Artist Shahrzad Ghaffari in front of her work-in-process at Leighton House. Photograph by James Houston

Leighton House, the former home and studio of British artist Frederic Leighton, was once a lively meeting place for artists and writers who would gather beneath the domed ceiling of the elaborate Arab Hall (named after the vast collection of Middle Eastern tiles adorning its walls) to converse and listen to music. Now, a major renovation, including the construction of a new wing, seeks to reestablish the house as a creative hub by inciting a dialogue between its Victorian heritage and contemporary visual culture through a programme of events, exhibitions and artist collaborations. Ahead of its reopening later this year, Millie Walton visited the museum to speak to Shahrzad Ghaffari, the first contemporary artist to be commissioned by Leighton House, and preview her work-in-progress

LUX: Much of your work is inspired by Persian poetry. How do you see the visual medium of painting interacting with poetry?
Shahrzad Ghaffari: Painting has been my passion since I was a child. Everybody always knew what to buy me: paper, crayons, paints. Then, slightly later on, I became interested in poetry and started to read a lot but the two came together when I was experimenting with trying to find my own style in painting, an honest way of expressing what’s within.

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Ghaffari at work. Photograph by James Houston

LUX: Oneness, your mural for Leighton House, is based on a poem by Rumi. What was your process for coming up with the composition?
Shahrzad Ghaffari: I started with the poem in mind, but the shape of the composition took some time to develop through sketching. That said, I had a clear idea of what I wanted to do when I walked into the space. I chose silver for the background, for example, because there’s a lot of gold in the old wing of the house and silver responds to that in a modern way. In a way, I think it also works as a kind of mirror, reflecting the heritage of the house just as the shape of the form mimics the spiral movement of staircase. The textured surface, however, makes reference to the notion of history. I built it up in layers of acrylic paint mixed with mediums, but nothing is scraped away. Each layer is applied on top of the next and has its own story. Then, the turquoise I’ve used for the abstract form is traditionally the colour of hope in Persian culture, but it also pays homage to the turquoise tiles in the Arab hall while the bits of burnt orange that you can glimpse through the background are supposed to represent the red bricks of the building’s facade.

LUX: Have you painted a mural of this scale before?
Shahrzad Ghaffari: No, I haven’t and it has been quite challenging! I originally intended to project the calligraphy onto the wall, which is what you would normally do with a mural so that you can then trace it, but I couldn’t because the space is so tight. Instead, I made a grid and did everything by hand. That said, it has been a lot of fun too, especially painting the upper part near the skylight at the top of the stairs.

A render of Oneness by Shahrzad Ghaffari. Courtesy of Leighton House

LUX: In a more general sense, what role do you think public art can, or should play?
Shahrzad Ghaffari: As the name suggests, public art is for the public so it must be able to connect with its audience, which, in this case, are the visitors to the museum. I also think it needs to be loud enough or perhaps, unusual enough to make people pause in front of it, to pull them out of their everyday life and to convey its message in just a few seconds. In a way, public art acts like a bridge between architecture and the public because it echoes what the architecture wants to convey but often, in a more accessible way.

Read more: The Best Exhibitions to see in March 

LUX: Which artists or movements have influenced your practice?
Shahrzad Ghaffari: When I was younger, I was quite heavily influenced by Impressionism. When I was studying art they would make us copy classical works and so, when I first encountered the looseness of Impressionism it felt very freeing. I think that had, and continues to have a big influence on my work. Also, the light! I always try to incorporate something that reflects light, like the silver I’ve used in Oneness. I remember first seeing Gustav Klimt’s The Kiss and feeling so drawn to it for that same reason.

LUX: What is it about paint, as a material, that appeals to you?
Shahrzad Ghaffari: I use paint for two reasons. The first is to create something very visually strong. I want to engage the viewer, to captivate them. But I also use it to reflect my emotions. I used to mainly paint with oil and I recently changed to working with acrylic for the practical reason that I live in Canada and oil takes ages to dry, but using acrylic has also changed the way I work because you have to paint very quickly.

Photograph by James Houston

LUX: Do you have to be in a particular state of mind to create?
Shahrzad Ghaffari: Yes. I can’t just sit and start painting. For me, [the creative process] starts with a strong feeling. It could be happiness, for example. Then, I take the brush and I start to act upon that feeling, usually very quickly. The mural is different because the composition is planned, but usually I have  three or four canvases that I’m working on simultaneously and that helps me because I might not be in the mood to work with red paint, for example.

LUX: Do you paint every day?
Shahrzad Ghaffari: Even if I’m not painting, I show up in my studio every day. Maybe, I’ll write something down instead, but I have to show up. That’s very important.

LUX: What else do you have coming up?
Shahrzad Ghaffari: I have a show of my works here at Leighton House, when then museum reopens, and I’m also looking into exploring NFTs – mainly out of curiosity. I think as an artist, you should always be open to everything, to exploring all the tools that are on offer. That’s what it’s all about it, it’s what motivates you to keep making. Where curiosity stops, the creative process ends.

