Prempeh’s approach will inform this new chapter of Olympia: a venue where art and architecture collide, mirroring the varied histories and communities that make up London’s layered identities.

The regeneration of Olympia is one of the most ambitious cultural projects in the capital. The site will be home to a music venue, London’s largest purpose-built theatre in decades, two hotels, more than 30 restaurants and bars, a school, offices, and public spaces for visitors to enjoy.

Prempeh founded A Vibe Called Tech and, together with Creative Director Lewis Dalton Gilbert, brings an intersectional perspective to their projects. Since 2018, the pioneering Black-owned agency has collaborated with cultural powerhouses like Gucci, Faber, and Frieze, as well as leading institutions such as the RA, White Cube, and the V&A East.

With Olympia’s reimagining on the horizon, Prempeh is poised to establish it as London’s cultural heartbeat.

Hi Charlene, can we start with the story of how your appointment as Olympia’s first Art Ambassador came about? What discussions or opportunities led to this new collaboration, and what initially attracted you to the project?

Charlene Prempeh: I was inspired to take on the role of art ambassador because Olympia was always somewhere I came when I was younger, and it was a place that really struck in memory. When I heard that Olympia was going through a new phase, taking on a new guise and being reimagined as a new cultural hub, I really wanted to be a part of helping to shape its future. I was thrilled when the team approached me with the opportunity. 

As Olympia’s first-ever Art Ambassador, what drew you to take on this role, and how does it align with your work at A Vibe Called Tech?

Charlene Prempeh: Our mission at A Vibe Called Tech is to use the richness of diverse cultures to inform strategic thinking across all audiences. At Olympia, I’ll be embracing the same approach to ensure the art strategy is shaped through an intersectional lens and will nourish all of the communities that Olympia serves. 

The regeneration of Olympia is set to be one of London’s most ambitious projects. How will your role shape Olympia’s broader art strategy, particularly in terms of integrating public art and design into this multifaceted space?

Charlene Prempeh: Olympia feels like a space that is very much in transition, but as it develops, art and culture is going to be central to the DNA. My role is to help shape the broader art strategy for Olympia, advising on which institutions we should engage with and suggesting emerging and established artists to partner with. I also work with the team to look at Olympia’s existing collection of artworks and how we can make the most of the archive. 

You’ll be hosting the first in a series of roundtables during Frieze 2024, starting with a conversation with artist Remi Ajani. Can you share more about your personal relationship with Remi and how it has influenced your own creative vision?

Charlene Prempeh: For my first creative roundtable, I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect co-host than one of my favourite artists and a long-time dear friend, the brilliant Remi Ajani.  

Remi’s works have pride of place in my home, and we had an amazing conversation about how abstract and physical structures shape our psyche. Her work deals with both colour and gesture and is deeply connected to identity and mythology. I love how she investigates how to make a work that allows viewers to connect with a shared emotional space.

The reimagined Olympia will include diverse creative outlets, from a 4,000-capacity music venue to lifestyle hotels and restaurants. How do you envision art and design interacting with these other elements to create a cohesive cultural hub?

Charlene Prempeh: We envisage art and design interacting with all elements of the reimagined Olympia, through ongoing programming, exhibitions and public art, all of which will aim to surprise and delight visitors. 

A Vibe Called Tech approaches creativity through an intersectional lens. How will this perspective inform the projects and collaborations you plan to develop within Olympia’s art Strategy?

Charlene Prempeh: Diversity will be at the core of the strategy. To ensure we are including different voices and communities, we’ll look to balance small-scale installations, exhibitions and commissions that showcase experimental works from emerging artists with bigger scale immersive experiences and recognisable blockbuster works that will attract the broadest possible audience. 

You’ve worked with renowned institutions like the RA and Whitechapel Gallery. How will your previous experiences and partnerships influence the art programming at Olympia?

Charlene Prempeh: Institutions continue to grapple with how they can support emerging works while maintaining necessary audience numbers. Working with the incredible curation and development teams internationally, we’ll be looking at where we can partner to collaborate on off-site co-presentations in the Olympia space. 

With the London Design Festival pavilion and the “Off The Shelf” installation by Rio Kobayashi, Olympia has already begun its journey into the art world. How do you see this installation setting the tone for future art exhibitions and cultural conversations at Olympia?

Charlene Prempeh: The Rio Kobayashi pavilion embraces the journey of transformation already taking place at Olympia. It exists as a creative space in transition, offering a place where people, ideas, and even materials can meet and interact. Not merely just architectural, the space is multi-purpose, playing host to a vibrant hub of activity, something we hope to bring into all elements of future exhibitions.

Olympia aims to be a destination celebrating creativity in all forms. What strategies will you employ to ensure that public art and cultural programming here remain open, inclusive, and reflective of diverse communities and voices?

Charlene Prempeh: My vision for the kind of artistic direction for Olympia starts with imagining a future where the roundtables, for example, will be very specific and diverse. Art is something that can encourage wellbeing, and with Olympia being shaped around this overall ideal of delight, I want Olympia to feel like a space that families, individuals can come to and be surprised by. 

The impact that art can have on community engagement and cultural conversation is incredible. Art permeates everything from mathematics to furniture making, to accountancy. There’ll be lots of different businesses here that are both creative and not and I want our art strategy to appeal to this broad spectrum of audiences. 

©2024 Charlene Prempeh

Len Gordon

Len is a curator and a contributing writer at Art Plugged, a platform for contemporary art; he also engages in web development, design, and marketing.

When you’re an art critic, you end up reviewing a lot of Andy Warhol’s shows inevitably because there are shows everywhere all the time. And I realised that he was a genuinely great artist, even better than people realised.

Blake Gopnik

Born in 1963 in Philadelphia, Gopnik grew up in Montreal’s Habitat 67, an iconic vision of brutalist living, with his early education shaped by a bilingual French foundation at Académie Michèle-Provost. His academic path led him to McGill University, where he earned honours in medieval studies before undertaking a doctorate at Oxford, exploring Renaissance realism and the philosophy of representation.

Before transitioning to journalism, Gopnik’s career in art criticism spanned Canada and included roles as chief art critic at The Washington Post, followed by contributing critic at The New York Times. Since 2011, Gopnik has anointed the artistic mecca New York as home.

Lauded as the definitive authority on all things Warhol, Gopnik is celebrated for his comprehensive 2020 biography, Warhol: A Life as Art. Gopnik pens a must-read, lucid chronology of Warhol’s journey, revealing the intricacies of an artist who changed the art world, painting a portrait as complex and captivating as Warhol himself.

In Gopnik’s first curatorial project at Stockholm’s Spritmuseum, Money on the Wall: Andy Warhol, he focuses on Warhol’s concept of “Business Art,” as Warhol described it, “the step that comes after art.” Gopnik curates works from over 15 pioneering artists alongside Warhol’s own pieces. The exhibition also features the previously lost Warhol Absolut Blue painting. I had the opportunity to sit down with Gopnik to learn more about his work and his curatorial approach to Warhol’s idea of Business Art.

Good afternoon, Blake. How are you doing? Could you start by giving us a little background on how you got into the arts and your journey?

Blake Gopnik: Yeah, kind of complicated. I actually began as an academic, studying 10^th century Italy. I was a medieval scholar. And then went to museum and fell in love with art basically. It changed my field as an academic. I became an art historian and eventually kind of an accident became an art critic.

When you’re an art critic, you end up reviewing a lot of Andy Warhol’s shows inevitably because there are shows everywhere all the time. I realised that he was a genuinely great artist, even better than people realised, which meant that when the time came to write a biography of Andy Warhol, someone had to write a serious comprehensive biography of Andy Warhol, I decided and some other people decided that I was the right person to do it.

So I spent eight years of my life pretty much morning until night studying Andy Warhol, looking at his archive. I mean he kept every receipt for every meal he ever had, every movie that he went to, we have the stubs. So we know everything about his life and what I have to do is take this huge amount of information and collapse it into one book that was only a thousand pages long.

So I published that. And now, I’m curating my first show here in Stockholm about Andy Warhol. I’m very excited to be doing it for Spritmuseum in Stockholm. I’ve never been to Stockholm before. I’ve never been to this museum in fact before and I’m completely in love with my own show, if I may say so.

How does the rediscovery of Absolut Warhol (The Blue Version) deepen our understanding of Warhol’s commercial collaborations?

Blake Gopnik: One of the interesting things about the fact that they discovered a second Absolut painting is that it connects his work in the 1980s to his very earliest work as a commercial illustrator because he was famous for offering clients several versions of anything he did. So in the ‘50s already, he realized that he could move ahead of other illustrators by being more client-friendly.

So it turns out—I guess we didn’t really know this—that he had done the same thing for Absolut, giving them the so-called black version and the blue version. The difference is, by 1985, he was one of the most famous artists in the entire world and had a history since the early 1960s of making work that was about business but also critical of capitalism and commercialism.

My show here in Stockholm is about this new kind of art he created called Business Art, where the very act of engaging in business, engaging with businesses, became an art supply like oil paint. And when he did this, there was always the possibility—the reality—that he was also critiquing capitalism and consumerism.

So when he comes to do the Absolut bottle, it stands as one of his most important Business Art projects because he made $60,000 doing it, which was a lot of money. It’s a lot of money now, but it was a great deal of money in 1985. And it turns out to be one of the most successful artist-sponsored brands in history. Absolut was already an important brand or starting to be, but when he did the bottle for them, it became a really big deal.

But at the same time, his involvement with Absolut is part of his career as a business artist, which means that inevitably, there’s a sense of critique or concern about capitalism in it. It’s putting capitalism on display and saying, ‘Think about this. Don’t just take it for granted.’

So like all of his best Business Art, it’s business, and it’s art, and it’s art that critiques business at the same time, and that’s what makes it more interesting than your average ad for a product.

In placing Warhol alongside other artists who explore themes of consumption and consumerism, what connections or contrasts between Warhol and contemporary artists do you hope visitors will discover through this exhibition?

Blake Gopnik: I think the one thing they’re going to discover is that Warhol is at the root of a great deal of contemporary art. A lot of contemporary art—good contemporary art—has a complicated relationship with popular culture and consumerism. It doesn’t just celebrate it. It doesn’t—if it’s good art—just sit there and absorb it or even portray it, but questions it at the same time. So Warhol is at the very origin of that.

In our show, we deliberately included, at the very end of it, a bunch of work by 21st-century followers of Warhol, followers of Warhol, business artists, because a lot of what he did—a lot of the confusion of categories that he began—still exists today in the best art. So you don’t know: Are you looking at art? Are you looking at business? Are you looking at critique or celebration? The confusion itself is really the art form. And Warhol is at the root of that.

And the best art today isn’t pre-painting. It’s not an impressive sculpture. It’s something that questions all categories.

How does Swedish design and cultural identity, as explored in the Spritmuseum’s rotating exhibitions, provide a unique context for Warhol’s work and its focus on mass production, consumerism, and branding?

Blake Gopnik: From what I know of Sweden—and God knows I’m no expert—Sweden has often had a complicated and interesting relationship with mass production. Sweden has two of the most important consumer brands in the world now, IKEA and H&M, and both of those are companies that aren’t only about making as much money as you can by putting junk out into the world; they take the creative side seriously at the same time as they want to make goods for the average person. And of course, those are issues that were essential to Warhol as well.

So I think this tradition of taking everyday objects seriously, imagining that you can make art based on them, and the interaction between high culture and low culture is an interesting and important one. All of those things that are present, I think, in Swedish attitudes towards consumption and products are there in Warhol as well. Now, Warhol, of course, is a fine artist in part, so he is commenting on them in a way that I think H&M and IKEA don’t quite do. But I think they’re participating in a similar culture of questioning, and I think that’s really interesting.

And not everywhere is quite like that. In America, where I come from, I think we take consumption and products more for granted as being good in their own right. Making money by itself is good even if you’re selling junk. I think in Sweden, they’ve got a more complicated relationship.

One of my favourite works of contemporary art involved an artist called Guy Ben-Ner, who, as his work, took his whole family to IKEA in pajamas, and they all got into bed and pretended they lived there. And apparently, IKEA didn’t know what was happening. So he was filming a video of his kids; they would put on a piece of clothing from IKEA with the tags still hanging, and they would pull the covers up to their necks with the tags on them.

It was just a hilarious video of a family living in IKEA. And then he got kicked out of that IKEA, so he would go from IKEA to IKEA in order to finish his film of a family spending a day living in IKEA. It was beautiful. Yeah, it’s superb.

Do you think there will ever be another Warhol, not in terms of just an outright copy, but an artist who embodies his approach, philosophy, and vision of art?

Blake Gopnik: I’m not sure there will be another Warhol in the sense of embodying the spirit of his art, because of course, he did a damn good job of that. I feel confident that there will be another artistic genius. There have only been, in the history of Western art—and we’re talking about Western art here—a handful of artists as great as Warhol: Michelangelo, Titian, Rembrandt, Goya, Picasso, the very, very few people at that level of genius. There are many artists I love today—many. I should say there are at least 15 artists that I love today. None of them, I think, have risen to that level.

But we just have to wait. We’re in the worst moment I can ever think of for art. There’s so much bad art being made. And people like me and all my friends are always mourning it, and I say, ‘There have been lots of moments like this before.’ 1905 is not the greatest moment in the history of art, and then Picasso comes along a few years later. So you just can’t predict. If I could predict what was going to come next, I’d be a great artist and maybe even wealthy. Of course, I can’t, because whatever comes has to be something that we weren’t expecting, or it’s not that important.

