, we also have to consider the public safety implications, engineering and durability. We might choose different materials or different ways of constructing and engineering the sculpture.

3. What compels you to sculpt the human body, and specifically, hands?

I choose hands because I want to have a dialogue with the public, to have a conversation, and we have to do [this] through a common language. If I did abstract art, it would be a monologue, not a dialogue. The hands allow me to get closer to the public through a language that everybody understands and relates to.

Support by Lorenzo Quinn

4. Do you have a preferred medium to work with?

Metals, especially bronze because of its durability.

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5. You often pair poetry with your sculptures. How do you feel this contributes to the work?

I don’t conceive of one without the other. I need poetry to make the artwork or else it would be just a three-dimensional piece. I have always believed, nonetheless, that my sculptures need to go beyond that and into the fourth dimension, which is connecting with people and with the actual artwork. It’s about finding something beyond the physical, and poetry does that very well for me.

The Force of Nature I by Lorenzo Quinn

6. Which artists have been most influential on your practice?

The classic masters such as Michelangelo, Bernini, Rodin as well as Salvador Dali and my own father…

For more information visit: lorenzoquinn.com

Picasso and ceramic (owl) by David Douglas Duncan (Spring 1957), Villa La Californie, Cannes © David Douglas Duncan © Succession Picasso/DACS, London 2019. Courtesy the estate David Douglas Duncan

For a special exhibition at Vieux Chalet in Gstaad, Hauser & Wirth brings together ceramics and paintings by Picasso alongside a series of portrait photographs by David Duncan Douglas to provide a fascinating exploration of creativity, intimacy and space.

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Duncan himself was a renowned war photographer and photojournalist, who first encountered Picasso in 1956 when he  infamously rang the doorbell of La Californie, the artist’s home in Cannes. At the time, Picasso was in the bathtub and allowed Duncan to photograph him right then and there, leading onto a lasting friendship which granted the photographer unprecedented access into the artist’s creative processes. Over the course of seventeen years, Duncan took approximately 25,000 images of Picasso, documenting not just Picasso himself, but also his family and friends.

Battle between Claude and his father wearing Gary Cooper’s cowboy hat by David Douglas Duncan, July 1957, Villa La Californie, Cannes © David Douglas Duncan © Succession Picasso/DACS, London 2019. Courtesy the estate David Douglas Duncan

Pablo Picasso with the portrait Jacqueline à l’écharpe noire (1954) by David Douglas Duncan, 1957, Villa La Californie, Cannes © David Douglas Duncan © Succession Picasso/DACS, London 2019. Courtesy the estate David Douglas Duncan

Duncan’s photographs and Picasso’s artworks are displayed side by side throughout the domestic spaces of the chalet, emphasising the intimacy of the photographic perspective as well as the connection between the two distinct artistic mediums. In some of the images, Picasso is seen actively engaging with the lens whilst others are more candid, showing the artist amongst his easels, books, brushes and paints.

Read more: How Galerie Maria Behnam-Bakhtiar aims to inspire change

Bearded man’s head (1948) by Pablo Picasso © Succession Picasso/DACS, London 2019Courtesy Succession Picasso

The artist’s ceramics are amongst the most captivating works on display, as everyday objects such as bowls and vases are transformed into animal-like creatures through warped swollen shapes and dynamic painted lines. Seen alongside Duncan’s photographs, Picasso’s creative energy becomes even more palpable as does the friendship between the two artists caught in subtle gestures and glances.

‘Picasso Through the Lens of David Douglas Duncan’ runs until 28 February 2020 at Le Vieux Chalet in Gstaad. For more information visit: hauserwirth.com/hauser-wirth-exhibitions/26682-pablo-picasso-lens-david-douglas-duncan

A pregnant woman wishing her child to be beautiful must look at beautiful objects by artist LouLou Siem

Young British artist LouLou Siem’s latest solo exhibition entitled A pregnant woman wishing her child to be beautiful must look at beautiful objects at MAMCO Pavel Șușară in Bucharest centres around contagion, or more specifically the contamination and interplay of materials. Working chiefly in sculpture, Siem’s work delves into the realm of the macabre, presenting a perverse kind of beauty that’s born out of mutilation and sickness.

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The faces and objects Siem sculpts appear drowning in their materials, as if the work of the artist is less about giving shape to her own creativity and more about returning the material to its raw state. Throughout the exhibition there’s a palpable sense of struggle that’s simultaneously repulsive and compelling. It’s the struggle of the artist and her materials, but also of life and object. As the viewer confronts the rippling gold shapes seemingly erupting before the eyes, we are invited to more closely consider the value of artefacts and the processes of their making.

‘A pregnant woman wishing her child to be beautiful must look at beautiful objects’ runs until 3 November at Pawel Susara Museum of Contemporary Art, Bucharest, Romania. For more information visit: loulousiem.com

“Women of Venice (Femmes de Venise)”, 1956. Alberto Giacometti. Fondation Giacometti, Paris © Succession Alberto Giacometti, VEGAP, Bilbao, 2018

Alberto Giacometti, 1951. Photograph by Gordon Parks

Swiss artist Alberto Giacometti is renowned for his figurative sculpture and dedicated exploration of the human condition. His work, in my view, best represents the transformation of early 20th century philosophical thought from Freudian psychoanalysis to De Beauvoir and Sartre’s existentialism.

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The current retrospective at the Guggenheim Bilbao presents the evolution of Giacometti’s remarkable career through five decades, from his early surrealist heads to his rough, slender figures, characterised by their raw, layered process.

