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.

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.

Originally hailing from Connecticut but now calling Atlanta home, Mike’s creative energy is fueled by his work in design and a cultural cocktail of graffiti, skateboarding, and street culture. Regular trips to New York sparked this fire, immersing him in the pulse of the streets, witnessing the power of art had on the urban landscape. These experiences laid the foundation for his path, where art in public spaces became inseparable from his creative identity.

I was heavily influenced by skateboarding, graffiti, and the vibrant street culture that shaped my early creative identity. These worlds introduced me to bold visuals, self-expression, and the idea of using art as a form of rebellion

Greg Mike

From that point on, the rest, as they say, is history. Mike paints in various scales, from canvases to large-scale murals, as he reimagines the comforting edge of nostalgia. Once symbols of childhood innocence, these characters now portray the paradoxes of the modern world. In one of his paintings, Disney’s Goofy is duplicated, stripped of buffoonery and transformed into a cyclops, churning out drawings of Mike’s signature LOUDMOUF icon. Next to him, a mischievous, three-eyed Bugs Bunny grins—a visual paradox that defies the very logic of their animated essence.

Bugs is holding a smiley motif, perhaps a nod to pop culture or an emoji—depending on what year you were born. In addition to a flourishing practice, Mike also runs a successful agency and an art gallery. In his upcoming project, he will transform an 8,500-square-foot church into a new home for his agency, gallery, and art studio.

Under Mike’s influence, the visual language of nostalgia becomes richly exaggerated, fractured, and expanded as characters shed their original narratives and merge into a hyper-saturated synthesis of cultural mythology. In our conversation with Mike, we explored his creative process, vision for the new space, and more.

Hi Greg, thanks for speaking with us. Could you start by sharing a little bit about your background and journey into the arts?

Greg Mike: Absolutely. I’ve been involved with art in some capacity for as long as I can remember. Growing up in Connecticut, I was heavily influenced by skateboarding, graffiti, and the vibrant street culture that shaped my early creative identity. These worlds introduced me to bold visuals, self-expression, and the idea of using art as a form of rebellion. After studying graphic design in college, I moved to Atlanta, where I continued to evolve my craft, eventually founding ABV Gallery and my creative agency. It’s been a journey fueled by passion, constant learning, and a desire to merge different aspects of culture into my work.

Your work is known for its vivid Surrealist Pop Art aesthetic, fused with the energy of street culture, skateboarding, and bold design, featuring distinctive and often mischievous characters. Can you delve into your practice and the themes you explore in your work?

Greg Mike: My practice revolves around blending high-energy elements with a sense of nostalgia. Street culture and skateboarding taught me to view the world differently and that shows up in the surreal nature of my characters. Themes of duality, like chaos versus control and the exploration of bold design, are constantly present. My characters, like LARRY LOUDMOUF, serve as exaggerated representations of those ideas—expressions of a world where curiosity and absurdity are celebrated. I enjoy creating work that challenges perceptions, plays with boldness, and taps into a primal form of communication.

Building on that, what are the origins of some of your most iconic characters, such as Loudmouf? Are they a form of self-expression or a commentary on broader cultural themes?

Greg Mike: LARRY LOUDMOUF started as a personal form of self-expression, but he has grown to represent a broader commentary on communication in our noisy, chaotic world. Through the Loudmouf Says contest, he has become a voice for many, celebrating diverse perspectives and encouraging everyone to be heard.

Larry embodies the idea that no matter how loud or quiet our voices are, they all contribute to the larger conversation. He emerged during a time when I was deeply interested in how we connect and communicate, and he’s evolved into a character that both engages and amplifies the collective voice of the community.

Colour plays a significant role in your work, with “vivid explosions of incandescent colour” becoming a hallmark of your artistic identity. Could you speak to the role colour plays both thematically and emotionally in your art? How do you decide on the palette for each piece, and what significance do the colours hold for you?

Greg Mike: Colour is everything in my work—it’s how I communicate emotion, energy, and narrative. I often start with a feeling I want to convey, whether it’s intensity, playfulness, or chaos. From there, I build a palette which reflects that mood. Neon hues, for example, embody the excitement and rebellious spirit, while contrasting bright and dark tones can evoke the duality I often explore. The colours in my work aren’t just aesthetic choices; they’re an integral part of the story, guiding the viewer through the emotional journey of each piece.

In addition to being an artist, you also run ABV Gallery, which you founded in 2010 as a space to showcase a vast range of contemporary artists. Can you talk about your curatorial approach and how you select the artists and works that align with your gallery’s mission?