Lastly, can you share with us your philosophy of art in terms of your work, life, and curatorial approach?

Blake Gopnik: Yeah. I’d love to answer the question, especially because this is my first time as a curator, and I’ve decided it is impossible. It is so unbelievably hard to take a theme and then find objects, and then get someone to lend you the objects. I mean, every object requires a thousand emails. I can’t believe that people do this every day because I’m about to die from exhaustion, and I did one-hundredth of what the curators at the Spritmuseum did.

I mean, this is a small museum, and they pulled off a giant feat—I mean, all of these loans, these Warhol objects worth insane amounts of money. I will never again curate an exhibition because it is too hard. I just want to be an art critic. I want to write thousand-page books because that’s easier than curating one small exhibition. So that’s my philosophy on curating.

And art just matters more to me than anything else. It’s the ultimate example of doing things for their own sake. If it’s good, it’s doing whatever you think is the most compelling, interesting, and important thing you can possibly do. There’s almost nothing else in life that’s like that. And if you’re being judged correctly, it’s about your ability to do that—your ability to put art before anything else and make the most interesting and important art you can possibly make.

Ideally, make art that contributes something that hasn’t been contributed before. We have a lot of nice oil paintings of people’s faces. We don’t need more of those. And great artists really change everything about the culture, and you’re allowed to do that. It’s the one area where, in an ideal situation, making money shouldn’t matter—unless you’re a business artist like Warhol, where the money is the point.

It really should simply be that you should only be judged on how profoundly you’ve rethought any number of things. It could be rethinking politics. It could be rethinking art. There really is no other activity where that is the goal. So for me, that’s the most exciting thing in the world, and one out of a million artists succeeds. If it’s good, it’s unbelievably exciting.

Money on the Wall: Andy Warhol Curated by Blake Gopnik opens on the 18th of October, 2024 until the 27th of April, 2025 at Spritmuseum, Stockholm

©2024 Blake Gopnik, The Andy Warhol Foundation for the Visual Arts

Len Gordon

Len is a curator and a contributing writer at Art Plugged, a platform for contemporary art; he also engages in web development, design, and marketing.

Starting as a pointillist painter—an art form that demands patience and precision—these early beginnings nurtured Caesar’s meticulous eye for detail and his reverence for capturing the authenticity of life.

I have always enjoyed working with black-and-white film, particularly 35mm at 400asa for its grain and how it connects with the eye

Pogus Caesar

During his visit, Caesar wandered into a bookshop and discovered a monograph by the late photographer Diane Arbus. Deeply impacted by the unfiltered honesty of her work, Caesar set out with renewed determination to capture fleeting moments and untold stories of the world around him through the lens of his 35mm camera.

Born on the Caribbean island of Saint Kitts in 1953 and raised in Birmingham, England, Caesar’s early life was shaped by the cadences of island life and the industrial terrain of Great Britain. In 1985, a critical point in Birmingham‘s history would change the trajectory of Caesar’s photography.

As the Handsworth riots erupted—a defiant pulse of voices clashing against the weight of poverty and marginalisation in Thatcherite Britain—Caesar was on the ground, capturing events as they unfolded. These moments would become a celebrated documentation of dignity and recognition, a refusal to be silenced amidst societal upheaval.

In addition to photography practice, Caesar’s creative endeavours encompass roles as an author, curator, archivist, and filmmaker. He was appointed director of the West Midlands Minority Arts Service in the 1980s. During this climactic era, he also became the inaugural chairman of the Birmingham International Film & Television Festival.

Caesar’s work has been exhibited extensively, from galleries to cultural institutions worldwide. Throughout the decades, he has co-curated landmark exhibitions including Into The Open with Lubaina Himid at Mappin Art Gallery, Sheffield (1984) and Caribbean Expressions in Britain, Leicester Museum & Art Gallery (1986) with Aubrey Williams and Bill Ming. 

His photographs have explored cultural and social transformation in Britain from the 1980s, and the well-known Handsworth Riots 1985 has been exhibited at the Victoria & Albert Museum, London (2015), ICA, London (2021), Tate Britain (2021/2022), National Gallery of Art, Washington D.C., USA (2023) and Art Gallery of Ontario, Canada (2023/24), showcasing one of the most crucial episodes in post-war Britain.

Recently, he co-curated an exhibition titled The Brighter Flame for legendary author and activist Benjamin Zephaniah, alongside art historian Ruth Millington. The exhibition featured large-scale black-and-white photographs of Zephaniah taken by Caesar himself, alongside a series of poems and photographs by both Zephaniah and Caesar from their project Handsworth 1985 Revisited. Currently, Caesar features in the group exhibition Friends in Love and War – L’Éloge des meilleur·es ennemi·es, showcasing photographs from his Schwarz Flaneur series, taken around the globe over a significant period, celebrating love and friendship.

An astute observer of human experiences, Caesar’s archive stands as one of the most important visual chronicles of Black British history—an extensive body of work that navigates the margins of society, revealing the raw and unvarnished essence of religion, sexuality, history, and identity. By capturing fleeting moments of honesty and emotion before they wilt into the ether of time, Caesar cements his role as a visual griot.

Caesar will be exhibiting in The 80s: Photographing Britain from 21 November 2024 – 5 May 2025 at Tate Britain.

Hi Pogus, thank you for joining us today, to start, could you share your journey into photography and visual arts? How did growing up in the Caribbean and later moving to Birmingham shape your creative vision?

Pogus Caesar: My creative journey really started by looking through my father’s extensive book collection, located in a cabinet at the bottom of the stairs. The images were engaging and transported me to vast and unknown landscapes.

Initially, I became a Pointillist painter, influenced by the work of Impressionist artists Georges Seurat and Camille Pissarro. The notion of painting with dots was enticing and exquisite. At the time, I could not afford canvases, paint, or brushes, so my old school fountain pens, ink, and paper were the alternative. Night after night, I would try and create my paintings; it was labour-intensive – hard on my eyesight – but utterly rewarding. As time passed, I would exhibit the work in local exhibitions at schools, libraries, and community centres. The interest those exhibitions garnered gave me the courage to continue my creative journey.

In terms of my photography practice, the pivotal moment came during a visit to New York in the early 1980s. At the time, I was using a small 110 Instamatic camera, journeying through areas like Harlem, Bronx, and Queens and snapping scenarios as I walked. When visiting a bookshop in Greenwich Village, I came across a book of the late photographer Diane Arbus. Browsing the pages, I was immediately struck by the diverse subjects she captured. However, it was the quality of the photographs that really struck me – the idea that not all images have to be perfect. I purchased my first 35mm camera and began experimenting, learning my craft, and taking those first steps in the world of photography.

Following my visit to New York, I curated a selection of photographs called “Instamatic Views of New York”, which were eventually exhibited in a number of spaces including Midlands Art Centre, Birmingham, Walsall Art Gallery, Walsall, and National Gallery of Film & Photography, Bradford. The support those experiences gave me provided the stepping stones for my personal and artistic growth.

Your upbringing must have had a profound influence on your work. How did these experiences shape the way you view the world and express it through art?

Pogus Caesar: The work is shaped by the diverse communities I have encountered throughout my life and travels. I have no style as each series I create is so varied, from ‘US of A’, ‘Get Naked’ and ‘Into the Light’ to ‘Schwarz Flaneur’ – my series from which a selection of works are currently on display at Ikon Gallery in Birmingham as part of its Friends in Love and War – L’Éloge des meilleur·es ennemi·es exhibition.

One has to stay fluid: challenge yourself, be fearless, and do not become complacent. Artistic mistakes are required and each hurdle provides a fragment of growth.

Your work often focuses on marginalized communities and themes of social justice. How do you balance activism with artistic expression in your projects?

Pogus Caesar: My entire practice involves layering elements that relate to community and social justice whilst pushing my own artistic expression. There is always an imbalance between the two things – life is not perfect!

In your photography, you tend to favour black-and-white imagery. How does the absence of colour enhance the stories you aim to tell?

Pogus Caesar: I have always enjoyed working with black-and-white film, particularly 35mm at 400asa for its grain and how it connects with the eye. Additionally, once developed, you never know how the film will look – that is the ecstasy of anticipation. Although I have taken the photograph, the colours are very quickly forgotten; this lack of information creates a brand new narrative open to further investigation and a deeper spiritual connection.

Many of your photos have a raw, unfiltered quality. How important is authenticity to you, and how do you decide when a shot feels “complete”?

Pogus Caesar: To a great extent, they are raw. If shooting outside, I need the sun, which is the biggest flashbulb. For interiors, one has to find the light source and quickly build a relationship with it. There are so many images I have looked at for decades; some are not meant to be complete. You have to allow the public the responsibility of filling in the gaps.

Your Handsworth Riots series is particularly well-known. What were you trying to capture about the essence of that moment, and how do you view its relevance today?

Pogus Caesar: Regarding my photographs of the 1985 Handsworth Riots, there had been underlying tensions for years and it took a small incident to ignite the community into action. I was trying to capture my truth as I witnessed it. The atmosphere was tense with ever-changing scenarios that were totally out of anyone’s control.

It was an urban uprising, born out of frustration and other factors. Upon reflection, there were no winners, just destruction and a legacy that still resides in the underbelly of Handsworth and beyond. Throughout those few days, my equipment was an AF camera and a pocket full of film.

The plan was to keep moving and shoot what I found relevant, no matter what the consequences were –adrenaline takes over your whole being and propels you forward in those instances. As the decades have passed, those photographic archives have become part of documentation referencing one of the most pivotal incidents to occur within the inner-cities of post-war Britain.

When photographing public events, how do you immerse yourself in the moment while maintaining an objective viewpoint as an artist?

Pogus Caesar: Once a decision is made to photograph public events, I don’t think about it too much. There is no start, stop or rewind – you get caught up in the moment and try to photograph what is relevant. No matter how objective you are, once the work is published and placed in front of the public, it takes on a completely different narrative and is open to scrutiny. You live with the scrutiny as not everyone will agree with your viewpoint or camera angle.

How has your role as a documentary photographer evolved with the rise of citizen journalism and the instantaneous documentation of events by everyday people?

Pogus Caesar: Well, as I am using an analogue camera, taking a photograph and instantly placing it on social media is difficult. Nonetheless, there have been moments when I have witnessed events and used my mobile phone to capture them, sharing the images on a platform for everyone to see and have an opinion on.

What do you hope to leave as a legacy for future photographers and artists, particularly those from underrepresented communities?

Pogus Caesar: Leaving a legacy is an interesting notion, hopefully I can show that a skinny little black kid from the West Indies had a creative dream and followed it. I am still chasing that dream and learning how to create better, worthwhile images.

As an artist who has been active for decades, what changes in the art world have most impacted your work? How do you adapt to these shifts?

Pogus Caesar: As I still use a Canon AF 35mm camera which has 36 frames, film can be expensive and so I have learnt to be selective in what I photograph. I also must work with laboratories and printers to develop the film, which isn’t problematic as I have built up positive and longstanding relationships in those areas.

In terms of adapting, it is much easier to place your work in front of the public’s gaze now. Adapting to shifts is vital; if used correctly, they can revitalise your creative journey. Artistic complacency is not part of my thought process.

What advice would you give to young photographers and artists who wish to capture social justice issues through their work?

Pogus Caesar: Just continue documenting. Create and archive visual personal diaries. We are witnessing times where images of social justice issues will play a vital part in world history. The more photographic images there are, the more future generations can hopefully attempt to piece together a road map of the times we are presently living in.

Everyone has a smartphone camera: you are a broadcaster with two video camera ‘eyes’, two stereo speaker ‘ears’, one microphone ‘mouth’, and a very powerful and complex hard drive ‘brain’. All those elements combined make you and your work an unstoppable force.

In a world saturated with images through social media and smartphones, how do you preserve the power and uniqueness of your work?

Pogus Caesar: Undoubtedly, social media and smartphones are an unstoppable force and will continue to develop at a rapid pace. One has to embrace technology and, when required, use it in one’s practice. While the majority of my photographic work is 35mm film, I am working in a digital timeframe – it is about balance and not allowing the technology to grasp the creativity out of your hands.

In terms of preserving the work, a large percentage of it comprises ordinary everyday moments. To an extent, that is quite mundane. However, the images are also a testament to my life, in which I have had the good fortune to journey into territories and document a broad range of cultures.

Lastly, could you share the philosophy that guides your art and how you view its core importance in your life and career?

Pogus Caesar: There is a simple philosophy I adhere to: try not to worry about the public not connecting with your work and capture what you find interesting as in years to come the images may become relevant.

Every image is a historic document of the era we are living in. In time, the images may accelerate to a position where they achieve cultural value.

Finally, have no fear, as not everyone will understand your vision; if 60% do, that is a start.

Friends in Love and War — L’Éloge des meilleur·es ennemi·es is presented at Ikon Gallery in collaboration with macLYON as part of the British Council’s UK/France Spotlight on Culture 2024, 2 October 2024 – 23 February 2025. ikon-gallery.org

©2024 Pogus Caesar

Len Gordon

Len is a curator and a contributing writer at Art Plugged, a platform for contemporary art; he also engages in web development, design, and marketing.