To find out more about Leighton House, visit: rbkc.gov.uk/museums/

Follow Shahrzad Ghaffari on Instagram: @shahrzadghaffariart

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

Sunset, a limited edition photograph by Cathleen Naundorf. Courtesy of Cathleen Naundorf studio

Maryam Eisler

Following in the footsteps of Richard Avedon, Irving Penn and Peter Beard, Cathleen Naundorf is a world renowned photographer who works with large format analogue cameras to create a unique painterly aesthetic. Photographer and LUX Contributing Editor Maryam Eisler speaks to the Paris-based artist about photographing the Dalai Lama, creative influences and developing her own style

Cathleen Naundorf. Courtesy of the artist

Maryam Eisler: Cathleen, you have been working with analogue and large format cameras for some years now. I am interested in your visual aesthetics, especially in what you call your ‘Fresco’ imagery, which sits somewhere between photography and painting, in my opinion.
Cathleen Naundorf: Yes, that is correct indeed. The technique achieves painterly photographs. As a kid, at the age of four, I already had a pencil in my hand; I drew all my life. I was sponsored very early on, and had my first painting atelier at the age of twelve. It was only later that I decided to become a photographer, because I was looking for something that would allow me to both travel and remain close to painting, at the same time. I was young and didn’t want to be isolated in a studio, I wanted to go out and explore the world.

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I was raised in East Germany, and moved out before the wall was taken down; it was very difficult to get out. At the time, I was desperate to travel, and so, I applied for jobs with book editors and printed media. I landed my first job very early on, at the age of 23, for which I had to do a reportage on the Dalai Lama. By luck, I became a travel photographer, and I fell in love with this medium.

Corset by Cathleen Naundorf. Courtesy of Cathleen Naundorf studio

Cathleen on a studio shoot. Courtesy of the artist

To go back to your ‘Fresco’ question and achieving that painterly look, I decided to work with polaroid because you see the result immediately. Many 70s photographers also used polaroids as it was a great way to check up on lighting during the photo sessions. Helmut Newton used the XS – 70 polaroids, for example. I used small format polaroids during my travels, and took polaroid portraits of the people I photographed, in order to retain an immediate memory of them. From 2003, I started working in studios and so I chose the professional 8 x 10 inch and the 4 x 5 inch polaroid sheets. There were two reasons behind my choice of this particular material. Firstly, it allows for the development of unique pieces, and secondly,  it captures the light in a painterly way. In 2006, I started with the ‘Fresco’ technique, a complicated process, but well worth the complication as it produces stunning results!

Read more: ‘Confined Artists Free Spirits’ – Maryam Eisler’s lockdown portrait series

One of Cathleen’s storyboards for Anastasia, Vogue Thailand. Courtesy of Cathleen Naundorf studio

Maryam Eisler: I imagine this technique requires everything to be pre–planned?
Cathleen Naundorf: If you work with large format cameras and settings, you have to prepare the photo production well in advance. I draw everything first, each shot, just like you would if you were producing a movie. My storyboards explain the narrative which I have in mind. Each sitter (client or model) receives the story board several days before the shoot so as to get “in the mood”. My team also gets briefed in advance, and as such, all is well prepared. So, once you’re on set, the atmosphere is relaxed, giving time and space to concentrate on the subject, whilst allowing me to pull the trigger at the right moment … the extra ‘wow’ factor!

Read more: British-Iranian artist darvish Fakhr on the alchemy of art

Maryam Eisler: So storytelling is a significant part of your process?
Cathleen Naundorf: It’s always about storytelling. As mentioned, I started as a reportage photographer. When I worked with big agencies, they would always tell me ‘one picture needs to say it all’. I first put this theory to the test when I photographed the Dalai Lama, once when I was 24 and the second time at the age of 26. I think a photograph should always tell a story – this also applies to fashion photography, at least in my case.

Magic Garden, III ,Valentino Garavani, Wideville by Cathleen Naundorf. Courtesy of Cathleen Naundorf studio

Maryam Eisler: Would you say that your collaboration with your sitter equally becomes an integral part of the process?
Cathleen Naundorf: I always ask the person if he or she has agreed to be photographed. It’s a question of respect. Some situations are also very intimate, and the sitter needs to feel more comfortable than usual. With culturally diverse ethnic groups, especially, you need to take time, explain, share with them the process and the purpose of your work. It is a question of trust and communication. With models, they may find themselves nude in front of you. As such, you need to develop trust, respect and comfort, in the rapport which you establish with them. As a photographer, you have to have the ability to open the sitter’s soul, and in turn, they need to be made aware of that. That’s when you bring the best out of people.