Greg Mike: ABV Gallery was born out of a desire to create a space where emerging and established artists could share their voices within the New Contemporary movement. My curatorial approach is very much aligned with showcasing work that’s bold, innovative, and taps into the cultural pulse of the moment. I seek out artists who are pushing boundaries, whether through their medium, subject matter, or creative processes. The gallery’s mission is to amplify those voices that reflect the energy of contemporary art, while also contributing something new and exciting to the conversation.

What trends do you see emerging in the New Contemporary movement, and how do you think they reflect the broader cultural or artistic shifts happening today?

Greg Mike: One major trend is the intersection between digital and physical art, which has completely shifted the landscape. Artists are exploring new ways to blend traditional mediums with digital platforms, and that hybrid approach is becoming a major part of the New Contemporary movement. There’s also a growing emphasis on narrative and storytelling, where art is less about aesthetics and more about creating an experience or message. This mirrors broader cultural shifts, where people are increasingly looking for authenticity and deeper meaning in everything they engage with, including art.

As the founder of both ABV Gallery and a creative agency, how do you balance the commercial aspects of your career with your personal artistic vision? Additionally, how do you navigate the pressures of running a business while staying true to your creative process?

Greg Mike: It’s definitely a balancing act. Running a business comes with the need for structure, deadlines, and financial sustainability, while my personal artistic practice is more about exploration and pushing boundaries. The key for me has been finding overlap between the two—building a commercial platform that supports my creative vision while also allowing me the freedom to experiment. There are challenges, of course, but I’ve learned to set boundaries and prioritize my personal art in a way that fuels both sides of my career. It helps that both my agency and gallery are centered around creativity, so everything stays in alignment.

Your latest project involves reimagining a church into a contemporary gallery and event space. How did the architecture and history of the building influence your vision for its transformation, and what message do you hope the space will convey to visitors?

Greg Mike: The church building has a deep history, and I wanted to honour that while bringing something new to the space. The architecture itself—its high ceilings, open floor plan, and natural light—played a huge role in shaping the vision for the gallery. It’s almost like the building has its own personality, and I’ve worked to ensure that the design allows for a seamless dialogue between the art and the space. My hope is that visitors feel a sense of awe and inspiration when they step inside. It’s a place where creativity and community come together, and I want that to resonate with everyone who walks through the doors.

With the opening of the new ABV Gallery space and the ongoing evolution of your personal work, where do you see your art heading in the next decade?

Greg Mike: With the new ABV Gallery space opening up and my art evolving, I’m diving into a more abstract approach over the next decade and look forward to exploring how forms and colors can blend to spark emotion and imagination. It’s all about creating visual experiences that invite viewers to dig deeper and connect with the art on a more intuitive level. I’m excited to push boundaries and craft pieces that inspire a fresh perspective and engage the imagination.

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

Greg Mike: The core philosophy that’s driven my career is simple: Create Fearlessly. Art has always been a way for me to express myself without limitations, and I believe in the power of creativity to transform not only the individual but also communities. Art is about communication—it’s a universal language that transcends barriers, and it’s something we all need to tap into in order to better understand ourselves and the world around us. Staying true to that belief has been essential in shaping both my career and my approach to life.

©2024 Greg Mike

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 often starts with the body, with lived experience

Adham Faramawy

Faramawy’s work encourages reflection and awareness of the interplay between these elements, highlighting their impact on those often left at society’s margins and their broader societal implications. Their creative process is deeply personal, often starting with their own body and experiences, thus grounding their work in personal sentiment.

These consequential connections manifest in various forms of art, such as writing, dance, video, sculpture, and painting. This variety reflects the complexity of their experiences and aims to foster a deep emotional connection with the audience. Art, culture, and creativity have always been integral to Faramawy’s life, woven into the fabric of their lineage. Their father, an artist, while their mother, a journalist, explored feminist thought and women’s experiences. These intellectual and creative foundations are evident throughout Faramawy’s practice.

In his latest project, ‘Daughters of the River,’ created in collaboration with Serpentine, Faramawy incorporates dance, sound, and spoken word. This work explores the romantic and toxic associations with rivers and waterways, drawing inspiration from Alexander Pope’s poem ‘Windsor-Forest.’ The performance takes the audience on a fluid journey, exploring the porous borders between purity and impurity. Faramawy traces the imperialist roots of these waterways, highlighting their roles as both life-giving forces and symbols of historical exploitation.

Faramawy has exhibited his work at prestigious institutions, including the Guggenheim Museum in New York, Tate Modern, Tate Britain, and Serpentine Gallery. Recent exhibitions have featured his work at Buffalo University Gallery, Somerset House, and Goldsmiths Centre for Contemporary Arts. Notably, they recently reimagined the Pride Flag, which was displayed earlier this year in London’s Piccadilly.