Heralded as one of Japan’s most influential artists, Mori is known for her pioneering multimedia work that merges cultural heritage, spiritual enlightenment, gender roles and technology with futuristic visions.

The themes in my work have gradually shifted from societal concerns to more spiritual, and this shift has naturally influenced the technique and media I employ.

Mariko Mori

Born in Tokyo in 1967, Mori initially pursued fashion design at Bunka Fashion College and worked as a fashion model. Raised in a household with a father who was an inventor and a mother who was a historian of European art, she was immersed in an environment of innovation and historical scholarship—an intriguing duality that shapes her work.

In 1989, Mori moved to London to study at the Byam Shaw School of Art and the Chelsea College of Art and Design, graduating in 1992. She then refined her craft further at the Whitney Independent Study Program in New York. While in New York, her interest in traditional Japanese culture deepened, laying the foundation for a vibrant body of work shaped by expressive freedom and diverse cultural influences.

Mori views technology as a medium to explore altered states of consciousness and the boundaries of identity, blending ancient myths with futuristic concepts. Drawing from Japanese heritage, Eastern mythology, and Western modernity, she constructs intricate worlds populated by fantastical deities, robots, and alien beings. These figures, often portrayed by Mori herself, fill her video and photographic works with a sense of transcendence and hybridised reality.

Long before Tesla’s vision of humanoid robots, Mori was already exploring the fusion of humans and machines in works like Play with Me (1994), where she adopts the role of a hypersexualised cyborg outside a Tokyo toy store. In these roles, she becomes a symbol of hybridised futurism, blurring the lines between the organic and the synthetic at a time when the world was turning its focus to the millennium and the hopes and dreams of technological advancements.

Mori’s fascination with consciousness and death traces back to an unsettling experience of sleep paralysis in her early twenties, where she was trapped for hours in an ambiguous state, questioning whether she was alive or had already crossed the threshold of the deceased. This surreal moment of suspended reality lingers in her work, infusing each piece with a haunting curiosity about existence and what lies beyond. As she hones her craft, her explorations have increasingly embraced spiritual and transcendental themes, drawing from her Buddhist and Shinto heritage.

During the 47th Venice Biennale in 1997, Mori showcased two works: the photo collage Empty Dream (1995) in the Japanese Pavilion and the 3-D video installation Nirvana (1997) in the Nordic Pavilion.

In 2010, Mori founded the Faou Foundation, an institution dedicated to promoting art and fostering a connection with the environment, particularly through public installations in remote natural settings. In her latest body of work, part of Mori’s ongoing mission with the Faou Foundation, she invites us to consider world peace and shared humanity through her immense Peace Crystal installation. Initially located in the garden of Palazzo Corner della Ca’ Granda, Venice, Italy, the piece will later find its permanent home in an Ethiopian cave.

Standing five feet six inches tall, Peace Crystal draws on Buddhist philosophy, symbolising the body as a vessel for the eternal soul’s cycle of life, death, and rebirth. The striking installation resembles a multifaceted pyramid, refracting a spectrum that dances across its polished surfaces. At its apex, a beam of light reaches upward, establishing a celestial connection, as if striving for otherworldly domains. For Mori, the installation symbolises an evolution of spirituality and intelligence, inviting viewers to contemplate dualities of presence and absence, physicality and spirituality.

Over a long and successful career, Mori has shaped discussions on universal themes of interconnectedness, life, death, reality, and the role of technology in human experience. Her work serves as a clarion call, urging us to discover profound meaning at the intersections of life, technology, and spiritual enlightenment.

Hi Mariko, thanks for speaking with us. Could you start by sharing your journey into the arts and what inspired you to pursue a career as an artist?

Mariko Mori: In my early twenties, during the mid-1980s, I encountered installation art in London. I was deeply inspired by the freedom of expression it allowed within a spatial context. There were also no limitations on materials, and I realized the potential to create entirely new dimensions through this form.

Your work blends Japanese tradition, pop culture, and futuristic aesthetics. How has your journey from Japan to New York and London influenced your practice, and can we delve into the recurring themes of cultural fusion, spirituality, and technology in your work?

Mariko Mori: New York is a city of immense diversity and multiculturalism, which constantly questions one’s cultural identity. This environment has deepened my interest in my own traditional culture.

It is a progressive place where diverse cultures collide, merge, and give birth to new forms of expression. However, new ideas may be quite challenged to survive, even pop culture without a core ideology can easily fade away like a fleeting trend. Similarly, ever-evolving technology which reflects society’s desires cannot contribute meaningfully to society without a foundational philosophy. How we harness technology depends on having a clear vision of the future. As artists, I believe one of our missions is to propose such a vision.

Throughout your career, you’ve shifted from photography and performance to large-scale installations and digital technology. Can you discuss how this evolution in materials reflects changes in your conceptual focus and the new directions it has opened for your work?

Mariko Mori: The themes in my work have gradually shifted from societal concerns to more spiritual, and this shift has naturally influenced the technique and media I employ. As I sought ways to articulate my concepts more deeply, I have explored different technology and materials. There are no limits to the ways in which art can be achieved, and I have worked to develop new technologies that didn’t previously exist, continually pushing the boundaries of my artistic expression.

Many of your projects, like Wave UFO, explore the relationship between spirituality and advanced technology. How do you navigate the balance between ancient spiritual philosophies and the futuristic, hyper-modern worlds you create, and what drives this connection in your work?

Mariko Mori: Traditional culture, Buddhist philosophy, and Eastern thought are elements that have been passed down through generations and must continue to be inherited by future ones. While the essence of these teachings and primordial wisdoms remains universal, societal values evolve over time.

Many traditions are often preserved in museums, but their relevance can often be lost in modern society. I believe that these timeless wisdom should remain alive and active in today’s world, and communicating them through my work is one of my missions as an artist.

Can we speak about crucial works such as Birth of a Star and Play with Me, where you portrayed cyborg-like figures? What does this recurring theme of the cyborg signify for you in terms of gender, identity, and humanity’s evolving relationship with technology?

Mariko Mori: I produced these works in the mid-1990s, during a time when hyperreality—a cyber reality, especially within Japan’s “otaku” culture—was becoming increasingly prevalent. I wanted to explore a society where this artificial world was becoming more real than reality itself. “Empty Dream” (1995) particularly reflects this concept.

Your work often presents futuristic or otherworldly visions that look beyond the present moment. What role does the future play in your creative process, and what message do you hope to convey about humanity’s relationship with technology, spirituality, and the environment?

Mariko Mori: Until the Neolithic era, the world was not fragmented. Each region developed diverse civilizations and cultures along different timelines, but these differences led to wars, resulting in numerous borders—walls—being erected across the Earth. Humanity, which evolved in Africa and spread worldwide, can essentially be considered a single family; however, the human world became conceptually divided through history.

Yet spiritually, we have always been in a state of “Oneness.” Even quantum cosmology depicts a universe where life and death recur in an interconnected continuum. It seems that advanced technologies are now endeavoring to reconnect our fragmented world. I believe this represents societal will and it serves the direction toward which we are heading. Through my artwork, I aspire to advocate and share a vision of “Oneness.”

In 2010, you founded the Faou Foundation to promote art that fosters a connection with the environment, particularly through public installations in remote natural settings. Could you share more about the essence of the foundation and what inspired you to establish it?

Mariko Mori: There is a belief system that has been passed down since the Jomon period (1400-300BC) and became more grounded during the Kofun period (5th to 7th Century) in Japan. This belief, known as animism, venerates the deities of the natural world. I think that the preservation of Japan’s natural environment today is deeply rooted in this belief, which continues to influence modern society.

I believe that contemporary art has the potential to serve a significant role in conserving the natural environment. Contemporary art has become more and more a universal language, and by dedicating monumental installations that express reverence for nature, we can contribute to environmental preservation for future generations. One of our goals is to engage with local communities and, together, explore ways to coexist with the natural world.

In your latest installation, Peace Crystal, you explore the human body as a vessel for the eternal soul, drawing on Buddhist themes of life, death, and rebirth. How does the installation’s focus on physicality—particularly the crystal’s height and balance—serve as a metaphor for humanity’s spiritual evolution and the pursuit of peace?

Mariko Mori: Among living beings on Earth, humanity is unique in its verticality, with a body capable of receiving energy from both the celestial and terrestrial. A teaching I once learned from Native Americans says, “The Earth that nurtures life is the mother, and the sky is the father.” Just as trees grow upward toward the sky, I feel that our souls are nurtured and expand, reaching towards greater spiritual growth. I believe humanity’s true purpose is to bring peace to Earth and it is my wish that Peace Crystal could remind us of this.

At the core of the sculpture levitates a sphere symbolizing the eternal soul. Encircling this sphere are luminous bubbles that evoke the imagery of galaxies, shimmering with ethereal brilliance. According to Buddhist philosophy, the soul is intrinsically connected to all dimensions and unified with them. Thus, the soul transcends the physical body; it is neither materially born nor does it perish but exists eternally. To represent the concept of the soul’s antimatter, I employed the technique of dichroic vacuum deposition, endowing the sphere with an iridescent, spectrum luminescence. Additionally, I utilized a solar light-transmitting system to illuminate the work with visible rays of sun. I believe this work engages in an intense dialogue with the viewer’s subconscious mind.

You’ve described the moment humans stood upright as pivotal for the development of intelligence and spirituality, represented in Peace Crystal by its balance. How does this idea of verticality and energy flow between celestial and terrestrial realms reflect your broader exploration of interconnectedness in the universe?

Mariko Mori: Among living beings on Earth, humanity is unique in its verticality, with a body capable of receiving energy from both the celestial and terrestrial. A teaching I once learned from Native Americans says, “The Earth that nurtures life is the mother, and the sky is the father.” Just as trees grow upward toward the sky, I feel that our souls are nurtured and expand, reaching towards greater spiritual growth. I believe humanity’s true purpose is to bring peace to Earth and it is my wish that Peace Crystal could remind us of this.

At the core of the sculpture levitates a sphere symbolizing the eternal soul. Encircling this sphere are luminous bubbles that evoke the imagery of galaxies, shimmering with ethereal brilliance. According to Buddhist philosophy, the soul is intrinsically connected to all dimensions and unified with them. Thus, the soul transcends the physical body; it is neither materially born nor does it perish but exists eternally. To represent the concept of the soul’s antimatter, I employed the technique of dichroic vacuum deposition, endowing the sphere with an iridescent, spectrum luminescence. Additionally, I utilized a solar light-transmitting system to illuminate the work with visible rays of sun. I believe this work engages in an intense dialogue with the viewer’s subconscious mind.

As your practice evolves, what future directions are you excited to explore? Are there any emerging technologies or philosophical concepts that are inspiring your current or upcoming projects?

Mariko Mori: In my early twenties, after my father passed away, I embarked on a journey spanning over 30 years to explore the fate of his soul from various multidimensional perspectives. My extensive studies have encompassed theology, Buddhism, ancient civilizations, the Neolithic era, and theoretical astrophysics, among other fields. While these explorations have gradually brought me closer to an understanding of the essence, the most decisive moment was a profound mystical experience—an encounter with a Great Light, which could be referred to as the Creator in Christian terms or as in Dōgen’s (13th century zen monk) teachings, “光明” (Kōmyō).

In 1999, I endeavored to visualize this Light for the first time in my work “Dream Temple”(1999). However, the magnitude and sublimity of this Great Light remains an immense challenge for me even today. I am committed to continuing my efforts to give form to this Light, and through Faou Foundation’s projects, I aspire to create works that revere and honor nature, dedicating them to the world.

Art is an experience to be both observed and profoundly felt. This is because the viewer not only perceives the work visually but also apprehends it on a subconscious level. Art possesses the extraordinary ability to convey that which transcends verbal articulation. Its power is limitless, capable even of transcending time and space. As an exceptionally potent force in this world, art has immeasurably enriched my life through the act of creation, for which I am deeply grateful.

Lastly, could you share the philosophy that guides your art? How do you see the role of art in your life and its importance in shaping your career and broader worldview?

Mariko Mori: In Japan, there exists a spiritual tradition known as “Iwakura.” These are sacred sites where the deities of nature temporarily descend upon rocks. It is conceivable that our ancestors were attuned to the inherent energies within these landing stones. Similarly, artworks contain an intangible energy imbued within their materials—something unseen that resides within them. I have unwavering faith in this power and am committed to continuing my creative endeavors, trusting in the path that has naturally guided me.

©2024 Mariko Mori

Len Gordon

Len is a curator and a contributing writer at Art Plugged, a platform for contemporary art; he also engages in web development, design, and marketing.

My generation could achieve and was capable of achieving whatever our dreams desired. I classify myself as the proud product of The African Independence Generation. THE NEW AFRICANS.

Everlyn Nicodemus

Since the mid-1970s, Nicodemus has lived a nomadic lifestyle, experiencing the spice of life through various stints across Europe. Born in Tanzania in 1954, she has called the Scottish capital, Edinburgh, home for the last fifteen years. Alongside her visual art, her practice is enriched by her work as a writer and curator, creating a glorious dialogue of exchange between disciplines.

Nicodemus didn’t become a curator by choice but by necessity. In her own words: “I had to curate myself. No one else offered to. I gave myself a VOICE when I was denied one. No mystery to it. When you’re denied a VOICE, a SPACE, a PLATFORM, you make your own. You Create and Curate.”