Pose enchantée by Cathleen Naundorf. Courtesy of Cathleen Naundorf studio

Maryam Eisler: Do you have a secret formula or recipe in your photography? A signature of some sort?
Cathleen Naundorf: Not really. I am very critical of myself and try to improve the quality of my work with every shoot. It’s a daily task, step by step.

Read more: A new retrospective of photography by Terry O’Neill opens in Gstaad

Maryam Eisler: Most artists are doubters. They never know when the painting is finished. It is quite wonderful to have that certitude and to be able to say, ‘This is done! This is it!’
Cathleen Naundorf: Yes. When I shoot, I say to the team, ‘Guys that is it; we have it!’ It’s also fantastic to have the polaroid result in 60 seconds. Once I had to shoot the cover for a US magazine and I was photographing Laetitia Casta. I only shot seven polaroids and sent just ‘the one’ to the Editor-in-Chief of the magazine. They complained and asked to see more options, but I knew that that was the one. The magazines sold out, and there was the proof in the pudding! When you have it, you have it!

The enchanted forest I by Cathleen Naundorf. Courtesy of Cathleen Naundorf studio

The doubt by Cathleen Naundorf. Courtesy of Cathleen Naundorf studio

Maryam Eisler: How old were you when you left East Germany? And how much of an influence did your country of origin have on your career?
Cathleen Naundorf: I was 17 when I left East Germany. When I was 6 years old, people around me used to say ‘Oh she is an artist, she is so sensitive’. I knew then that I was different. Being raised under that regime made me very strong over the years. Freedom and human rights took top priority in my life as a result. To be physically and mentally free are essential to me. You need to make choices in life and stand for what you believe in. I had to pack my suitcase in 24 hours and take what I could. That teaches you a lot in life!

Maryam Eisler: The choice of photojournalism could be considered activism in itself.
Cathleen Naundorf: Yes, I wanted to give something back to society. At 18, I became an active member of Amnesty International. I worked on cases in Yugoslavia during the war and also in Turkey. In 1993, I met the Dalai Lama. I was very fortunate. As mentioned before, I did a reportage twice on him. I was the youngest photo reporter and I was also the only woman. It was, and still is hard for a woman to be in photojournalism. In East Germany where I grew up, women and men were really equal. So, when I came to the West, I was disappointed. I felt like I had to battle even more in order to gain respect. Even today, I sometimes feel like I have to battle in order to protect my rights and justify my job.

Read more: SKIN co-founder Lauren Lozano Ziol on creating inspiring homes

Maryam Eisler: How do you marry your two worlds together: activism and fashion? It seems like they would normally be at polar opposites of each other?
Cathleen Naundorf: Honestly, I never saw myself as a fashion photographer. Horst [P.Horst] became my mentor and influenced me in the direction of fashion photography at the beginning of my career, alongside the influences of work by Richard Avedon and Irving Penn. I was eventually taken under Tim Jefferies’ wing (Director of Hamiltons Gallery, Mayfair), and the rest is history! When I moved to Paris in 1998, fashion was a kind of ethnic voodoo, with a touch of glamour, especially during the times of Alexander McQueen and John Galliano. It was great and I saw eye to eye with that kind of fashion. But those times are over, there is no Diana Vreeland or Francesca Sozzani anymore. People think I belong to the fashion bunch, but I don’t really. I am considered an artist, even by the fashion industry, and I always want to keep it that way.

In the clouds, II by Cathleen Naundorf. Courtesy of Cathleen Naundorf studio

Maryam Eisler: Talk to me about the influence Horst had on you.
Cathleen Naundorf: When I discovered Horst’s photography, I called him in New York. I realised, that if this is and can be called fashion photography, then I must try and learn it. His work was magnificent. Later we found out, that my family and his family knew each other, because they each had big shops in the town of Weissenfels, in East Germany, on the same street! Can you believe that? He saw my travel pictures and he said ‘ Why don’t you try fashion?’ He influenced me at the beginning, and, of course, later on in my career, I developed my own personal style.

Maryam Eisler: Where do you find your inspiration?
Cathleen Naundorf: Everywhere. I always have pictures in my head! My fantasies drive me. And, I like to realise my dreams. It is these dreams and fantasies that empower me and make me feel alive!

View Cathleen Naundorf’s portfolio: cathleennaundorf.com
Instagram: @cathleennaundorf

Installation view of Betye Saar: Call and Response, at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art © Betye Saar, photo © Museum Associates/ LACMA

Following a major exhibition at MoMA at the end of last year, Betye Saar’s latest solo show Call and Response at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art is the first ever to focus on the artist’s sketchbooks. Spanning the entire length of the artist’s career, the show examines the relationship betwecen her sketches and finished works by showing 18 sculptures and collages alongside annotated drawings.