Faramawy’s performance pieces are influential; the body becomes a vessel for unheard voices’ theatrical performance of sensory engagement. Creating spaces for alternative narratives can flourish, fostering dialogues around gender, colonialism, and identity, encouraging a reexamination and reimagining of these matters. We had the opportunity to speak with Faramawy shortly after his performance to delve deeper into his practice.

Hi Adham, thank you for speaking with us. Could you introduce yourself to those who may not yet be familiar with you and your work?

Adham Faramawy: I’m Adham Faramawy. I’m an Egyptian artist based in London. I work in a wide variety ways thinking about materiality, touch and toxic embodiment to question ideas of the natural in relation to marginalised communities.

Could you share some early moments from your journey into the arts and explain what motivated you to pursue the path of an artist?

Adham Faramawy: My father was an artist working in paint, drawing, assemblage and ceramics. He was a musician, a poet, a playwright, an actor and a broadcaster. My mother is a journalist focused on feminist and women’s interest subjects. Art, culture and creativity have always been close to home for me and my sister.

Given your diverse use of media how do you maintain a cohesive narrative or thematic continuity across such varied forms as moving images, sculpture, photography, and painting? Are there particular narrative techniques or thematic elements that you find particularly compelling in bridging these different media?

Adham Faramawy: I think that for me, in a lot of ways the medium is secondary, maybe even tertiary. My work often starts with the body, with lived experience, and I’ve spent the last few years writing, making dance, video, sculpture and painting as a way to tell non-linear stories to explore and share my experience.

As an artist of Egyptian descent, your personal experiences and cultural heritage undoubtedly play a significant role in your practice. Are there any specific cultural or historical references that you draw upon to inform and enrich your artistic exploration?

Adham Faramawy: Being Egyptian is important to me, but I was born in the Emirates and grew up in England, spending only one year at school in Egypt. This left me with questions around cultural identity and belonging. What is it to belong to a culture? Which experiences or forms of heritage shape how we identify and behave?

“Daughters of the River” traces the imperialist roots of popular waterways and identifies them as sites of ecological collapse. How do you fuse historical, mythological, fictional, and queer narratives to expose these colonial undercurrents? What message do you hope to convey about the relationship between colonial history and contemporary ecological issues?

Adham Faramawy: I understand European colonialism and empire-building as the foundation of contemporary capitalism, an ideology that relies of exploitation and extraction with the goal of endless expansion and amassing of wealth. But exploiting people comes with cruelty, and exploiting natural resources is killing the planet we live on.

Our resources are finite and maybe looking to the past might help us to understand how we got here, to denaturalise the ways we behave and make decisions. Maybe in telling stories, we can learn together that we haven’t always prioritised money over life. Maybe this might help us find our way through the human-made collapse of the ecologies we live within and depend upon.

What drew you to Alexander Pope’s poem “Windsor-Forest” as a source of inspiration for your performance? How do you reinterpret or subvert its themes to align with your exploration of ecological and colonial issues?

Adham Faramawy: I drew on Alexander Pope’s poem ‘Windsor Forest’, for my live performance ‘Daughters of the River’, which I performed with two dancers and a flautist, first in 2022 for the Serpentine Gallery’s Queer Earth and Liquid Matters symposium, and then again in 2024 in a more developed form for the Serpentine Infinite Ecologies Marathon. One of the etchings that illustrates the poem depicts a group of water nymphs frolicking in the Thames, and this is where I drew the title of the work.

Alexander Pope was an English poet of Catholic faith, living at a time when people of his denomination were persecuted by the government and there was legislation preventing them from attending university, teaching, voting, holding public office or living within 10 miles of Westminster, the seat of power in England. So his family moved to a small estate near Windsor where he wrote the poem, parts of which glorify the ruling class of the day and celebrate the treaty of Utrecht, a political agreement that undermined Spanish and French economic superiority in Europe and laid the foundation for the building of the British Empire.

Though Pope was part of an oppressed minority, he still allowed his art to be used to celebrate his oppressor, and his complicity in celebrating the founding of systems that we still live under and are oppressed by today makes him an interesting figure for me.

‘Windsor Forest’ focuses on the Thames as a political and economic tool, but also as a site of mythology and wonder. It uses a medieval reimagining of the story, which explains the root of the word Tamesis, one of the early names of the river Thames, saying it was the result of the marriage of Old Father Thame, the god and personification of the Thames, to the Egyptian goddess Isis, whose tears flood the river Nile. Parts of the Thames around Oxford are still called the Isis even now. This gave me a route into exploring ancient attitudes to water and the sacred river Nile, as well as the British colonial project in Egypt.

Looking to the future, how do you see your work evolving? Are there new media or techniques you are interested in experimenting with to investigate further the relationship between materiality, the body, and marginalised communities?