“The Nose (Le Nez)”, 1947. Alberto Giacometti. Fondation Giacometti, Paris © Succession Alberto Giacometti, VEGAP, Bilbao, 2018

One of the most fascinating aspects of the exhibition is the artist’s seemingly contrasting representation of gender. In Three men walking, for example, the figures are caught in movement or more specifically, stride, and whilst they are sculpted as a collective, the viewer is keenly aware of their individuality as they move in separate directions. By contrast, we might consider the stillness of the figures in Women of Venice or Four woman and a base; here Giacometti presents us with collectives which are stagnant to the point of seeming distant and un-relatable. There is a sense of fear and intimidation in these latter sculptures, but also of an obsession — an obsessive need to understand.

James Houston

“Alberto Giacometti – A Retrospective” runs until 24 February 2019 at the Guggenheim, Bilbao. For more information visit: guggenheim-bilbao.eus

“Walking Man I (Homme qui marche I)”, 1960. Alberto Giacometti. Fondation Giacometti, Paris © Succession Alberto Giacometti, VEGAP, Bilbao, 2018

“Men’s Heads (Têtes d’hommes)” ca. 1959 Fondation Giacometti, Paris © Succession Alberto Giacometti, VEGAP, Bilbao, 2018 Alberto Giacometti

Vulcain. Courtesy Musée Rodin. Photo by Jean de Calan

Auguste Rodin is best known for his sensual, turbulent sculptures, but he was one of those rare artists, like Picasso, who transcended category or definition. He created tirelessly, favouring realist depictions of the human body, which celebrated individuality and emotion – a distinct departure from dominant traditions of decorative, thematic artworks.

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The latest exhibition at Musée Rodin in Paris presents a collection of the artist’s cut-outs and drawings, providing a glimpse into Rodin’s experiments and artistic processes. On display are some 250 drawings (the museum retains over 7,500), 90 of which contain cut-out silhouettes.

Deux femmes nues de profil dont l’une est agenouillée. Courtesy Musée Rodin. Photo by Jean de Calan

In Rodin’s own words, his drawings are,  “the key to my work”, but whether or not they provide an enlightened perspective on his sculptures, they are powerful, energised artworks in their own right. Figures appear twisted, contorted, writhing against watery red backgrounds, whilst elsewhere paint seems to leave a ghostly trail of movements from the past.

Ariane. Courtesy Musée Rodin. Photo by Jean de Calan

La prière s’élève de l’âme du croyant, 1883-1889. Courtesy of Musée Rodin. Photo by Jean de Calan

“Rodin: Draw, Cut” runs until 24 February 2019. For more information visit: musee-rodin.fr

Installation view of 21st Century Women curated by Fru Tholstrup and Jane Neal at Unit London, Mayfair

Marking the centenary since some women won the right to vote in Britain, London’s newest Mayfair gallery Unit celebrates the work of female artists with a major group exhibition

21st Century Women at Unit’s new space on Hanover Square opened in the wake of new research from the Freelands Foundation which showed that although 66% of postgraduate arts students in 2017 were female, just under a third of artists represented by London’s major galleries were women.

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“Though significantly more women than men enter art school in Britain, only a fraction of these women continue to actively practice as artists beyond the age of 30,” commented the exhibition’s co-curator Jane Neal. “Nonetheless, a growing number of this minority of female artists are responsible for breaking new ground and contributing to the pioneering movements of today. It is high time that women artists attained greater visibility in the art world – and there is no excuse for discrepancy in price points between men and women in the primary or in the secondary markets.”

Maggi Hambling, Edge I, oil on canvas, 2014

We speak to two of the artists taking part in the exhibition; painter Anna Freeman Bentley, and sculptor and painter Maggi Hambling whose work was recently selected by Tracey Emin to feature in a exhibition by female artists from Deutsche Bank’s collection at Frieze London and Frieze Masters

Read more: 5 exhibitions to see in London this month + 1 to miss

Maggi Hambling, Trump, oil on canvas, 2018

Maggi Hambling

1. Do you feel that your work is interpreted in a particular way because you’re a female artist?
Certainly not!

2. Tell us about how the Trump oil on canvas piece came about?
I scraped all the oil paint off my palate, onto the canvas… this revolting coalescence embodies everything I feel about Trump.

Anna Freeman Bentley, Gathering II, oil on canvas, 2018

Anna Freeman Bentley

1. You’re a relatively recent masters graduate of art school, why do you think so many women train but less than a third of artists represented by major galleries in London are female?

I could answer this question with examples from my experience and my own reflections, but they can’t necessarily be applied more generally. In some ways I don’t know. I wish that the galleries just represented the best art that is being made today, and if that were the case then the gender split would be about 50/50. But in all honesty, I think we all know that the structure, like most other things, is built in favour of men.  There’s no one person or one thing responsible for it, it’s just the way it has been for centuries. But I do think that change is happening, it just takes a long time.

Read more: Whitechapel Gallery’s Iwona Blazwick on the power of education

2. Do you feel obliged to create art that promotes female empowerment?

No. I don’t think men feel obliged to promote a male agenda much when making their work. For me, to feel empowered as a women artist is not to push a female agenda but to just make my work with confidence and ambition.

Anna Freeman Bentley, Foyer, oil on panel, 2017

3. Your work explores the design, function and use of architecture and how this changes through time and the resulting state of mind that places engender. In light of the gender imbalance in architecture and construction, does your work explore inequality?

The primary interest of my practice is exploring psychologies of space and a sense of emotive potential evoked by certain interior settings. Therefore, for me, my work isn’t about gender and inequality. Having said that, I recognise that some of my subject matter touches on gender issues. But I don’t see my work as being politicised in that way. Ideas of tension can be read into the work but these are not limited only to inequality about gender, there is tension in economic inequality, historical and current use, as well as other dichotomies relating to the objects that fill the space.

’21st Century Women’ curated by Fru Tholstrup and Jane Neal runs until 31st October 2018 at Unit London, Hanover Square, London. For more information visit: theunitldn.com