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Sketchbook (1998) by Betye Saar. Collection of Betye Saar, courtesy of the artist and Roberts Projects, Los Angeles, © Betye Saar, photo © Museum Associates/ LACMA

I’ll Bend But I Will Not Break (1998) by Betye Saar. Los Angeles County Museum of Art, Gift of Lynda and Stewart Resnick through the 2018 Collectors Committee, © Betye Saar

Saar’s practice is primarily one of assemblage in which she builds sculptures from household objects to examine issues of race, gender, and spirituality.  I’ll Bend But I Will Not Break (1998), for example, is created from a vintage ironing board that the artist found in a flea market. In the finished work, a flatiron is chained to the leg of the ironing board, which has two images printed onto its surface: one is a 18th century British diagram of the packed hold of a slave ship in the Middle Passage between Africa and the Caribbean, and the other is a photograph of a black woman bent over her ironing.

Behind this assemblage, hangs a crisp white sheet clipped to a clothesline as if straight off the ironing board; in barely visible thread, the sheet bears an embroidered monogram: KKK. Viewed alongside the sketchbooks and accompanying annotations, this complex artwork is metaphorically disassembled, allowing the viewer to both recognise and appreciate the unification of the parts.

A Loss of Innocence (1998) courtesy of the artist and Roberts Projects, Los Angeles, © Betye Saar, Photo courtesy Scottsdale Museum of Contemporary Art, Scottsdale, AZ, by Tim Lanterman

Whilst the exhibition is on a smaller scale than some of the artist’s recent museum shows (the work fills only one room), Call and Response offers a rare insight into Saar’s creative process.

‘Betye Saar: Call and Response’ runs 5 April 2020 until at LACMA’s Resnick Pavilion. For more information visit: lacma.org/art/exhibition/betye-saar-call-and-response

Punta Norte (2008), Ruben Alterio

Argentinian artist Ruben Alterio is known for his large-scale abstract paintings, created in his Parisian studio, two floors up from the one once inhabited by Pierre-Auguste Renoir. We speak to the artist ahead of his upcoming exhibition at the Argentine Ambassador’s Residence in London

Artist Ruben Alterio

1. Do you need a particular atmosphere or environment in which to create?

Yes, I do. To work properly, I need to be in my studio in Paris. I have been working there for decades now and have created, over these years, an atmosphere that allows my mind to fully focused, a set up that inspires me a lot.

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2. What inspires you to start a new painting?

My working space is filled with objects, sculptures, photographs, paintings, images that I have created or gathered. I get my inspiration from these shapes and colours that surround me. I must have created that environment with that intention I guess…I collect these images and artefacts because they bear some formal and historical aspects that I can use in my paintings.

Alterio’s studio is located in the same building that Renoir once worked from

3. Can you tell us about the concept for your upcoming exhibition?

It is the gallery, the space in itself that gave me the idea for the exhibition. I wanted to create a crowd of paintings, a group of 21 paintings to be precise. This is to be seen as an installation, a stage occupied by 21 painted-beings welcoming the viewer into their personal journey.

Read more: Why responsible travel means authenticity

4. As well as painting, you’ve worked on set and costume design, and collaborated with major fashion brands. How does your creative process change when you’re making commercial work?

I’ve had the chance to collaborate with amazing, creative people all along my career. It has always been a pleasure to share and work with such people that trust you and your vision. My creative process doesn’t change that much, it’s mainly a matter of adaptation. Whether it’s in my personal work or in collaboration, the goal is always to create a window for me, and I hope the viewers, [through which] to escape.

Flores (2016), Ruben Alterio

5. How often do you throw away works?

I throw sometimes, yes, but I usually prefer to consider these works as part of a work in progress, which, as a matter of fact they are. I keep them because it’s always interesting to let time do its magic and look at them [again] after a while. Time can bring many surprising elements to my work.

6. Which artists from the past or present do you admire the most?

Velázquez, Piero Della Francesca, Picasso and Francis Bacon.

Ruben Alterio’s exhibition at the Argentine Ambassador’s Residence runs from 4-8 November 2019, 49 Belgrave Square, SW1X 8QZ. Entrance by appointment only. rubenalterio.com

Ruben Alterio is represented in the UK by Laurence Bet-Mansour of Art in Style. For all enquiries, please contact: [email protected]

Peter Beard & Mock Elephant Charge (1985), by Mirella Ricciardi

Born in Kenya, Mirella Ricciardi has worked as a photographer for over 65 years, shooting everything from high-profile fashion campaigns to documentary series. Following the opening of her latest exhibition Past and Present: Vanishing and Contemporary Africa, Rosie Ellison-Balaam speaks to the prolific artist about her influences, creative process and archival work with her daughter

1. How did you decide which of your photographs to show in Past and Present?

We judged the images from the Past according to how they were received in previous shows. For example, The Somali Cattle Herder with Turban recently purchased at Augustus Brandt, in this new large format, as a chromogenic c-type print and then, we introduced my unseen contemporary work taken from 2008 onwards.

Mirella photographing a Paramount Chief in Kenya. Image by Shaibu Shakua, Mirella’s Assistant on Vanishing Africa.