Adham Faramawy: Currently I’m doing a lot of painting and sculpting. I’m working towards a solo show at Focal Point in Southend opening in September 2024, as well as a show at Niru Ratnam Gallery, London, in 2025.

I’m working on two videos. One is a work titled ‘Birds of Sorrow’ commissioned by Create, which looks at bird life and air pollution around the Thames in Barking and Dagenham in east London.

The other video titled ‘The Cyclamen and the Cedar’, is the culmination of my ‘UAL 20/20’ residency focused on decolonising art collections of national significance. I’ve been a resident at Kettle’s Yard, the house museum in Cambridge and I’ve been reading up on the house’s original owners’ Jim and Helen Ede’s time spent living in colonial Morocco. On and off for twenty years, the Ede’s lived in a Modernist house called ‘Whitestone’ near Tangier, where they hosted European and American dignitaries and the cultural elite passing through Tangier between the 1930s-1950s, as well as their long-time project of inviting British service men based in barracks in Gibraltar, to stay at their home each weekend sharing their art and their lifestyle at the house which was a kind of blueprint for Kettle’s Yard.

The Ede’s are well known as hosts whose close friendships with artists helped them become collectors of important British Modernist artists. The Ede’s lived in Morocco at the height of Arab Modernism but made no connections with North African artists and collected no Moroccan art, focussing on earthenware, rugs and furniture.

I’ve been learning about the significance of the cut flowers in the house, as well as researching plants and flowers depicted in the permanent collection as a way to start work on a performance for camera piece exploring the complexities of the relationship between the host and the guest, thinking about the racialised hierarchies evident in the Ede’s time in Morocco, but also what it means for me as a North African to be artist in residence there now.

What happens when a private space, a private collection of works, becomes a public gallery? Who is the work for, which parts of the community are welcomed and who gets erased?

Lastly, could you share your philosophy of art with us? How do you define and appreciate the fundamental significance of art in your life and career?

Adham Faramawy: I’m not sure if I have a philosophy exactly. I know that I find rules upsetting, that the culture I live in wasn’t built for me. I know that I want my work to make space to resist and to be available to anyone that wants to experience it. I want to tell nuanced stories from my own perspective, and I hope that telling stories the way I see them might foster more kindness in the ways we treat each other and the other living things we share the land, the water and the air with.

©2024 Adham Faramawy, Serpentine Galleries

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.

Born in London in 1958 and raised in Oxford, Opie attended The Dragon School before moving on to Magdalen College School from 1972 to 1977. He then studied at Goldsmiths’ College (now Goldsmiths, University of London) under the tutelage of conceptual artist and painter Michael Craig-Martin, graduating from the institution in 1982.

I play with what I see in nature and culture, in my own and other artist’s work. I gather and mix, trying out possibilities in my head. I can build works and whole exhibitions in my head. It’s a gift.

Julian Opie

Opie made his art world debut in 1983 with his first solo exhibition at London’s Lisson Gallery. This milestone marked the beginning of his successful career. Closely associated with the New British Sculpture movement, Opie was recognised as the youngest of the ‘New British Sculptors.’ During its peak in the early 1980s, this movement embraced a more traditional approach to materials, techniques, and imagery in response to minimal and conceptual art.

Opie’s practice is characterised by his use of new technology, fascination with the human body, and engagement with art history. This combination of interests empowers his challenge to traditional ideas of representation, as he delivers commentary on contemporary life. As technology evolved during the 1980s, he began integrating movement into his art, progressing from early computer monitors to wall-based flat screens and onto LED public signage. Utilising digital processes to manipulate photographs and videos into stylised representations has become a signature of his work.

Best known for his striking portrayal of walking figures, Opie reveals the human condition of movement in a simplified form. His figures, often in motion—walking, dancing, or blinking—are captured in looped animations that highlight the repetitive nature of modern life. Walking is elevated from a routine of physical activity to a subject of analysis, a motif symbolically abstract yet universally recognised. Opie renders these figures in various mediums, from tubular steel sculptures to beads and wood, digital screens, and paintings.

When I view Opie’s walking figures, especially his digital editions, they encourage me to pause and reflect. As my eyes follow the looping animation back and forth, my thinking begins to mirror what is before me, prompting me to ask myself, “Where am I going?”

Opie has exhibited worldwide, with solo shows at the National Portrait Gallery in London and MoMA in New York. Notable projects include his album cover design for the Britpop band Blur in 2000, which reimagined the band through an uncomplicated lens. This series of portraits became iconic in their own right and is now located in London’s National Portrait Gallery. Another influential piece is his “Walking in Melbourne” series of sculptures, life-sized figures encapsulating motion in stark, linear forms. Some critics argue that Opie’s work lacks emotional depth and is too focused on aesthetics and form.