For Nicodemus, art has always been a form of healing—a way to process, recover, and reassemble what’s been broken, unspoken, or avoided. She sees art as a vessel of revival, an almost divine act of resurrection.

Since the 1980s, she has challenged the marginalisation of women, structural racism, and oppression. Through a potent blend of painting, collage, and textiles, her work employs materials like burlap and jute for their raw tactility and symbolic weight.

Technically and conceptually, Nicodemus’ approach is as fearless as her subject matter—poetic and honest, where abstraction and figuration meet through gestural brushwork. Her palette is a counterpoint to the strength of her themes, a deliberate choice, allowing the work to sink deep without overwhelming.

Nicodemus navigates the fine line between the weight of history and the potential for healing—both individual and collective. Her new series, Lazarus Jacaranda, is the centrepiece of this retrospective, marking her return to painting after a 25-year hiatus. While the name hints at resurrection, the series delves deeper, reflecting on the cycles of life and Nicodemus’ belief in art’s power to resurrect lost narratives. The exhibition also featured her very first painting, After the Birth, which was created in 1980.

Throughout her career, Nicodemus has been deeply involved in community life, highlighting the shared struggles of women and fostering crucial conversations around modern African art and trauma studies. In 2022, she received the Freelands Award, an annual prize that celebrates underrepresented women artists—a critical factor in bringing this retrospective to fruition.

Nicodemus‘ work offers a critical response to socio-political realities, marginalisation, and the psychological scars left by histories of oppression and trauma. It is neither sentimental nor purely autobiographical. It’s a broader discourse on these effects and the potential for recovery and rebirth through art. Nicodemus’ navigation of these complex spaces has defined her as one of the most poignant voices in contemporary art.

Everlyn Nicodemus is open from the 19th of October, 2024, until the 25th of May, 2025 at National Galleries Scotland: Modern One

Hi Everlyn, thank you for joining us. To start, could you share your journey into the arts?

Everlyn Nicodemus: I am not sure I can answer the question. I was not born and raised in a traditional African artistic family or clan. Nor was the Arts given priority. The Arts were not totally Ignored, but the Arts was never a priority! Our Lutheran Christian Communities was Progressive one.

Seeking to modernise and advance our communities through education, science and technology. The Arts were not subjects that were promoted in my formative years! I was born 1954 MARANGU Kilimanjaro Tanzania a few years before Tanzania became Independent.

The Mid fifties was the beginning of the death of colonialism on The African Continent. Have that in mind. I am a product of the aspiring generations freed from colonial oppression. We were inspired to think Black African people were equal and not inferior to anyone! We were capable of achieving anything.

My generation could achieve and was capable of achieving whatever our dreams desired. I classify myself as the proud product of The African Independence Generation. THE NEW AFRICANS.

The new Independent African Nations wanted to foster a new educated progressive African Generations. I benefited from that! I was the generation of HOPE. The liberated New African Nations, desperately needed African Doctors, Nurses, Engineers,Teachers, etc Important professionals to run the New Independent African Nations. Arts was not given priority if they were not popular Arts…African Modernists were not popular.

Were there any pivotal moments or influential experiences that led you to pursue a career as an artist?

Everlyn Nicodemus: I can’t define the pivotal moments. I just don’t work like that in my creations. I don’t classify pivotal moments. Arts found me, and I discovered Arts. We fell in love.

You’ve lived in several European countries, each with its own unique cultural landscape. How have these diverse environments shaped your artistic expression and theoretical frameworks? Specifically, how have your experiences with diaspora, racism, and being a woman influenced your exploration of power dynamics in cross-cultural exchanges?

Everlyn Nicodemus: Every country I have visited or lived in has inspired and gifted me in one form or another. There is so much beauty and similarities in humanity. I count myself very fortunate and lucky to have experienced this nomadic lifestyle. No humans are an Island. It’s a gift and Blessing rather than the curse.

Your work frequently highlights the historical and ongoing marginalization of women. How do you incorporate feminist theory into your visual and written works? Are there specific feminist critiques or perspectives that you aim to bring forward through your art?

Everlyn Nicodemus: Marginalisation of women in Patriarchal societies is a Global Problem since time immemorial. But, We must always remember! Women all over the world has Always fought against Patriarchal oppression.

Maybe be? But not consciously. I read a lot of books about global women’s Histories, including feminist theories and Art theories etc. If some of my theories readings sneaks into my creations? I don’t mind at all!

In addition to creating art, you’ve engaged in curatorial practice, particularly examining themes of trauma and suffering. Can we discuss your curatorial approach? What do you view as the curator’s responsibilities when representing such sensitive topics?

Everlyn Nicodemus: My curatorial practice was born out of necessity. I have to curate myself as no one offered to curate me. I gave myself a VOICE when I was denied a VOICE. No mystery. If, you’re denied a VOICE a SPACE a FORUM you resort to Create and Curate.

Your PhD research on ‘African Modern Art and Black Cultural Trauma’ intersects closely with your artistic practice. How do you integrate your academic research with your creative work? Could you provide an example where this synthesis is particularly evident?

Everlyn Nicodemus: Correct. it intersects with my artistic practice. It was again a product of necessity. Denied a VOICE? I gave myself a VOICE.

©2024 Everlyn Nicodemus

Len Gordon

Len is a curator and a contributing writer at Art Plugged, a platform for contemporary art; he also engages in web development, design, and marketing.

Influenced by tactile and sensory elements, Ay-O’s early works explored texture and perception through interactive art. Born in Ibaraki Prefecture, Japan, in 1931 as Takao Iijima, Ay-O began his journey into the arts. He studied at the Department of Art at the Faculty of Education, Tokyo University of Education, setting him on the path to becoming one of Japan’s most influential artists.

Art is not something created entirely from scratch, but something that is discovered. This has always been my approach. There is always something on the other side.

Ay-O

As Ay-O studied fine art, Japan was undergoing rapid modernisation and industrialisation after World War II, which disrupted the cultural fabric of Japanese society and influenced the nation’s arts community, with many artists questioning the relevance of classical forms and seeking new ways to express themselves in this new era. This led to the formation of many artist groups, such as the Demokrato Artists Association, which aimed to explore new forms of expression.

Demokrato championed artistic freedom, encouraging its members to ditch academic rules and think outside the box. Ay-O joined the association in 1953, rubbing shoulders with artists like Ei-Q and On Kawara.

In 1955, Ay-O co-founded Jitsuzonsha (The Existentialists) with fellow artists like Masuo Ikeda. It was through this group that Ay-O’s love for printmaking took root—a medium he would continue to master for decades to come. By 1958, Ay-O was ready for a change, and where better to go than New York City? The Big Apple was a hotbed for avant-garde art, and Ay-O quickly became a link between the Japanese and American scenes.

In 1961, Yoko Ono introduced him to George Maciunas, the mastermind behind Fluxus. The group sought to break down the barriers between art, life, and what constitutes art. By 1963, he officially joined the group, collaborating with other avant-garde artists like Emmett Williams, Dick Higgins, and Nam June Paik.

The 1960s turned out to be Ay-O’s most transformative decade, and his first ‘rainbow happening’ at Carnegie Hall in 1964 was just the beginning.

Soon, he was representing Japan at the 1966 Venice Biennale, with works that invited audiences to engage their senses in unexpected ways. His Finger Boxes series, for instance, asked people to touch and feel art without relying on their vision—a bold move that redefined sensory experience in art.

Ay-O’s rainbow dialect emerged during this time and defined much of his work going forward. He didn’t stop with prints and paintings—he brought rainbows to life in installations and sculptures, too. One of his most striking projects came in 1987 when he transformed Paris’ Eiffel Tower with his iconic rainbow colours.

Blending Eastern thought with Western avant-garde experimental energy, Ay-O’s works are more than just colourful art; it serve as a cultural bridge. Reminding us that creativity is not about reaching a destination, but about the joy of discovery. After all, art—and curiosity—know no borders, and this is what he has demonstrated for decades, inspiring countless artists across the globe.

In conjunction with Eiichi Matsuhashi, Director, Karuizawa New Art Museum we spoke with Ay-O.

Hi Ay-O, thank you for speaking with us. Please introduce yourself to those who might not be familiar with your work

Ay-O: My real name is Takao Iijima. I was born on May 19, 1931, in Ibaraki Prefecture. In 1950, at the age of 19, I entered the Department of Art at the Faculty of Education, Tokyo University of Education. I moved to the U.S. in 1958, at the age of 27. Since then, I have been creating artworks for 74 years, and I am now 93 years old.

Matsuhashi: What made you choose being an artist as your career path?

Ay-O: I became an artist because I have always enjoyed drawing since I was a boy, and I always planned to pursue a career in art. I am good at organizing things, and even as a student, I was involved in the theater club and various other activities. I love to create.

Matsuhashi: So you were already forming various groups when you were a boy. Was the idea of becoming a painter particularly special to you during the war?

Ay-O: I had that intention from the beginning; I never thought about anything else.

Matsuhashi: What is the origin of your name Ay-O as an artist?

Ay-O: I asked a friend to choose his favorite letter from the Japanese vowels: a, i, u, e, o.

Matsuhashi: So you create your own rules. Is it like a game?

Ay-O: Not at all; it was chosen seriously. It’s not playful like a game, but something earnest. I believe that finding something by entrusting it to others is what makes someone an artist. It is important that what is created organically becomes the artwork, and the artist discovers it. That’s what contemporary art is about. It’s not about creating something from scratch, but about bringing it forth from somewhere.

Matsuhashi: So, it’s about finding something. That is a very important concept in contemporary art. Surrealism also has a concept called ‘found poetry,’ and it’s amazing that you were already practicing such an idea when you were a university student.

Ay-O: Art is not something created entirely from scratch, but something that is discovered. This has always been my approach. There is always something on the other side.

Matsuhashi: It seems like your essence was captured in your introductory remarks. I’m also impressed by the fact that your methodology has remained consistent in thought from your student days to the present.

Ay-O: I believe that is what contemporary art is all about.

Matsuhashi: The fact that your artist name itself was created using the same methodology as your artworks is fascinating.

Matsuhashi: Mr. Ay-O, your career as an artist spans over 70 years. The first art group you joined was the Demokrato Artists Association. How did this period of artistic freedom and independence influence your subsequent activities? What kind of group was the Democrat?

Ay-O: The term “Demokrato” refers to democracy and freedom.

Matsuhashi: At that time, less than ten years had passed since the end of the war, and compared to today’s understanding of freedom, the desire for freedom among people back then was much more eager. This is because the previous era was wartime, during which there was no freedom.

Ay-O: In my youth, the purpose of life was to find freedom. That is the basis for everything.

Matsuhashi: There was once I asked you what kind of group was the Demokrato group, you replied that it was a very democratic group. At first, I thought that I was being somewhat misled, but upon reflection, I realized you were correct. It was a group that operated equally, without seniority or hierarchy.

Ay-O: Democrat is democracy. I like the new and want to erase the old. I aimed to remove distinctions between seniors and juniors. I actively tried to get rid of it. It’s a young person’s way of thinking, to get rid of the old things.

Matsuhashi: I think that this was made possible largely because of the group leader, Eikyuu. I think that Eikyuu was great for creating such an atmosphere of freedom. In traditional organizations and groups, there is a hierarchy of seniority and juniority, and I think it was normal that the opinions of long-standing members were valued and those of newcomers were often ignored. I have heard that veterans’ works were also considered important, while good works by young artists were not exhibited in prominent places.

Ay-O: All those things and ideas were discarded. Everyone worked together to create something different.

Matsuhashi: I believe that was Eikyuu’s philosophy.

Ay-O: Yes, it was. He was great. I respect Eikyu the most.

Matsuhashi: There were many different groups formed at the time, but Demokrato was truly a free group. It’s regrettable that it disbanded so early. I believe that the spirit of freedom is fundamental to your work and has continued since then. The artistic freedom of your subsequent stance of creating new experimental works and creating things that had never existed before was cultivated during this period. Additionally, I think Eikyuu was significantly influenced by pre-war Surrealist artists. Some of his photography, for example, is quite similar to Man Ray’s style.

Ay-O: I am influenced by Eikyuu.

Matsuhashi: In this sense, it can be considered that the influence was passed down from generation to generation. It is also an interesting fact that you later met the prewar avant-garde artists such as Marcel Duchamp directly after you went to the U.S.

Matsuhashi: Your work has continued to evolve throughout the years. This evolution became particularly noticeable after your arrival in the United States, and more so after you went to New York and joined the Fluxus group. How did these various experiences during the 1960s period create the multifaceted approach to your art over the following years and how did they influence your subsequent artistic direction?

Matsuhashi: You went to New York in 1958, when the action painting was at its peak. But since you pursued your own path distinct from such trends, I think you must have had a very difficult time financially.

Ay-O: From the beginning, I had no intention of joining the art group. I thought what I was doing was the most modern, so I had no plans to create abstract works. I can’t associate with old things.

Matsuhashi: When you first went to America, you painted in several styles. First, you created abstract paintings and then painted X over them to negate them, or made holes in canvas, and so on. Wasn’t this a period of experimentation when you were exploring various things?

Ay-O: What I wanted to express could not be done with the old materials. With old materials, you get old expressions. New expression required new materials, such as metals that I had not used before.