2. How do you think your work fits into the surroundings of Augustus Brandt?

They fitted wonderfully into the elegant Edwardian setting of Newland House, alongside Nicola Jones’s [curatorial] vision that complimented the modern and antique concept.

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3. Which photographers have most influenced your practice?

Harry Meerson and Sam Haskins for their high contrast images, and the Italian camera man Antonio Climati, who taught me to shoot into the light source.

Cover image of Ricciardi’s book Vanishing Africa featuring Pokot Dancers in Western Kenya, East Africa (1968), by Mirella Ricciardi

4. Which series do you feel most proud of?

What I did on my Vanishing Africa shoot, where I quite instinctively seemed to capture the soul of the wild and gentle tribal people I was photographing.

Read more: Chaumet’s latest exhibition in collaboration with photographer Julia Hetta

5. What was it like working alongside your daughter?

It wasn’t always easy because Amina [Ricciardi’s daughter and director of the photographer’s archive] had her own very strong opinions on the work we were dealing with due to structural differences, i.e. I was more interested in the visual aspect while she needed to maintain the acceptable status quo of the photographic establishment.

6. How does your approach to a shooting documentary series differ from a fashion project?

They are two entirely different approaches: documentary focuses on storytelling, while fashion focuses on visual form.

‘Past and Present: Vanishing and Contemporary Africa’ runs until 20 November 2019 at Augustus Brandt, Newlands House in Petworth, West Sussex. For more information visit: augustusbrandt.co.uk/mirella-ricciardi/

To view Mirella Ricciardi’s full portfolio visit: mirellaricciardi.com

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.

One of Rachel Whiteread’s so-called shy sculptures, ‘Cabin’ (2016), on Governors Island in New York, her first major permanent public commission in the United States

Rachel Whiteread, winner of the 2019 Whitechapel Gallery Art Icon award, has illuminated the world’s art scene with her blazing originality, her wit and her unique perspectives, for more than 30 years. She speaks to Darius Sanai about creating something out of nothing, the joys of London, and the importance of being bored

Rachel Whiteread in her studio, 2011

LUX: Your works create something from nothing. Is it a kind of anti-matter that you are creating?
Rachel Whiteread: That’s exactly right. I’ve always tried to make something out of nothing.
Something I used to do at college a lot was just stare at a white wall or a floor and visualise what I’d want to make from that space. I’d see what it was, so it was still something but it was out of nothing. It’s still a practice that I do, I suppose like a meditation, but I didn’t ever call it that. It was just, you know, staring at the wall.

There’s probably not enough staring into space done now. Everything’s always about looking at images, like on Instagram. Everything is just so full up that what I try and do is empty out. You wouldn’t think it from the chaos of my studio, though.

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LUX: Is there just too much social media around now?
Rachel Whiteread: Yes, I think so. People don’t know how to be bored anymore – I must have been saying this for years. Being bored is one of the most essential things of life, because what you do is you then work out how to not be bored, and by doing that, you open up a creativity in your mind. Even if it’s just deciding that you’re going to cook something or you’re going to read –whatever your creative outlet is – people just don’t do this anymore. They’ll scroll through Instagram instead and look at thousands of everyone else’s borrowed images. I think there’s something to be said about really slowing down the brain; it can be a very useful thing to do.

LUX: Will distraction of this kind affect future artists?
Rachel Whiteread: I suspect it will, but I also think that there’s going to be a backlash to all this and that people will just start to shut down a bit and try to be quieter about what they do, because you can’t just scream and shout about it. It’s hard for young artists. I’ve got two sons, they’re 13 and 17, and it’s difficult for them to be young anymore, to be able to play and enjoy life in a certain way, because you can just turn on the computer and you’re immediately entertained and distracted.

‘Shack I’ (2014), one of two concrete casts of cabins in the Joshua Tree National Park in California.

LUX: How do you decide what to create next?
Rachel Whiteread: Normally one thing leads to another, to be honest. I have had an exceptionally busy year de-installing and installing at the Tate, in Vienna and Washington. I have just come back from Washington where the exhibition has just opened, and also cast a very large piece, another one of my ‘shy’ sculptures, that’s in the Dalby Forest in Yorkshire – it’s a cast of a Nissen hut that’s been made as part of the First World War centenary. I have had a busy time doing all of that, and I am now having a breather before I get going again. I am at the pre-production phase of a new body of work.

LUX: Do you ever consider the reaction to your work while you are planning it?
Rachel Whiteread: I am very fortunate to be in a position to be able to do what I like. There has been a lot of controversy over various works I have made, but this is not something I court, it is simply in the nature of the objects.

‘Cushion’ (2006)

LUX: What gives you the most satisfaction?
Rachel Whiteread: Luckily for me, the show at the Tate gave me an enormous amount of satisfaction. It was five years in the planning and has travelled very successfully to Europe and America including the National Gallery of Art in Washington. I have very much enjoyed doing the retrospective, looking back at thirty years of work – it has been really helpful.