However, what I find most compelling about Opie’s work is its accessibility. Its beauty lies in its ability to communicate universally, extending beyond the confines of gallery walls to public spaces. Installed outdoors, his art interacts with its environment and the people, bringing art into everyday life.

This July, Opie’s sleek-lined pedestrians were Walking in Milan as the artist opened his new exhibition at Portrait Milano, creating eight new public sculptures caught in motion. Piazza del Quadrilatero is located in the heart of Milan’s Quadrilatero fashion district. With a vast courtyard of approximately 32,000 square feet, it is the largest public square in the district. Opie’s sculptures will inhabit its courtyard, engaging with passersby as they walk between the neighbourhoods two main streets, view its architecture, or staying at the decadent Portrait Milano. Once a seminary hidden away behind closed gates, Piazza del Quadrilatero is the ideal stage for his figures’ ritual of walking.

Opie’s ability to distill subjects from ordinary life into vivid symbols reflects society’s connection with digital media and streamlined communication, making his work more relevant than ever in this ever-evolving digital terrain. We managed to catch up with the British artist ahead of his exhibition at Milan’s Portrait Milano to learn about his practice, inspiration, and more.

Hi Julian, Can you share some early moments from your journey into the arts and what motivated you to pursue a career as an artist?

Julian Opie: As a child my family had paintings on the wall, mostly reproductions of English post-war art, and I remember staring at these and imagining myself in the spaces depicted. I grew up in Oxford, and at secondary school, I would wander the amazing and famous local art museums, both historical and contemporary, with headphones on. There was also an anthropological museum in Oxford that fascinated me, full of objects and statues from around the world. I did not really think about creating art; I just drew things all the time. It was a habit and a way of thinking and having fun.

Your minimalist-style portraits and animated walking figures, which seamlessly blend new technologies with art historical themes and utilize the human form as a muse, have garnered international acclaim and offer commentary on contemporary urban life. Can we delve into your practice, creative process, sources of inspiration, and the themes in your work?

Julian Opie: I play with what I see in nature and culture, in my own and other artist’s work. I gather and mix, trying out possibilities in my head. I can build works and whole exhibitions in my head. It’s a gift. I get very excited and start lots of projects gathering technologies and resources. Then I usually get scared and often panic, but out of the scramble to save the project – the compromises and last-minute inventions – comes a new solution. Seldom quite what I had wanted, but a small step from where I can often see more possibilities. 

Additionally, your use of minimal detail and black line drawing is quite distinctive. Can you describe your process for deciding how much detail to include or exclude in a piece?

Julian Opie: There is an element of mechanical process in all drawing, of flattening out what you see and developing a language to translate the endless complexity of reflected light into an adaptable set of signs. By placing a photograph of a friend over a shop-bought lavatory sign, I was able to adjust the universal symbol for man or woman into a symbol for a particular individual.

I reused this process and “zoomed in” on a face. I aimed to make a kind of rubber stamp for every face, a universal logo for each person I saw. I may have drawn hundreds of faces, but I still look at people on the subway and want to draw each face using the systems I have developed.

Animated walking figures are a hallmark of your style. What inspired you to explore this form, and how do you approach capturing movement with such simplicity?

Julian Opie: I have made a lot of artworks of people walking, it’s true. I keep thinking I should stop, and then something else occurs to me to do. Back in the 1990s, I found a way to draw people, but it was people standing like statues. Like posed photos, I drew everyone I knew like that. One day , I was sitting in my car waiting for one of my children to come out of school in a bored semi-trance when I saw the people passing by as a kind of picture, like a classical frieze of dynamic bodies that flowed endlessly like a river. I imagined drawing the individuals and combining them into crowds.

There is an endless supply of people walking past me to draw, and I have used pedestrians from many countries, including Japan, Korea, Australia, America, India and Belgium. The way I draw the people renders them fairly roughly, using a limited vocabulary of line and form like hieroglyphs, but I think they remain individual, each person particular and connected to reality like a shadow relates to an object.

In describing your approach, you have mentioned that striving for realism serves as a fundamental criterion, along with considerations such as whether you would like to display the piece in your own room and envisioning if it would be worthy of presenting to God for judgment. Could you elaborate on how these benchmarks influence your creative process and decision-making?

Julian Opie: A shadow is basically the same as a photograph; if you see a shadow at night of a tiger or advancing robber, your body jumps as it reacts to the image that is itself an extension of reality. A drawing can have the same quality. I collect child sized Indonesian wooden statues, and in my peripheral vision, they make me react as if a real person was present. We are hardwired to respond to the visually perceived world.

IF I TYPE IN BOLD, it feels different from the softer words written in italics. It’s not really possible to predict exactly how these things work. I have tools such as materials and scale, colour, movement and reference that allow me to play and experiment with subject matter to see what is possible, what feels right and exciting.