I don’t know if that is a good thing or a bad thing. No one recognized anything made with new materials as art. At that time, they were not recognized as art. Also, there is an accumulation of many works (studies) under these works.

Matsuhashi: So it was the result of a lot of trial and error. New art attracts the attention of new artists. After that, many young artists began to visit your studio. New ideas, new materials, and new works of art attracted new artists. Some of them would later become members of the Fluxus group. Works like Tea House and HYDRA, created in the early 1960s, are unprecedented. The idea that you could go inside the work and appreciate it is very innovative.

Ay-O: It is called Environmental Art.

Matsuhashi: Various people began to gather, and interactions became more active.

Ay-O: Yes, that is right. I am good at organizing things.

Matsuhashi: In the process, you began to interact with George Maciunas, the founder of Fluxus. As I recall, he was scheduled to have a solo exhibition at the AG Gallery, but the funds got jammed and he left for Europe, so the exhibition could not take place. A few years later, after things had settled down, Maciunas returned to New York and Fluxus began its activities.

Ay-O: I think he lived above or next to my room. Everyone around me started to gather.

Matsuhashi: This may be in a way the same as what you were doing in Demokrato. It was a free gathering with no hierarchy at all, wasn’t it?

Ay-O: There was no hierarchy. We had a lot of things together, and they belonged to no one. We did many things. George was doing George. We just picked up new things. It was not like learning, we were just doing it for fun.　　

Matsuhashi: So the person who found something first was the one who has recognized. The question is, how did your time in New York influence your later art? Perhaps it has always been the same. It seems to me that it still continues with the same content. Usually when you have been doing this for a long time, you pursue things like technical improvement and refinement, but I don’t think that’s what you guys are going for.

Ay-O: Yes. We have been doing only new things, not the same kind of art that someone else has been doing until now. I must have been at the bottom of the art world.

Matsuhashi: There have been many cases where something that was at the bottom of the art hierarchy suddenly became the most important one day. So I think the same thing is happening with your art.

Matsuhashi: The title of your current exhibition in Hong Kong is Ay-O: Nijitsukai. (虹使い: Rainbow-charming). Can you tell us how your fascination with rainbows influences your artistic process and thinking? Rainbows are the main theme of this exhibition.

Matsuhashi: Rainbows are beautiful, but some people think that you create paintings with them because they are beautiful, but that is not how these works were created, and I think that needs to be explained in this interview.

Matsuhashi: As you have previously explained in your own writings, in creating works related to all the senses, the five senses, you created Fingerbox (tactile), Rainbow Dinner Show (taste), Perfumed Paintings (olfactory), Fluxus Orchestra (auditory), and finally, in pursuing the visual,  I think you are saying that the Rainbow works were the beginning of a scientific process that systematically painted the spectrum of colors between ultraviolet and infrared, the human visible range, in sequence.

Ay-O: That’s right. That is absolutely right. I never thought of making something beautiful. I did not make rainbows because they are beautiful motifs. I never once thought of making something beautiful, and this is what I ended up doing when I pursued something interesting. I believe that there is beauty not only in beautiful things, but also in dirty things. This is what I arrived at in my pure pursuit of the visual.

Matsuhashi: It is important to understand that even if a work is beautiful because of the colors and gradations, it is merely the result, and that this style was not created with the goal of creating a beautiful work of art, but as a result of pure experimentation in painting.

Ay-O: It is always the case that something new comes out.

It is not something that you work hard to build up and create, but something that appears out of nowhere.

Matsuhashi: I think there is a world of traditional art that is built up through accumulation. However, your art might not belong to that realm. Aspects like having a keen eye or good footwork could be important elements in your art, which may have been shocking to those who didn’t possess these qualities.

Ay-O: When you pick up a lot of different things, other people will say, “Oh, he picked up some good stuff.”

Matsuhashi: This was not possible in the old days in the art world, and I think the mainstream was to train over a long period of time.

Ay-O: It was a narrow world in those days when that was the norm.

Matsuhashi: If it were just pretty, it would be an ornament, but this is not that kind of thing.

Ay-O: Art is not limited to just beautiful things; it also exists in dirty things.

Matsuhashi: The 33rd Venice Biennale in 1966 must have been a major milestone in your career, but now that you look back on that time, how do you think this event influenced your subsequent work and direction as an artist?

Matsuhashi: Here are the magazines from the Venice Biennale and the blueprints that you made.

Ay-O: Where is this work?

(Looking at a photo of the installation work on display at the time that appeared in the magazine)

Matsuhashi: This piece is no longer here.  Perhaps it was dismantled after the exhibition ended. However, there are models and blueprints here, so you can imagine the overall composition.

Ay-O: Was this exhibit created by me on site?

Matsuhashi: Probably yes. I believe that the entire exhibition plan was made by the professor at this time. The blueprint of the entire venue is here, and the teacher wrote all the configuration of the venue, including the placement of each artist.

Ay-O: I see. I forgot, but I tend to take the lead in whatever I do. I’m quick at my work, so I keep creating more and more.

Matsuhashi: I think the exhibition at the Venice Biennale made your work known to people in Europe.　

Ay-O: Yes, it did. Before that, I was completely unknown in Europe.

Matsuhashi: At that time you were with Toshinobu Onosato, and Masuo Ikeda.

Ay-O: They were all new and unknown. I didn’t think that Masuo Ikeda would become that famous.

Matsuhashi: Mr. Ikeda received an award at that time. And Mr. Ay-O, you became very famous for something else. The finger box that was on display, one of which had a nail inside, and the person who experienced it injured his finger. The newspapers picked it up as news. The next day, a lot of people started coming to see that piece, and that is how the name of Mr. Ay-O became known locally at once.

Ay-O: That is a famous story.

Matsuhashi: After the Biennial your name became known worldwide and you went to the University of Kentucky. This must have brought economic stability, didn’t it?

Ay-O: Yes, it did. Until then, it had been difficult to make a living as an artist. Becoming a university teacher provided financial stability.

Matsuhashi: During this period, you created a very large work called Rainbow Tactile Room, which is a compilation of rainbow works and Fingerboxes in a 3.6m x 3.6m sized room with rainbow units and Fingerboxes. This work was also exhibited at the 1970 World Exposition in Osaka.

Ay-O: This wasn’t something that had a clear plan from the start; it developed as I continue to work on them.

Matsuhashi: I think it was created in cooperation with the students of the university at that time. Your methodology is not to create everything by yourself, but to collaborate with others by presenting a direction and having them work toward it. I think printmaking is also connected in the sense of division of labor with the printer.

Ay-O: Entrusting certain parts to others can be an interesting approach.

Matsuhashi: I feel that Mr. Ay-O, you have challenged some of the old conventions of the art world during your career. In particular, I think it is to your credit that you have raised the status of printmaking in the art world by advocating that printmaking is an art form on the same level as oil painting. What do you think about that?

Ay-O: I never consciously tried to challenge the old conventions. I don’t know about my peers, but maybe that’s what happened as I did various things.

Matsuhashi: Do you think you changed the hierarchy in the art world, where oil painting is at the top, followed by drawing and watercolor, and printmaking is below that? It has been said that you were instrumental in elevating the status of printmaking.

Ay-O: Prints were worthless in our time. They were like posters and were not considered art.

Matsuhashi: You started your career as an artist by making prints, which sold well and led to your professional debut.

Ay-O: That’s one thing, but at that time there was no one buying my paintings. The price was too high.

Ay-O: A few artists’ works were selling well, but they were out of the reach of the general public. At that time, prints were the main type of artwork I was making.

Matsuhashi: Nowadays, prints are appreciated as art, but at that time they were not art. However, there was a tradition of ukiyo-e in Japan, and there must have been a custom of buying prints.

Ay-O: That is also true. We were trying to sell prints by telling people that they were also art.

Matsuhashi: But do you think you were able to continue making them not just for the money, but because there was something appealing about them?

Ay-O: Yes, I think so. Relatively many people bought the prints I produced, which I also devised in various ways. Since many of them were the same, they were not considered art at first. Even so, I continued to sell them, saying that they were also art. There were no art galleries at that time. So prints, which were not highly regarded at first, later became the object of appreciation as art.

Matsuhashi: Nowadays, there are many galleries specializing in prints, and contemporary prints are highly regarded. I think that many of your silkscreen prints are contemporary and beautiful. They are also highly acclaimed overseas and displayed in large spaces in exhibitions.

Ay-O: That may be so.

Matsuhashi: Looking back over your career of more than 70 years as an artist, have the receptions of Mr. Ay-O’s works and activities changed as time has gone by?

Matsuhashi: Also, what aspects of your work do you think reach the hearts and minds of contemporary audiences?

Matsuhashi: I wonder if the general public recognized the activities of the early 1960s as art? Here is a picture of a Fluxus street event. Some people are watching, but did the people watching consider this art?

Matsuhashi: It looks like they were simply onlookers who gathered because they were doing something.

Ay-O: Yes, that’s right. Isn’t that still the case today?

Matsuhashi:: I don’t think people still don’t understand it, but even so, from the 1980s onward, Fluxus was reevaluated as an art form, and various museums began to take it up and introduce a variety of things to the public. Research books and publications of the time were also re-released, and objects were re-produced.

Ay-O: It was a strange thing we were doing at the time (1960s), but was it slowly being understood?

Matsuhashi: I think the concept of art expanded and the range of acceptable art became wider. In fact, in the 1980s, artworks were selling at a price. There were not only artworks but also various activities.

Ay-O: I remember that. However, my works were selling to some extent even in the 1960s. There were good artists, but many of them did not sell. I don’t know what it was that made them sell, but they were attractive to buyers. It was interesting that people were able to buy and sell, so that even if something was strange, there were people who would buy it, and those who bought it would begin to realize later that they had bought something strange, but it wasn’t so bad.

Matsuhashi: In the end, I think the concept of art has expanded.

Ay-O: Yes. Perhaps it was not just one piece of art, but many pieces that came out and spread out, and were recognized as such.

Matsuhashi: I think that the popularity of his works was due to the fact that many of your works are humorous and cute. I have some of your work myself, and I enjoy being in contact with your artwork.

Ay-O: Generally speaking, art is not fun. There is this idea that art has to be serious.

Matsuhashi: Yes, it is. Suffering, for example. Heavy themes are sometimes expressed.

Ay-O: We were kind of playing around.

Matsuhashi: The element of fun. Adding the concept of gags, humor, and laughter to art is something new. There are a lot of funny things in Fluxus.

Ay-O: (Looking at Robert Watts’ work in Fluxus with the weights of the various stones on them.) This is hard to weigh. I weigh them all. It takes a whole day, but I can’t do much. Everyone made so many different things.

Matsuhashi: I once read in a text that when Mr. Ay-O went to Jasper Johns’ house, you were very happy to see your finger box work on a shelf in his study. Does that mean that it was very encouraging to you that a senior artist liked your work?

Ay-O: I think so, yes.

Matsuhashi: I think it is wonderful that the artwork makes people happy.

Matsuhashi: What do you think future generations, in other words, future audiences, will think of your works and activities? How do you hope they will view your work?

Matsuhashi: How do you hope future generations will interpret your work?

Ay-O: I don’t know what the future holds. I have never thought about that. I don’t really care how they interpret my work. I want it to be seen as I want it to be seen. And I don’t know what the future holds. (Looking at the pictures of the Eiffel Tower Rainbow Project.) I think I made these things because people would see them.

Matsuhashi: So you wanted people to look at them freely.

Ay-O: I liked these things. It’s the same with big things and small things. I was doing strange things. I was thinking about all kinds of things.

Matsuhashi: You must have had many plans that never came to fruition. I once saw a drawing in your studio of a project to hang a rainbow sash from the Statue of Liberty.

Ay-O: Maybe I was thinking of something like that. I forget now.

Matsuhashi: Looking back on your career, what do you remember most? It may be difficult to pick just one, but what do you think?

Ay-O: There are many. I don’t know, there are so many things.

Matsuhashi: I think it could be a variety of people, meeting Eikyuu, meeting George Maciunas, and so on.  It is probably our side of the conversation as to what we think of them.

Ay-O: There were many things that happened at that time. There are many things that left an impression on me.

Matsuhashi: Technology and the application of new technology to art — there are many pieces that are wrapped in foam rubber or that are not looking for visual pleasure or effect. There are works that take you to another world, like another dimension, but there are many forms of work that have never been done before. How does the application of new technology to art reshape traditional boundaries, and what role does this play in the future of artistic creation?

Ay-O: We are doing a lot of things with the intention of creating something strange, an odd world, a mysterious thing. However, it is not something that was created with the intention of creating something specific.

Matsuhashi: You have created many works using the new technology of the time. For example, when color copying was first introduced, you used it in your art. Similarly, when computers became available, you incorporated them into your work as well.

Ay-O: I always work with new materials and explore new dimensions. However, when creating, I don’t have a specific vision for how I want the piece to turn out or how I want to create it. After the work is completed, I might evaluate it based on the interpretations and reactions of those who see it. My process isn’t driven by expectations of how it should be done or what kind of feedback I might receive for using new techniques.

Matsuhashi: You incorporate everything, making no distinction between new and old techniques, only with the desire to create something. So there are no taboos?

Ay-O: No, there are no taboos. We use any method and create whatever we want.