Read more: PalaisPopulaire & Berlin’s Cultural Revolution

LUX: What are your frustrations in making your art?
Rachel Whiteread: It is becoming harder and harder to find large studio spaces. Gone are the days when artists could colonise derelict areas in London. Consequently there is a lack of places for young artists to work. Luckily for me I am able to stay in London and carry out some of the more ambitious things, but it is very expensive. But what are the annoyances? That the day isn’t long enough, that I’m getting older and don’t have quite as much energy – I’ve got a bad back [laughs].

LUX: You’re carting heavy materials around…
Rachel Whiteread: That’s down to years of not looking after my back properly; it catches up with you. You think you’re forever young, especially when people were constantly calling you the YBAs [Young British Artists].

LUX: London – is it an integral part of who you are?
Rachel Whiteread: It’s totally integral to who I am. At one point we looked into moving out to Norfolk or Essex. To get a place with land where I could build a big studio, but I thought, actually I can’t. I need the frisson and busyness of London.

‘Nissen Hut’ (2018)

LUX: What do you love about London?
Rachel Whiteread: I love the multicultural world, the soupiness of London. It’s the one of the best cities of the world. I love the way the people are mostly extremely tolerant of each other. I love the way it’s an enthusiastic city and it has so much to offer culturally – even if you don’t go to that much you still feel it around you – it’s a bit like osmosis, it touches you somehow. I love the green spaces, I love the built-up spaces, I love the Thames, I love the canals, I love the way in which London can have these complex urban spaces and then these very beautiful but still very urban spaces. And so much has been done with trying to get wildlife going. It’s just a great community – a load of really good, interesting villages all stuck together – that’s sort of what London is, isn’t it?

LUX: After so much progress in tolerance over the past few years, are things now going the other way?
Rachel Whiteread: Completely, yes. Terrifying. I hate to think what we’re going to be leaving our children and grandchildren. There’s a sour feeling in the world at the moment and it’s not pretty.

LUX: It’s inexplicable, isn’t it? There are a people with a lot of money feeling angry.
Rachel Whiteread: A lot of it has got to do with Brexit. There are so many people who were sold a line that they just didn’t know what they were voting for. And the reality of that is sinking
in. It’s an appalling waste of money, time and energy – and for what, in the end? In the UK in particular there are a lot of people who are angry in London, and outside London, too, and quite rightly so for being neglected and ignored. Money is not coming in to pay for things that are needed, resources are at an all-time low, and there’s not enough housing. So for all of those things it’s a really complex city to live in, but when things work, they work brilliantly and people cross-culturally can really rub shoulders together and get a lot out of each other and that’s a great thing.

‘Untitled’ (100 Spaces) (1995), installed at Tate Britain in 2017

LUX: Your art has a blend of seriousness and wit – would you agree that this also describes yourself as a person?
Rachel Whiteread: My work is me, I couldn’t make anything else. It is totally me, it’s how I think, how I exist in the world.

Read more: Gender stereotypes and the male nude in art

LUX: Is there a responsibility with your influence? Are you tempted to use it?
Rachel Whiteread: I’ve got two children and a job, and I don’t have the energy for it. Maybe later on. My parents were both very political and it’s certainly in my DNA. The ways I can influence people are by giving lectures, by sharing my work.

LUX: How does it feel to be the Whitechapel Gallery’s Art Icon for 2019?
Rachel Whiteread: It’s nice to be recognised for the many decades of hard work, and everyone likes to be recognised. It is a great honour. The Whitechapel is a fantastic institution doing fantastic things and has such a great and rich history.

‘Holocaust Memorial’ (1995-2000) in the Judenplatz, Vienna

LUX: Do you believe that gallery funding should come from the state?
Rachel Whiteread: When they’re very much community-led galleries, which places like the Whitechapel are, then I would say yes. They’re for a community as they’ve always been. It’s just extremely hard raising money for galleries, and now there are a lot more than there used to be, they all need funding and they all have to find ways of making money. It’s complicated. But they are therefor the public and therefore the government should fund them.

LUX: Does the amount of money being spent in the art market seem strange?
Rachel Whiteread: The whole economics of the art market doesn’t sit comfortably with me. A lot of artists are generally left-ish, and a lot of them find that dichotomy difficult, because it’s a tough thing to think about.

LUX: Is it true that the punk movement influenced your generation in the art world?
Rachel Whiteread: Absolutely. I grew up in the seventies in London, I went to a few punk gigs. They were a bit rough for me to be honest [laughs]. But I was quite young at the time, so I’d go to the Marquee in Wardour Street [in Soho]. The gigs were pretty scary but they had an enormous influence upon me.