Warhol once wrote of making art: “If you have to make a decision then something is wrong.” I think he meant that each step should come as a logical and inevitable result of the previous premise. I hate arbitrary decisions and am always looking for that hidden logic. I work most days and have a system of testing and trial and error. These days I use VR goggles to be able to look at works in real space and time and to create the layouts for exhibitions.

Designing an album cover for the Britpop group Blur was a significant commission, initially as a CD cover and later as a set of portraits in the National Portrait Gallery. What was your approach to this project, and how did you ensure it captured the essence of the band?

Julian Opie: Doing projects like this is an exciting step out of the usual museum and gallery shows that I am lucky to do. I make public projects quite often and I also value the way these allow me to expand my vocabulary and engage with other kinds of spaces that are outside what is called the Art World. 

Looking ahead, given your extensive career, how do you see your practice evolving? What new directions or mediums are you excited to explore in the future, and how do they differ from or build upon your past work?

Julian Opie: As I said, large scale interests me a lot at the moment, and also using raw materials to draw with, like steel or concrete, rather than covering the structural material with a skin of paint. I try to break free from my own look and way of reading the works, but in the end, I keep circling back to similar conclusions. Perhaps now I have more experience and certainly more resources.

It’s a fear that it gets harder to break away from territory you have established, but it’s also a good thing I think to make full use of what you own. I work in quite an instinctual way following my interests. Currently I am working on a series of sprinting athletes borrowed from the GB Olympic team and a group of some 20 children ranging from 4 to 8 years old.

The sprinters move on a brilliant flowing motion that is barely possible to capture, and the children, by contrast, walk in a very idiosyncratic way full of character. Once I start such a project with models and cameras and repeated sessions, I let things develop as they will. As I work certain things seem possible, and I start to experiment with paintings, sculptures and films. I even have been experimenting with VR environments and automatic drawing programmes.

Looking back on your career, which spans four decades, you have achieved a lot with your work. How do you wish to be remembered in the art world? How do you envision your work and impact influencing future generations of artists?

Julian Opie: I tend not to look back and have no pretensions as to influencing others. I hope I have managed to provide some entertainment and maybe some sense of communicated thought-process and outlook.

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

Julian Opie: This is a very grand question and not one I can come at directly. I don’t have a set rule book or map. I could use a favoured quote of Shakespeare. A character claims, “I am not an honest man but am sometimes so by chance.” I could change the word honest for clever. I work hard most days to set up situations where that element of chance might outpace my limited thinking and catch some fleeting truth about what it’s like to be alive.

https://www.lungarnocollection.com/piazza-del-quadrilatero

©2024 Julian Opie

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.

I aim to share the sense of immersion and wonder I feel by creating large-scale prints that draw viewers into the scene, almost as if they are flying alongside me

Donn Delson

Soaring up to 10,000 feet and embracing the euphoria of the moment, Delson leans out of the doorless helicopter, maintaining composure to capture brief moments of magnificence through fortuitous encounters. Through his lens, these unexpected moments transform into something entirely new.

Each capture is christened with a name that whispers what might be seen from the heavens and masks its true essence. The helicopter’s agility allows Delson to rest in a state of vigilant suspension and swoop in for more intricate compositions, offering fluid exploration of the earth’s vertical and horizontal dimensions. Each movement provides Delson with a constant flow of opportunities to frame split-second happenings as masterpieces of photography.

With a keen eye for symmetry and patterns, Delson turns these unexpected moments into abstract art, making us reconsider the familiar from a fresh perspective. An exceptional example is Delson’s “Xylophones” from his Points of View Collection, captured in 2016 as he flew over the Port of Los Angeles. The image depicts a parking area filled with horizontal rows of colourful containers that, to Delson, resembled the musical bars on a xylophone.

Delson has dedicated more than 300 hours to observing the world from a bird’ s-eye perspective. His passion for aerial views has led him to witness stunning landscapes and cityscapes from across the globe. Among many once-in-a-lifetime moments, he found himself in the middle of a rare double circular rainbow while flying over the Hawaiian Islands, a moment that went viral.

Flying along with Delson, there is an immediacy to the sights and sounds; the landscape we witness is not just viewed but felt, the wind’s whisper and the rotor’s hum creating an exhilarating and meditative soundtrack. The entire sequence, from takeoff to flight to hovering, makes you both an observer and a participant in the unfolding spectacle of Delson’s practice and invites deep introspection on our existence.

The unparalleled agility and control of the doorless chopper as it manoeuvres through the air with effortless precision, making sharp turns and sudden stops that seem to defy the laws of physics blend beauty with human ingenuity in a way that captivates.