Matsuhashi: How do you want to be remembered in the art world? How do you feel about this? I mean how do you want to be thought of in the future?

Ay-O: I have never thought about it. I have never made a work thinking about what other people would think of it.

Matsuhashi: I think your interest is in creating artwork, so you don’t have that kind of thought?

Ay-O: I’ve never really considered how I want to be remembered. I just focus on creating various things on my own. I don’t concern myself with others’ opinions or whether my work will sell. I’ve never thought about how people might perceive my creations.

Matsuhashi: I think it means that we’re not focused on creating works with the intention of leaving a legacy for future generations. We appreciate what’s around us, but Mr. Ay-O, you simply create.

Ay-O: “I just create”.

Matsuhashi: I would like to hear your philosophy of art. How do you explain and understand the importance of art?

Ay-O: I’ve never thought of art as being particularly great or important.

Matsuhashi: It doesn’t seem like you’re trying to leave a legacy or have a specific belief or philosophy about it.

Ay-O: Every day, you create spontaneously, and more and more works of art come into being.

Matsuhashi: Art is not something you make because someone tells you to, or because you are ordered to. It is not something you make because you want to be popular or to be praised. It’s not driven by any particular thoughts.

Ay-O: I don’t make art because of deep thoughts or intentions. It comes naturally.

Matsuhashi: So you have an internal urge to create. I suppose you could say, Mr. Ay-O, that your artistic philosophy is that you don’t have a specific philosophy.

Matsuhashi: Do you have any last questions or messages you would like to ask people?

Ay-O: I hope people will look at my work and reflect on it.

Matsuhashi: Your work has recently been showcased in several prominent locations,
including the Smithsonian Institution in the U.S. and M+ in Hong Kong. In June 2024, it was also on display at WHITESTONE GALLERY HONG KONG, where it has drawn many visitors. I’m confident that interest in your work will continue to increase. Thank you very much for your time today.

Ay-O: Thank you very much.

©2024 Ay-O

Len Gordon

Len is a curator and a contributing writer at Art Plugged, a platform for contemporary art; he also engages in web development, design, and marketing.

A self-taught artist, SYMBLE‘s work reflects the grit of his upbringing in South London, his life experiences, and a love of animation, forming his visual language that breaks from convention, untamed and pulsating with fragments of personal history and cultural iconography.

SYMBLE presents a world through his uncompromising lens with edgy brushstrokes, where cartoon icons become distorted symbols of resistance that invite us to confront the tension between nostalgia and disruption.

In works like Life Is What You Make It, SYMBLE creates a riot of blues, reds, yellows, and greens that clashes with bold statements like “Life Is What You Make It,” “Everybody has his day,” and “Make it count!” These phrases swirl around Snoopy—no longer the playful beagle from Charles Schulz’s Peanuts, but now a contorted figure that mirrors SYMBLE’s audacious spin.

The South London landscape is the foundation of my work and a representation of where I’m from. South London is full of different cultures that unify through creativity & entertainment

SYMBLE

Above Snoopy’s head floats a Basquiat-inspired crown, as the beagle graff on the wall, paying homage to and critiquing the tension of artistic royalty and the commercialisation of art. His success in the art world has garnered attention, with his work showcased worldwide, most recently featuring in Enter Gallery, sharing the stage with established artists in the group show “The Mix.”

With a growing roster of collectors—including footballer Jesse Lingard and British artist Damien Hirst—SYMBLE is quickly emerging as an unfiltered voice of a new generation, known for his edgy aesthetics and bold, gritty reimaginings. A burgeoning figure in contemporary art, he is undeniably an artist to watch.

Hi SYMBLE, Could you start by sharing your journey into the arts and what inspired you to pursue a career as an artist?

SYMBLE: Growing up, I was always into drawing characters from books & watching cartoons, like the Looney Toons, Simpsons, Ninja Turtles and Snoopy, which led me to draw cartoons. Once I realised what an artist was, I wanted to be an artist. I naturally gravitated towards street and pop art, but my mother wanted me to be an architect because I could always draw.

Your practice reimagines iconic motifs by drawing inspiration from and fusing elements of street art, neo-expressionism, and pop art, all while infusing your work with rich cultural symbolism. Could we delve into the conceptual underpinnings of your practice, the sources of your inspiration, and the themes you explore in your work?

SYMBLE: The South London landscape is the foundation of my work and a representation of where I’m from. South London is full of different cultures that unify through creativity & entertainment, such as Art, Music, Fashion, Sports, Technology, etc

Building on that, you grew up in South London. How have your surroundings and personal experiences shaped your approach to art, especially in terms of the themes you choose to explore?

SYMBLE: I usually paint images we see in our day to day life and things that inspire me. Within each piece of art, I incorporate a message of life experiences. 

As a self-taught artist, how do you define your place within the contemporary art world, which often values formal training? How has this self-guided path influenced your creative freedom and artistic identity?

SYMBLE: Being a self-taught artist gives me space to imagine and create paintings, which should differentiate me from others naturally. However, many artists before me & the internet have created opportunities for emerging artists to study and connect with an audience. 

I’ve been fortunate to have great mentors, such as Damien Hirst, to help guide me through an industry that can be hard to understand sometimes, which I appreciate greatly.

Street art and pop art often engage with socio-political themes. How do you see your work fitting into this tradition? Are there specific social issues or themes you feel compelled to address through your work?

SYMBLE: I believe most creatives carry a socio-political dimension, depending on your life experiences some implicit than others.

Your work is featured in Enter Gallery’s group exhibition, “The Mix,” alongside established and emerging talents like yourself. Could you tell us more about the essence of the exhibition and how it came about?

SYMBLE: I was excited to be asked to participate in this show, and create the works that I did. I like that The Mix is a true mix of artists, mediums, styles and characters. It’s exciting to be featured alongside artists I admire. Enter Gallery is a place I feel excitement around the contemporary art world and I always enjoy visiting.

Many notable figures, including art world heavyweight Damien Hirst, have collected your work. How does it feel to know that your work is part of the collection of one of the world’s greatest artists? And how do you navigate the intersection of artistic integrity and market demand, especially as your popularity grows?

SYMBLE: I’m extremely grateful & I really appreciate that my artwork is part of such a collection owned by a great artist such as Damien Hirst.  At first, I couldn’t believe it!! 

Honestly, I go with what feels right to me. My journey into the art world was non-traditional, and I feel no need to conform to any patterns. If something feels misaligned with who I am as an artist and a person, I’ll walk away.

Looking ahead, what directions do you see your art taking? Are there new themes, techniques, or collaborations that you are excited to explore?

SYMBLE: Currently, I’m focusing on progressing my craft and learning daily; with that being said, I’m also working on a new character that I’ll gradually introduce into my artwork. 

Lastly, could you share the philosophy that guides your art? How do you see the role of art in your life and its importance in shaping your career and broader worldview?

SYMBLE: For me, I would say art is a way of life, so I strongly believe life is what you make it, so continue creating.

©2024 SYMBLE

Len Gordon

Len is a curator and a contributing writer at Art Plugged, a platform for contemporary art; he also engages in web development, design, and marketing.

My work is inspired by a desire to explore different media and environments, and to create generative tools that engage audiences in diverse locations

MAOTIK

Often described as a fusion of art and technology, MAOTIK strives to create an active encounter, not a passive observation, through a pursuit to reveal the invisible. He often incorporates audiences as he stretches perception through the power of generative art, sound, algorithms, and data, fully immersing them in art as an experience.

In Erratic Weather, a performance driven by atmospheric data, MAOTIK explores the intersection of art and science, revealing the beauty in environmental unpredictability; his Sense of Blue, presented at Art Basel in 2021, offered a celestial experience crafted through minimal yet sophisticated tools.

Then there’s his interactive installation, INNER LIFE, which reacts to the movement of the public; the audience generates abstract visual compositions—a blend of watercolour-like paintings and natural behaviours—that trigger soundscapes that shift in response to their actions.

In his latest project at London’s W1 Curates SUPERPOSITION sees him collaborate with DJ Tennis and Ashee in an audiovisual installation designed for W1 Curates’ multi-screen architecture. MAOTIK has earned international acclaim, with his works featured at celebrated events and exhibitions worldwide, from Sonar to Art Basel, Frieze London, and the Miraikan Science Museum in Tokyo, among others.

MAOTIK evokes moments of awakening, expanding the world as we thought we knew it—like the Keymaker in The Matrix, breaking down the barriers between perception, art, and the observer.

Hi MAOTIK, thanks for speaking with us. Could you start by sharing your journey into the arts and what inspired you to pursue a career as an artist?

MAOTIK: I began my career in the arts with my studies in Digital Media Production at the London College of Communication (LCC) while I was living in London. I then went on to complete a Master’s in Digital Arts in Barcelona, which further reinforced my
passion for the field. I am a curious individual, and I am driven by the desire to
explore the intersection of art and technology.

I am committed to pushing boundaries and questioning the role of these two disciplines in our society. By developing my own software to create and perform my work, I merge technical skill with artistic expression. Each project represents a stepping stone for the next, and I am continuously discovering new ideas and techniques that fuel my desire to explore further in my future creations.

Your practice integrates art, science, and technology to create immersive environments, interactive installations, digital architectural sculptures, and audio visual performances. Could we explore your creative process further and discuss the themes that inform your work?

MAOTIK: My main area of focus is the development of real-time systems that have the potential to be applied across a wide range of fields and disciplines. My work is inspired by a desire to explore different media and environments, and to create generative tools that engage audiences in diverse locations. One of the key elements of my practice is the pursuit of revealing the invisible, which I often attempt to do through the analysis of data.

This could potentially involve processing sound frequencies in live performances or utilizing weather data for installations like FLOW.

By integrating these elements, I design systems where I don’t exert full control,
intentionally leaving space for improvisation and unexpected behaviors. This introduces an element of unpredictability, fostering a dynamic interaction between myself and the technology I employ. The result is an interplay where randomness injects life into the artwork, allowing it to evolve organically. This collaborative exchange between artist and machine generates unique outcomes, enriching the experience for both the creator and the audience.

Building on that, how do you see art, science, and technology influencing and enhancing each other in your work? How does this intersection push the boundaries of traditional artistic expression?

MAOTIK: It could be said that technology, much like science, is in a constant state of evolution. Artists have historically been pioneers in exploring new technologies, from the discovery of electricity and photography to other major innovations. Digital media is just the latest in this long tradition.

Every day, I feel encouraged to learn, experiment with, and explore new advancements, given the rapid pace of innovation. I am particularly interested in
exploring the potential of blending different forms of media, such as imagery, sound,
architecture and more, to create immersive and multifaceted experiences.

Digital media, in particular, offers a wealth of possibilities for creative fusion, allowing us not only to combine different art forms but also to explore new frontiers by developing innovative languages of expression. It offers us the opportunity to consider how we listen to music, perceive visual arts, and engage with both in experiential and
transformative ways.

Can we talk about your reality-shifting environments that often challenge the audience’s perception of space and reality, such as in works like Layers of the Earth? What philosophical or scientific questions about reality and perception inspire you when creating these immersive environments?

MAOTIK: The location inspired me for the Layers of the Earth project. Carré Theatre in
Amsterdam has a unique design. It has a traditional stage and a circular floor used for
horse shows. The ceiling height made me think that projecting onto the floor could
create a truly immersive environment. At the same time, I read an article about how the Earth’s inner core had slowed down and started spinning in the opposite direction.

This made me want to learn more about the Earth’s layers. I then came up with a story about going on a journey to the center of the Earth, combining science, music and art. Other projects such as Flow, Light Bearers and Erratic Weather are also profoundly influenced by the natural environment and address significant issues such as climate change, which has a global impact. Although I do not seek to achieve strict scientific precision in my work, I find it intriguing to integrate tangible data, such as meteorological patterns and wind speed, into my systems.

By doing so, I create data-driven experiences that enable the audience to physically engage with these elements, evoking sensations comparable to observing a sunset or walking by the ocean.

In your installation Inner Life, human movement was central to the experience. How do you think movement-based interaction enhances the connection between the viewer and the digital world? What does this reveal about the evolving relationship between the human body and technology?

MAOTIK: Innerlife is a site specific installation that offers the audience the opportunity to engage directly with the artwork. The system is designed to track users’ positions and generate visuals and sound based on their movements and behaviors.

In designing this type of experience, my aim is to provide participants with the freedom to explore and connect with their emotions in their own way. This approach differs from traditional methods, where as a creator, you might anticipate a specific reaction. Instead, I observe a range of responses, some people stand still, others jump, run, dance or simply sit down and contemplate the piece. The multi-user aspect also encourages interaction between participants, fostering a sense of connection much like what we experience in public spaces.

Collaboration plays a key role in your practice, spanning multiple disciplines—from music and dance to architecture and science. How do these collaborations inform your creative process? Are there any particular challenges or Insights that arise when working across such varied fields?

MAOTIK: I have a deep appreciation for all forms of artistic expression. I am always interested in the practices of other artists and enjoy merging different creative worlds together. My focus is on the project, not my individual role as the artist. I am convinced that each project is enriched by the contributions and inspirations of everyone involved.

The result is something unique that is not solely a reflection of one artist’s vision, but a collaborative creation shaped through study and collective effort. I also love
collaborating with scientists and researchers. I have learned a great deal from them
and find that our approaches are quite similar. Both fields involve experimenting,
rapidly prototyping, and refining ideas to achieve meaningful results.