‘Monument’ (2001), installed in Trafalgar Square, London as part of the Fourth Plinth Project

LUX: Did you have any idea at art school what kind of art you would go on to produce?
Rachel Whiteread: No, the whole development of making my art was a gradual process, but certainly the seeds were sown at Brighton [Polytechnic] and the Slade [UCL London].

LUX: Did you always plan to be an artist?
Rachel Whiteread: Not initially, though my mother was an artist and there was always a strong familial influence. However, I always imagined that I would have to teach in order to sustain my practice as an artist. I have been very fortunate though, and my art has supported me.

LUX: Was it serendipity that you and the other Young British Artists, such as Tracey Emin and Damien Hirst, were contemporaries?
Rachel Whiteread: It was total serendipity. People say it was a movement, but it just happened to be a certain moment in time where this political and creative energy came out. One of the artists I relate to most is Sarah Lucas. She grew up just down the road from me and I didn’t know her when we were children – we came from very different backgrounds. I was from a middle-class home and she was from a working-class family, but there was definitely the London energy in the work we both made. The YBAs were simply how the stars were aligned and we were fortunate to be doing our work together at the same time.

Rachel Whiteread is the Whitechapel Gallery Art Icon 2019 with Swarovski. Visit whitechapelgallery.org/support/art-icon-swarovski

This article was first published in the Winter 19 Issue.

Andy Warhol, The Scream (After Munch), 1984 © The Andy Warhol Foundation for the Visual Arts Photo Sparebankstiftelsen DNB

Andy Warhol first became properly interested in Edvard Munch on a visit to Oslo in 1971, where he spent time at the National Gallery and the Munch Museum. He was said to be a great admirer of Munch’s prints, far more so, in fact, than of his paintings. The Norwegian master was not only a prolific printmaker, but also technologically innovative; he enjoyed experimenting with textures and colours, which naturally resonated with Warhol as a leading figure in the Pop Art movement.

Madonna and Self-Portrait with Skeleton Arm (After Munch), Andy Warhol, 1984. © Haugar Vestfold Kunstmuseum

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Between 1938 and 1984, Warhol produced a series of 15 prints, known as After Munch,  featuring some of Munch’s most renowned motifs. Like most of Warhol’s best-known works, these prints transform the meaning of the original image to lend a new and intriguing perspective.

Eva Mudocci (After Munch), Andy Warhol, 1984. © Haugar Vestfold Kunstmuseum

Read more: Why The Thief is Oslo’s coolest hotel

The most striking example of this – and the stand out piece on display in the Munch Museum – is Warhol’s interpretation of the The Scream. One of the most iconic artworks of the 20th century, if not of all time, Warhol’s reproduction of the The Scream using different colour variations and stencils gives the work a completely different mood, thus encouraging the viewer to more deeply consider the artistic process.

‘Andy Warhol – After Munch’ runs until the 26th August at the Munch Museum, Oslo. For opening times visit: munchmuseet.no/en/exhibitions/andy-warhol-after-munch

Millie Walton

Flagpole Summer 18 Collection

New York based swimwear label, Flagpole is a Cali-surfer girl’s dream. Clean lines, block colours and bikinis that won’t fall off every time you dive into the sea. LUX asks co-founders Megan Balch and Jamie Barker how they do it.

Jaime Barker and Megan Balch

1. Describe the Flagpole woman.

The Flagpole woman loves to travel, always active in her pursuit for exploration. She is sophisticated, practical and embraces a sporty edge to her style. She appreciates quality in all aspects of her life.

2. How does the collaborative design process work?

We have the same taste but very different strengths in our designing. We like to choose the colour palette together and with that, the collection really starts to come together. It’s the blend of Megan’s focus on functionality and Jaime’s artistic vision that gives Flagpoleits signature design.

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3. What’s inspiring you at the moment?

It’s almost always architecture. We just returned from a trip to Chicago bursting with ideas and appreciation from their skyline.

The Lori top with Frida skirt from the Flagpole Summer 18 Collection

4. What comes first, functionality or style?

Honestly, it’s a combination. They are not mutually exclusive. Without artistic vision, Flagpole would not have its voice. Without functionality, it would not have its progress. We must have both to embrace and succeed in our story. So when we approach a new concept, both are simultaneously in conversation.

Read more: The ultimate mid-week escape at The Royal Crescent hotel, Bath

5. Your collections always have a distinct colour palette. How do you decide on the shades?

Colour is something we both find very emotional. We spend a lot of time working to find the perfect colour combinations that speak to what we want to feel in our collection. The painstaking process of balancing warm and cool tones is honestly one of the most exciting and aggravating stages. But we will work until we both feel that every shade is perfect.

The Gia one-piece from the Flagpole Summer 18 Collection

6. What’s next for the brand?

There are so many things in the works we can’t wait to share with the world. One we can say, and are excited to announce, is that this summer we’ll be launching our Men’s line!