Seeing the world from up there is just different. Delson’s work prompts reflections on our environment, urbanization, and the delicate balance between nature and human activity. Delson’s images, with their immense beauty and scale, can be humbling, inspiring appreciation for the planet’s grandeur. After witnessing him capture London from divine heights, we had the opportunity to catch up with Delson to learn more about his practice, inspiration, and more.

Hi Donn, thank you for speaking with us. Please introduce yourself to those who might need to become more familiar with your work.

Donn Delson: I’m Donn Delson, a fine art aerial photographer. My work seeks to capture the world from a bird’s-eye view, revealing unique patterns, symmetry, and textures that aren’t visible from the ground. My photography seeks to transform natural and urban landscapes into abstract works of art, photographic homages, as you will, inspired by the styles of artists like Piet Mondrian, Paul Klee, Mark Rothko, and Annie Albers.

I’m intrigued with how looking at things from different perspectives and angles often yields an entirely different impression, in essence appearance versus reality. What I hope to accomplish in my aerial photography is to give the viewer the opportunity to see things through a different lens.

Donn, we’re interested in hearing about some specific early moments from your journey into the arts. Could you share a couple of these moments and what motivated you to pursue a career in this field?

Donn Delson: My journey into the arts began at a young age. I held my first Brownie box camera when I was ten years old and was instantly captivated by the ability to capture moments. In high school, I graduated to a Rolleiflex film camera and took sports action shots for the school newspaper.

However, it wasn’t until I retired in 2010 that I had the time to fully immerse myself in photography. My first focus was on landscape, industrial laser, and long-exposure photography. A significant turning point came in 2015, during a trip to New Zealand, where I had the chance to shoot from an open-door helicopter.

The experience of seeing the world from above, combined with the creative challenges it presented, inspired me to pursue aerial photography. The ability to blend my passion for photography with the hunt for abstract patterns and forms, often titled for what they look like from above, has been a driving force in my work for the past nine years.

Your approach to photography is intriguing. You’ve mentioned that many of your images are serendipitous sightings rather than planned captures. Could you elaborate on how you balance the spontaneity of these moments with the need for technical precision and composition?

Donn Delson: Balancing spontaneity with technical precision is a delicate dance. While I briefly use tools like Google Maps and satellite imagery for initial planning, relatively close-up scanning across wide stretches of land doesn’t usually offer me, except from the broadest standpoint, the ability to see something I know will result in an image that excites me. The most captivating shots are usually discovered in the moment. Once in the air, I rely on my instincts and experience to spot intriguing compositions.

However, capturing these moments flying in a “doorless helicopter with the wind rushing in and the inherent vibration from the rotors and turbulence requires meticulous attention to technical details—shutter speed, aperture, and stabilization techniques are crucial to overcoming the challenges of capturing tack sharp images that can be enlarged to as much as twelve by eighteen feet. My smallest size limited-edition piece is 32”x48” (81cm x 121 cm) and the average piece size is 48” x 72” (121 cm x 183 cm)

An example of a serendipitous sighting would be when I was in Japan in 2018 to shoot the cherry blossoms over the mountains east of Kyoto. I’d always seen lots of pictures of cherry blossoms from the ground, but never from above. We were returning to the helicopter base having had a successful flight, when in the distance, I spotted a little tiny rectangular purple patch.

We flew over and discovered the most beautifully manicured, strategically planted rows of blossoming cherry trees in various stages of growth. As I looked down from about 3500 feet, the image below could only be that of the rows of beads on an abacus, and hence it was aptly named.

Donn, your unique perspective of viewing the world from a bird’s-eye view provides an immersive experience for you as an artist. How do you aim to convey this sense of immersion and wonder to your audience through your photography, and what kind of impact do you hope it has on them?

Donn Delson: There are few things I’ve done in my life that I’ve found to be more inspirational than looking out and down on the beauty of our world from a “doorless” helicopter with no window to encumber or distort the view. I aim to share the sense of immersion and wonder I feel by creating large-scale prints that draw viewers into the scene, almost as if they are flying alongside me.

The detail and scale of my shipping container artwork, with a reverent nod to Mark Rothko, invites viewers to wander through the blocks of color. My solo show in Phoenix next January will be completely focused on container art. I hope my photographs inspire people to see the world from new perspectives, to appreciate the beauty of our world from above, and to be open to rethinking their assumptions about what they are seeing.

How does the aerial perspective change the way you perceive and capture symmetry, patterns, and textures? Can you discuss a particular instance where this perspective revealed something unexpected or transformative?

Donn Delson: As I mentioned, things look very different from above relative to what they may be in reality on the ground. With respect to things built by man, I’m fairly certain the original architects had no idea, nor did they likely plan for, what things would look like from above. The aerial perspective dramatically alters how I perceive symmetry, patterns, and textures. Everyday scenes can transform into abstract compositions.