Your latest collaboration, SUPERPOSITION with DJ Tennis and Ashee at London’s W1 Curates, is an audio visual installation specifically designed for the multi-screen architecture of W1 Curates. Can you tell us more about the project, how it came about, and what visitors can expect to experience?

MAOTIK: A few months ago, DJ Tennis reached out to me with the idea of collaborating on an immersive experience inspired by a music album he had been working on with Joseph Ashée. I was immediately drawn to the concept of creating an audio-responsive architectural installation, especially in a venue like W1 Curates, known for its world-class screen quality. This project is a collaborative effort between myself, DJ Tennis’s new project, Teenashee, and W1 Curates.

It merges visuals, sound, and architecture into one cohesive experience. The audience will be immersed in a responsive environment, embarking on a sonic journey through a unique space filled with luminous screens and a state-of-the-art sound system.

Looking ahead, what new themes or projects are you passionate about exploring? How do you envision the evolution of your work in the coming years?

MAOTIK: I want to explore narrative and storytelling within the realm of digital media. As I’ve already stated, I’m driven by a passion for researching new forms of expression and telling stories that transcend the limitations of linear time, unfolding through events. My work is defined by its generative aspect, which I achieve by using algorithms that change the content with each exhibition. This approach gives the system a sense of life, creating an evolving piece that I never tired of, because it constantly iterates and adapts.

I view it as a living organism. I’m also intrigued by new game engines like Unreal, which allow creators to produce cinematic experiences from home. Currently,
I’m exploring collaborations with filmmakers to develop fully immersive experiences that are grounded in strong narratives. I’m trying to create deeper, story-driven engagement, while also inventing new media support to experience it.

Lastly, could you share the philosophy that guides your art? How do you understand the core importance of art in your life and career?

MAOTIK: I believe that our character is shaped by our life experiences, the environment in which we grew up, and the depths of our unconscious mind. Having spent my childhood in the countryside of Brittany, surrounded by nature, I think these early experiences have had a significant impact on my work. The natural world I was immersed in during my formative years has deeply influenced my artistic perspective and creative expression.

I am interested in exploring physical experiences in sound and immersive environments. I find that sound is a remarkably powerful medium for conveying emotions, and I believe that combining it with imagery within these new immersive spaces can enhance its impact even further. This fusion of sensory elements creates a richer, more profound experience, allowing for a deeper connection with the audience and a more powerful emotional resonance.

©2024 MAOTIK

Len Gordon

Len is a curator and a contributing writer at Art Plugged, a platform for contemporary art; he also engages in web development, design, and marketing.

There’s a sense of familiarity and generous ambiguity in Utarit’s approach, which acts as an invitation—or, more accurately, an interrogation—shining light on the Western colonisation of Southeast Asia and its enduring influence on art, identity, and society.

A distinctive and urgent voice in contemporary art, Utarit is an artist whose life and experience have put him at a critical point of cultural exchange. Driven by the tension between Western traditions and Thai civilisation, his practice offers a meticulous critique, stirring the pot of society, religion, politics, capitalism, and the art world, with each ingredient measured yet unpredictable.

I wasn’t interested in any other direction, even though holding such a mindset meant facing obstacles and resistance from society’s attitudes, especially forty years ago

Natee Utarit

Born in Bangkok in 1970, Utarit studied at Thailand’s oldest art institution, Silpakorn University, founded by an Italian sculptor and located between the country’s Grand Palace and ancient temples.

Here, Utarit’s questions about the art history he was learning began to sharpen, as he was confronted with the Western art curriculum revered in Thai classrooms and taught like religious doctrine. For Thai artists from his generation, this formal education was an introduction to European aesthetics, a gateway to a foreign heritage—one dominated by Western Christian customs that overshadowed their own.

This collision of ideologies sparked Utarit’s internal conflict, leaving him torn between the pull of Western ideals and the ties to his roots—a predicament faced by many Asian artists striving to balance the weight of their heritage with the shrapnel from the Western canon.

Utarit dissected this collateral damage, turning to Renaissance and Baroque painting styles to examine contemporary issues, filtered through his lens of expression, confronting the remnants of colonialism, capitalism, and the socio-political turmoil of Thailand head-on.

Praised for his technical mastery, his paintings bear the essence of the old masters, reading like palimpsests detailed with potent critique; the result is visually stunning and conceptually unsettling. This duality defines much of his work, often presenting still life and figurative elements—objects, animals, and religious iconography imbued with metaphorical significance, layering meaning upon meaning with precision as each metaphor builds upon the last.

In his latest exhibition, Déjà vu: Buddha is Hiding, curated by John Tung at STPI, Utarit explores a hypothetical journey of Buddha to the West, examining how colonial conditioning has shaped the perception of Eastern spirituality.

Certain moments, if not all, in history demand reflection, particularly those tied to colonial rule. Utarit’s ability to make us rethink our relationship to history, culture, and aesthetics—particularly when colonial legacies continue to shape our understanding—remains unparalleled, and he has built a substantial body of work over several decades around these same sentiments, with countless exhibitions celebrating his painting technique, conceptual rigour, and more importantly, his message.

Let’s be clear: Utarit isn’t dismissing or deconstructing the artistic past; he acknowledges its power in shaping the present, reclaiming it to express his narrative while paying homage to the traditions he critiques.

As the saying goes, “Balance is everything.” The balance between critique and reverence is crucial for understanding the delicate equilibrium that defines Utarit’s importance as an artist.

Hi Natee, thanks for speaking with us. Can we start with your journey into the arts and why you decided to walk the path of an artist?

Natee Utarit: Hello, and thank you for your question. I see this as both a difficult and easy question to answer at the same time.

For me, the beginning was when I decided to drop out of high school, where I had very good grades, to attend the College of Fine Arts, which I had never heard of before. I remember that day well; it was the last day of the academic term, and I was 12 years old, walking on a narrow path at school with my art teacher who had always been very kind to me. The teacher asked why I didn’t consider studying at the College of Fine Arts. She thought I would do well studying art seriously. Then she described the atmosphere there, where there were no mathematics or science classes, just drawing. I remember asking her one question: “Does such a school really exist?”

When she confirmed it and provided the details, I made a firm decision then and there that I would apply to that school in the next term. That was the start of my journey, and it has never changed or deviated since. You have to understand that studying art and aspiring to be an artist in Thailand forty years ago was a challenging path, facing significant resistance.

It wasn’t as easy or as well-supported as it is today, especially in terms of social acceptance of the profession. Nevertheless, in the end, the reason I chose this path is probably because I’ve loved drawing since I was a child, and it’s the only thing I could clearly envision myself doing in the future. I wasn’t interested in any other direction, even though holding such a mindset meant facing obstacles and resistance from society’s attitudes, especially forty years ago.

Your practice often reflects the convergence and divergence between Western and Asian art traditions. How do you see this dynamic evolving in contemporary art, and what do you believe your role is in bridging or complicating this intersection through your work?

Natee Utarit: While studying art at university, I constantly questioned my existence as an Asian art student amidst a stream where Western art was the most influential in terms of belief and reverence, almost like a religious icon.

When I was at the College of Fine Arts, I used to wonder why I had to study still life drawing, landscapes, and other subjects according to the Western academy curriculum. This thought intensified as I approached graduation.

I want you to imagine a Thai art student trying to grasp Western art knowledge at Thailand’s oldest art university, founded by an Italian sculptor from Florence, where the university anthem is “Santa Lucia,” and the university itself is situated between the Grand Palace and several ancient Thai temples in the royal grounds.

This image reflects the overlap of many elements at the same time between Western knowledge and Eastern identity. It’s a mix of skepticism and faith, progress and tradition, the value of the new and the old, and self-doubt when I felt that I was losing my Eastern identity while the Western knowledge I gained was still incomplete.

I believe I’m not the only one who has felt and been in this situation.

Many countries in Southeast Asia, which have faced various changes since the late 18th century, would probably understand this well. This has been the foundation of my thoughts and work since the late 90s.

This concept became very evident in my work from 2014 onwards when I began incorporating the core ideas of both cultures, particularly regarding religion, as a driving force in my artwork. I get excited every time an idea rooted in old doubts leads to new artistic hypotheses and possibilities.

Building on that, your work often blends elements of realism with surrealism, creating compositions that challenge the viewer’s perception. How do you navigate the boundaries between these two approaches, and what role does this tension play in conveying the deeper meanings of your pieces?

Natee Utarit: It’s true that I’m fascinated by the inexplicable emotions in surrealism hidden in the reality around us. I find that the more we move towards a life where technology can prove and present reality in all-encompassing ways, as it does today, the more we can sense the surreal or strange feelings that are beyond explanation from the reality surrounding us. For me, the boundary between reality and unreality (surreal) is not a horizontal boundary but rather something overlapping or perhaps even the same thing.

Your question reminds me of a source of inspiration I really like, the opening and closing scenes of Stanley Kubrick’s film 2001: A Space Odyssey. I first watched it around 1982 on a black-and-white TV at my house.

Those simple scenes created a strange feeling in me, even though they were purely natural and astronomical realities. It’s just that they were presented under an excellent concept, so they conveyed those conditions effectively. I hope that my work can also conceal the ambiguous presentation of reality and surreality like that.

Much of your work engages with the nature of representation, questioning the reliability of visual culture. How do you approach the philosophical idea that art can simultaneously reveal and distort truth, and how does this inform your choice of subject matter?

Natee Utarit: Initially, I believed that art was part of the process of seeking truth in this world, alongside other disciplines like science. But various mechanisms in my creative process have shifted my belief to see art as a reflection of what exists, whether it be external things like people, objects, or the environment, or internal things like thoughts, emotions, and memories.

These elements are part of the perception and communication process, which in Eastern Buddhism, we place great importance on what is called phassa (contact/touch) and āyatana (sense bases) as the starting point and process of human perception.

My paintings are similarly influenced by this clear concept. I place great importance on images, perception, and the reactions that lead to emotions and the messages I want to convey. You might call it image design because it has a similar meaning and is easier to understand. But ultimately, it’s all for the purpose of expression and communication, whether it’s accurate truth or deliberate distortion to lead to the same goal.

Can we speak about one of your key and celebrated works, “Optimism is Ridiculous,” where you explore the futility of hope in challenging political landscapes? How do you balance political despair with the beauty and craftsmanship of your work, and is there still room for hope in your artistic perspective?

Natee Utarit: Yes, if we’re talking about the connection between that series and the political realities in the region I live in, we might need to combine this understanding with the context of the past since the colonial period of European powers over Southeast Asia. I began that series with inspiration related to Western influence that pervades every aspect of my life, a topic I’ve been interested in since the early 2000s.

This interest and questioning led me to study various core ideas of Western culture.

Michael Wright, an English writer who lived in Thailand and whose analytical writings on society and culture I have always admired, once said that to understand the roots of all Western thoughts and attitudes, you must understand Christianity and all its contexts. That was the starting point for me to seriously study and compare the concepts between East and West through painting.

For me, if Christianity is the core of the West, then Buddhism is the stable spiritual root of the East, which I see as the only thing that remains strong amidst other external changes today.

In fact, many issues expressed through that series specifically address cultural and social inequality, as well as contemporary art in the region and commerce, resulting from the lingering political problems of the colonial past.

Of course, the consequences of the past have led to the present, and there is no point in blaming or trying to change that fact. What can be done is to learn from the past and make the present as good as possible. As an artist, my role is to reflect these messages through the aesthetics of painting, which is my primary tool for communication.

In your upcoming exhibition at STPI, “Déjà vu: Buddha is Hiding,” you explore Buddha’s hypothetical journey to the West, juxtaposing Eastern and Western ideologies. How does this journey reflect themes of identity and cultural displacement, and how has colonial conditioning shaped the perception of Eastern spirituality in Western art history?

Natee Utarit: In fact, this series, Déjà vu, is partly a result of my long-standing obsession with these two cultures, which was coincidentally rekindled when I found excellent material while working in Naples.

The main concept of this work is the question: “What if the Buddha had traveled to Naples before Western civilization emerged?” It’s a hypothesis under playful imagination, like what if archaeologists discovered traces of Buddha’s footprints deep beneath Pompeii or Herculaneum? What would happen?

Or even the Greek prototype sculptures we see might have been influenced by the image of the Buddha. It’s a kind of reverse, swapped imagination.

Some critics have asked me if this is a form of “revenge” through imagination, to which I didn’t deny. We can look at it from any angle as long as it makes the audience aware of the value and equal importance of culture and fosters mutual respect.

In BUDDHA PALAZZO (a.m.) and BUDDHA PALAZZO (p.m.), you present the same structure in different lighting, evoking a dialogue between Eastern and Western ideologies. How does this juxtaposition reflect your experience with Western hegemony in Southeast Asian art, and what does the day-night duality signify?

Natee Utarit: I would like to address the issue of duality, which is a very interesting observation, and you can see this condition in several other pieces in this exhibition. It is intentional on my part.

In the Dhammapada (the Path of Truth), a collection of the Buddha’s teachings classified into 26 categories according to various themes, there is a chapter called “The Pair,” which presents the truth of opposites by comparing them in pairs, such as birth and death, good and evil.