View the collections and buy online at flagpolenyc.com

The Giant (Le Géant), 1937. Paul Nougé (poet and founder of surrealism in Belgium) on the Belgian Coast by René Magritte. Courtesy Brachot Gallery, Brussels

Whilst René Magritte is best known for his surrealist paintings (such as the haunting image of the floating apple in ‘The Son of Man’), his photography and film are crucial to understanding the Belgian artist’s creative process and perspectives.

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In partnership with the Magritte Foundation Belgium, Swire Properties and Ludion, a European independent art book publisher, the latest exhibition at ArtisTree in Taikoo Place offers visitors a glimpse into Magritte’s private life with a display of intimate photographs from his daily life – including images of family, friends and other important figures in the Belgium surrealist movement – as well a collection of home videos that were only discovered in 1970s, more than ten years after the artist’s death.

La Clairvoyance, 1936. René Magritte. Courtesy Collection Charly Herscovici, Europe

Most intriguing are the sections which reveal Margritte’s own efforts at recording; as in the above image (‘La Clairvoyance’), Margritte often photographed himself with his paintings, revealing his self-conscious attitude towards his role as an artist and a manipulator of the gaze, whilst also making fun of any pretences at artistic seriousness.

Read next: Israeli poet Eran Hadas’ creative algorithms

The Oblivion Seller (La marchande d’oubli), René Magritte, 1936. Courtesy Collection Charly Herscovici, Europe

Similarly, extracts from Margritte’s films demonstrate his continual thirst for experimentation and search for new forms of expression (at the time, film was a new and relatively unknown medium); in the artist’s own words ‘Everything we see hides another thing, we always want to see what is hidden by what we see.’ The exhibition might not unmask the hidden, but it certainly adds layers to our understanding of one of the most influential surrealist artists of the 20th century.

Millie Walton

‘René Magritte: The Revealing Image – Photos and Films’, runs until 19 February 2018 at ArtisTree, Taikoo Place, Hong Kong

Artist Sam Winston spent 7 days and 7 nights living and creating art in a darkroom

Darkness heightens our senses, challenges our perceptions and opens up new creative visions, according to London based visual artist Sam Winston. For this month’s poetry muse, Rhiannon Williams learns about the power of the dark for artists and poets alike.

Sam Winston spent 7 days and 7 nights living and creating in a darkroom. Out of this absolute darkness emerged some extraordinary art, and an even more extraordinary installation: ‘Darkness Visible’ at the National Poetry Library at the Southbank Centre in London displays art and poetry that has been created in the dark. It brings to light both the privilege and drawbacks of physical sight, while simultaneously leading you to question what ‘sight’ really is.

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The title of the installation, ‘Darkness Visible’, is a phrase from John Milton’s ‘Paradise Lost‘, the epic poem which Milton wrote whilst he was blind by dictating his verse. The title is apt, as the dichotomy of light/dark is overturned in the paradoxical idea of a darkness you can see. Living temporarily in darkness, Sam Winston was able to explore the boundaries of experience and his body in new ways, as the systems and orders that we impose upon the day and regulate ourselves by were made redundant by the dark. Time, for example, without differentiation between night and day becomes an endless mass. According to Sam it is this ‘walking along the shoreline’ of different boundaries and pushing the threshold of what we can experience which shapes his art.

Sam Winston, ‘Darkness Visible’ 2017

The idea took form after a series of studio experimentations and playing about with misleading ideas about darkness as ignorance, as lack. Instead Sam argues that darkness can and should be viewed in a new way: as a creative resource. As someone who is dyslexic, the way Sam sees words is different, which is reflected in the style of his artwork; a lot of the pieces take the form of intricate text webs, the words forming enormous shapes and shadows, hurricanes across a blank page. In this way, Sam attempts to change at a structural level the discourse that surrounds darkness and dyslexia, suggesting that sensory perceptions not involving sight and light should be explored more thoroughly.

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Subsequently, Sam commissioned ‘darkness residencies’ from leading young poets in London including Emily Berry, George Szirtes and Kayo Chingonyi who all spent time in a darkroom and wrote about it afterwards – their work is currently on show as a part of the exhibition at the Poetry Library. ‘The idea of total darkness is not the same as total darkness. The idea of light is not the same as light’, George Szirtes wrote, linking to the idea that terms of knowledge such as enlightenment and illumination all conjure up imagery of light and vision, whereas terms of darkness suggest oblivion and ignorance. What Winston has created is a poetic inversion, revolutionary in the sense that it performs a full circle on what our notions of darkness-as-limitation are. In this installation darkness is, in a way, art itself.

Poet Kayo Chingonyi on a ‘darkness residency’. Image: Andy Sewell

‘Darkness Visible’ runs until 25 March 2018 at the National Poetry Library at the Southbank Centre; Sam Winston, Emily Berry, George Szirtes and Kayo Chingonyi will be in conversation with other multimedia artists on 11 January 2018 at the Whitechapel Gallery.