One instance in 2016, was when I flew over a series of freight containers at the Port of LA. I was excited to spot six symmetrically positioned horizontal rows of shipping containers that looked like the tonal bars on a musical xylophone. My excitement increased as a single, white semi-tractor-trailer began driving from the right between the rows.  Getting the pilot to quickly maneuver me around to take the shot, I accomplished it no more than three or four seconds before it drove out of the frame. Xylophones in my Points of View collection has become one of my favorite images. People first seeing it often mistake it for a xylophone or bookshelves until they see the truck.

Your travels have taken you from Japan to The Netherlands, England to Israel, and the United States. How do different cultures and landscapes influence your work, and do you have a favourite location that continually inspires you?

Donn Delson: Traveling exposes me to diverse landscapes and cultural aesthetics, each offering unique visual elements. In Japan, the delicate beauty of cherry blossoms and the serene landscapes are in stark contrast to the urban density of cities like Tokyo.

The Netherlands, with its meticulously planned tulip and agricultural fields and canals, presents a fascinating interplay of human intervention and nature. England’s blend of historic and contemporary architecture is endlessly inspiring, especially London’s skyline. While it’s hard to pick a favorite, I find myself continually inspired by the dynamic contrasts in cities like New York and London, where the past and present coexist in a constantly evolving urban tapestry.

The story of capturing a double circular rainbow over Molokai is fascinating. How do you prepare yourself to seize such rare and fleeting moments, and what do you feel when you manage to capture them?

Donn Delson: Capturing rare moments like flying into a double circular rainbow requires a mix of preparation and readiness to seize the unexpected. I always ensure my equipment is in top condition and my settings are optimized for quick adjustments.

It was about 8 o’clock in the morning, and we were flying at about 3000 feet when we were surprised by a sunshower. As we flew through the downspray, I suddenly found myself physically entering into a double circular rainbow, the first I had ever seen. I’ve been told that we don’t normally see them because, on land, we are only able to see 180° due to the horizon.

Luckily, my photographer friend in the front seat was able to turn around and capture a quick video and shot of me shooting through the double circular rainbow. That video has now been seen across social platforms by more than five million viewers. Again, it’s a gift when these serendipitous moments present themselves. It might be akin to the thrill an artist feels feel when a spontaneous brushstroke perfectly completes a canvas. These fleeting moments remind me of the magic and unpredictability of nature and the privilege of being able to capture and share them.

Your tools of choice include an open-door helicopter and the Fuji GFX 100 camera, which has high-resolution capabilities that are crucial for your practice. How do you stay updated with the latest photographic technology, and what role does it play in pushing the boundaries of your expression?

Donn Delson: My go-to cameras are the Fuji GFX 100 and the Nikon D850. The Fuji’s 100+ megapixels allow for incredible detail and large-scale prints, while the Nikon D850 is a powerhouse for low-light conditions. I use a variety of lenses, stabilizers, and filters to ensure I’m able to enlarge and offer the highest-quality images. Shooting in raw gives me the flexibility to fine-tune details in post-production to make the image most like I am viewing it.

Advances in AI now allow me to remove a lot of the noise and artifacts from low-light images that would previously have made some images incapable of proper enlargement. As camera companies continue to evolve their equipment, staying updated with the latest photographic technology is essential. There are new bodies and/or model updates for some of what I use. I regularly follow industry news, attend photography expos, and engage with other professionals to stay informed about new advancements.

With a diverse and loyal base of private, corporate, and commercial collectors worldwide, how do you view your legacy as an aerial fine art photographer? What impact do you hope your work will have on future generations of artists and viewers?

Donn Delson: I hope my legacy as an aerial fine art photographer will inspire others to see the world from new perspectives, knowing that everything may not always be as it seems at first glance. I hope my work encourages artists to explore the intersection of art and technology, push boundaries, find beauty in unexpected places, and appreciate the complexity and interconnectedness of our world.

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

Donn Delson: My philosophy of photography centers around the idea of seeing the world from different perspectives and finding beauty in the unexpected. Art, for me, is about exploration and expression. It’s a way to communicate emotions, ideas, and perceptions that words may fail to properly convey. Large-scale photography, by its scope, hopefully allows me to share my vision in a way that connects with others.

At seventy-five, the importance of art in my life lies in its ability to inspire, challenge, and transform the artist and the viewer. Annie Albers once said, “You know it’s great art, if it makes you breathe differently.” I know I’ve found a magical shot when it makes me catch my breath, and then I’m inspired to be able to share it.

https://www.instagram.com/donndelson/

https://donndelson.com

©2024 Donn Delson

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.