I really like this Buddhist worldview because we can apply this method to many things beyond what is mentioned in the scripture. Comparing things as pairs represents a balanced state and encompasses the various conditions of nature, such as darkness and light, day and night, West and East, which are the core conditions in the content and works in this exhibition.

In works like TORSO and APOLLO 14, you combine Buddha statues with graffiti, symbolising the erasure of cultural artefacts by colonialism. How does this contrast comment on colonialism’s impact on art and heritage, and how do these fragments engage with decolonisation in contemporary art?

Natee Utarit: Actually, the text Apollo 14 is graffiti I found one morning on my way from home to my studio. I had been driving past that wall every morning for years, and then one day, suddenly, this meaningless and unrelated graffiti text appeared on the previously clean wall in my neighborhood.

At first, it bothered me every time I saw it, but then I got used to the absurdity of Apollo 14 until it became part of my memory. When I created the enlarged sculpture fragments of the Gandhara Buddha, which has inherent connections to Greek and Roman art, I thought of incorporating graffiti into the work, as I often use graffiti text in various two-dimensional works.

Then the Apollo 14 text popped into my head without reason. I liked it a lot. When placed on the surface of the Gandhara Buddha sculpture as engraving, it gave a sci-fi feel, enhancing the imagination about the past and the mystery of civilization.

Often, my work begins with questions in a process full of logical reasoning and ends with actions that are the exact opposite. I think ultimately artistic response is about instinct.

Given the socio-political themes frequently appearing in your work, what do you believe is the artist’s responsibility in addressing political issues? Do you see your work as a form of activism, or do you aim to open up a more reflective, contemplative space for your viewers?

Natee Utarit: Last week, I was asked a question by an editor who wanted my answer included in an article showing artistic attitudes towards society. The question was whether I thought art could change the world or whether art could change or impact society. I took quite some time to answer because I wasn’t sure how seriously they expected or assessed this question.

In the end, my answer was: No. I don’t think art can change the world because, as far as I’ve seen, it’s the world that changes art (which has been consistently proven throughout every era in art history). The same goes for society. Society is what shapes art in one direction or another. As for the impact on society, that might be the only thing art can achieve in its capacity from that question.

I’d like to refer to this question to answer your question about the role of artists in politics because I think there are some related and beneficial points.

The role of the artist, from the smallest level like personal matters, or the medium level like community environments, to the highest level like society, politics, and the world, is to use the potential that art has to create positive impacts as much as possible. The nature of art is to create a reflection of things to produce an emotional effect on society. Having a good, correct attitude is therefore essential. I think the same applies to politics.

Do you see your work as a form of activism, or do you aim to open up a more reflective, contemplative space for your viewers?

Natee Utarit: I’ve never seen my work as a form of political activism, even though many of my series have dealt with domestic political content. But it’s only material and inspiration that leads to a reflection of thoughts and feelings on what’s happening at that time. For me, there is a vast difference between being someone who plays in the river and being someone who sits on the shore watching the river’s phenomena.

So, I don’t think that I and my work lean towards political activism in that way.

Lastly, could you share the guiding philosophy for your career and your understanding of the core importance of art in your life?

Natee Utarit: Yes, working in art for over thirty years has taught me many things. It has taught me to be patient. It has taught me to decide and learn the right timing for everything around me. In my youth, I was very impatient, eager for success in each piece of work, so I worked obsessively to achieve quick results.

I’m glad I passed through that time long ago. Nowadays, I work with calmness and happiness. It’s strange that I find these things amidst time that seems to move ten times faster than in the past. I also owe much of this wisdom and philosophy to the practice of growing and caring for my bonsai trees.

Japanese bonsai has many aspects that are closely connected to humans and art. It requires good care, consisting of discipline, consistency, attention to detail, and many other things that train us to trust our natural instincts, just like in creating art. This hobby, which is like a form of art itself, has taught me to accept various changes in life, to accept decay, death, and beautiful moments. It teaches us to be happy in the present, without worrying about the future or regretting the past.

Ultimately, the most important thing that both art and this hobby have taught me, and which has become a principle in my life today, is that no matter what we do, our duty is to create the best causes and conditions on our part. The result is beyond our control and expectation.

This perspective has made me happy with life and free from the suffering caused by excessive expectations of things around me.

©2024 Natee Utarit

Len Gordon

Len is a curator and a contributing writer at Art Plugged, a platform for contemporary art; he also engages in web development, design, and marketing.

Drawing and painting always felt liberating and magical when I was younger, and it just felt like the best way to describe the things I understood.

Morag Caister

Caister’s practice delves deeply into the intricacies of human nature, exploring its layers through figuration, portraiture, and the nude, with a confessional intimacy, in her sittings, stories are shared, and connections are forged with each painting.

These emotionally charged works bear truth rather than perfection, her sketch-like application of paint renders her figures in a raw, almost skeletal form, echoing the rebellious spirit of Expressionist painters.

Exaggerated lines frame an earthy palette as colors bleed into each other, creating warmth and density that envelop both the sitter and surroundings, disarmed by vulnerability, the subjects appear relaxed and unguarded, surrounded by the subtle objects of their daily lives, as if the world outside the canvas simply fades away.

For Caister, drawing and painting have always been acts of liberation and transformation—a way to articulate what she understands and to bring her imagination to life—a curiosity that has continued to flow through her practice since childhood.

Her latest exhibition at London’s Rhodes Contemporary Gallery, Peacetime, features a series of humanizing portraits set against everyday backdrops, capturing moments of stillness and acceptance amidst the chaos of contemporary life.

Caister speaks to a primal sense of connection, prioritizing emotional resonance over precise reality, balancing vulnerability and trust in a blend reminiscent of the intensity of Austrian Egon Schiele and the emotional honesty of American Alice Neel—yet her expression is entirely her own. The result is introspectively rich, inviting us into the subtleties of human nature in the sense of personal space.

Since graduating from the University of Brighton in 2019, Caister has been on an upward trajectory, receiving numerous accolades and awards.

Now her works are now held in prominent collections like the National Portrait Gallery and Soho House, solidifying her reputation as an influential and compelling voice in contemporary portraiture—definitely an artist to watch as time progresses.

Morag Caister: Peacetime is on view until the 5th of October 2024 at RHODES

Hi Morag, thank you for joining us. To start, could you share your journey into the arts? Were there any moments or experiences that led you to pursue the path of an artist?

Morag Caister: Hello and thank you for having me. Drawing and painting always felt liberating and magical when I was younger, and it just felt like the best way to describe the things I understood. It would feel kind of urgent to share certain stuff that I’d pick up on about someone or something, as if to say, “I noticed this, did you notice it too?” I feel it comes from wanting to have a voice and engage with things. Going to big museums and galleries that were purely there to display art was mind-blowing.

I thought of adults as very serious people, and it was so crazy to me that they had made time and room for art. And not just that, but the people making the art were also adults. I think it made me feel like what I was doing was worthwhile and kind of grown-up. I come from a creative family, and I was lucky to be supported in going in that direction.

You’re mostly known for intimate portrait paintings guided and inspired by your deep interest in the intricacies of human nature. Could we delve into your practice, inspiration, and approach to your work?

Morag Caister: My practice involves painting people from live sittings, using line and patches of colour to build up a composition and working with oils on paper or linen. I feel it’s inspired by a love of experiencing new things and fantasising about the things that can’t be experienced. When I was younger, it would be stuff like flying, being able to breathe underwater, or being able to make sweets appear out of thin air. Then it became a little more existential, and my mind would be blown by the way we could never experience things from other people’s perspectives.

There was a limit there, and painting people felt like a way to overcome that limit. I was close to studying philosophy at uni, and I’m glad it didn’t happen because instead, I was able to put all of the curiosity into my practice, which really is still looking closely at things, ideas, and people. The interest in people and our nature comes from generally getting a lot out of understanding more about where and who we are and how everything works, and painting became the perfect place for me to join these things together.

I value the connection it gives me too. Elif Shafak is one of my favourite writers, and in her manifesto “How to Stay Sane in an Age of Division,” she says that sharing stories brings us closer together and untold stories keep us apart. It was in reference to the emotional distance we can begin to develop when we get used to hearing huge statistics rather than learning about personal stories. When I’m painting someone, I feel very close to who they are, and I get a sense of what kind of life they’ve had.

It’s like I’m witnessing their story. It’s a very moving experience, and it has only ever brought me more compassion and patience for what we’re like as people, and I think the sitters have a similar experience. So, these are things that motivate and inspire my practice.

You describe your portrait sittings as akin to therapy sessions or confessional moments. Can you elaborate on the role of the artist as a confidant or therapist in the creation of these portraits?

Morag Caister: I feel it’s the situation itself that becomes the confidant/therapist, and it allows both me and the sitter to have that special space. Often our interaction becomes frank and simpler, almost like we are both committed to giving the painting the best chance of becoming filled with something truthful, and that reminds me of the kind of upfront honesty people have when they’re hoping to get answers or solutions.

I feel a sense of duty with it too. I only want to paint people when they’re at ease, and sometimes that leads to emotions coming to the surface. However, I don’t feel good about someone being uncomfortable and then painting them in that state of discomfort.

How do you create an environment that encourages such deep reflection and honesty from your subjects?

Morag Caister: I try to make it clear that acceptance and curiosity form the work. I think it’s a relief to be told, “For this, you have to be exactly who you are in whatever form that is in this moment.” The person being there and allowing me to look at them closely is the act of honesty. After that, whether they are more open in conversation or on the quieter side are details of their personality and secondary elements in the work. Firstly, it’s their presence and aliveness.

In addition, the cyclical habits and behaviours of daily life are hinted at in your paintings. How do you decide which aspects of these routines to highlight, and what do you believe they reveal about the human condition?

Morag Caister: It feels important to keep pointing out the things that we all do, as if to point out the things we have always done. I’ll have phases where a particular habit sort of feels like it’s shuffled to the front, and I’ll delve into it for as long as it’s there. Something about people at rest in the home environment is very emotive for me at the moment; in the last few years, I don’t remember not having the urge to draw/paint figures lying down and stretched out.

It’s acknowledging the peaceful side of who we are as people, seeing as everyone has a version of doing this. I think it’s the needing of rest I find so moving currently, because I’ve always been conscious of our capacity for conflict and this other part is evidence of our softness and it represents the possibility of peace. 

Key aspects of your portraits, like the backdrops and the subtle inclusion of domestic motifs,  seem to play an integral part in the storytelling. How do these elements contribute to the overall narrative of your portraits, and what do they signify about the ‘quiet disorder’ of everyday life? What importance do they hold in the overall composition?

Morag Caister: I started including mess in the paintings because it kind of felt like hinting at the chaos that might exist outside the edges of the paintings. I liked the idea of this taking the quiet form of everyday things like crumpled towels or unfolded clothes because they felt like traces of disorder in the home environment, somewhere that we hope is safe. Including them felt like addressing the possibility that hangs in the air that things could go wrong, the sense that we teeter on the edge of chaos a lot of the time. Those things just need keeping in check and staying on top of like laundry. When it accumulates, it feels bad, it taints our space and time for rest.

Your upcoming exhibition, “Peacetime,” at London’s Rhodes Contemporary, explores the dualities of human existence through a series of new works. Could you share more about the exhibition’s essence and the featured works?

Morag Caister: I chose the title peacetime in the sense that when we are peaceful, it’s a temporary state, like the way that we go to bed at night and wake up in the morning, the sun goes up and down, the sea goes in and out. I wanted to recognise the pushing and pulling of stillness vs movement, rest vs action, peace vs conflict. I think I wanted to say something about us being multifaceted and our nature being capable of sliding up and down the scale and for the works to simply recognise that. I’d like the work to encourage imagination and compassion in regard to others and ourselves. 

Having won Sky Art’s Portrait Artist of the Year and received other recognitions, such as Forbes  30 Under 30 Europe: Art & Culture, and inclusion in the Evening Standard’s Art Power List 2023,  do you feel a shift in how you approach your work now compared to before these honours?

Morag Caister: Yes, they have hugely shifted my confidence in my work; it’s been validating for my practice and has urged me forward to paint more ambitiously and accelerated the speed at which I can do it, so it’s gifted me with more time as well as many more opportunities which I’m endlessly grateful for. 

Building on that question, do you think these accolades influence how people interpret your art and your role as an artist?

Morag Caister: It has put my work in front of an audience that it wouldn’t have reached otherwise and I think it encourages those people to give it a chance. 

Looking ahead, are there any particular themes or subjects you are eager to explore in your future work?

Morag Caister: Yes, right now, I’m interested in pursuing these figurative sofa-based works and the threads that keep coming off them, and I am excited for when it will become something else. I have ideas for making a series of miniature works that stay in the home environment centring around themes of childhood independence and imagination, as well as ideas using portraits to celebrate groups of people such as female writers or working with a charity and bringing awareness to a cause. 

Finally, please share the guiding philosophy behind your art. Additionally, could you elaborate on art’s significant role in your life and career?

Morag Caister: When we make art, I think it comes from the purest part of who we are. For me, it has been expressing my inner world, and engaging with art has brought me joy and delight throughout my life. It’s helped me consider things I don’t understand and opened my eyes to the reality that different worlds exist, which makes communicating with someone even more special when it works. 

©2024 Morag Caister

Len Gordon

Len is a curator and a contributing writer at Art Plugged, a platform for contemporary art; he also engages in web development, design, and marketing.