“A Race Against Time”: Ryan Koopmans on The Wild Within
“A Race Against Time”: Ryan Koopmans on The Wild Within Text by Natalia Muntean Ryan Koopmans and Alice Wexell have spent the better part of a decade turning abandoned buildings into something else entirely. Their project, The Wild Within, started in Tskaltubo, Georgia, in the ruins of former Soviet sanatoriums, and has since taken the duo through Armenia, Lebanon, Italy, Poland, Mexico and beyond. Each piece starts as a documentary photograph of a real, decaying space, then is rebuilt in the studio with digitally sculpted vegetation, light and motion, part archive, part invention. Ahead of their solo show at Leila Heller Gallery in New York this September, Koopmans talks about ruins, revival, and the blurry line between what’s real and what isn’t. NM: What do you look for in a building?RK: It doesn’t need to be old, but it needs deterioration, moss, water damage, some marking of time and human presence, even just where pipes have been ripped out. In Georgia, the Soviet-era buildings aren’t even that old, built in the ’40s, ’50s, ’60s; we’re not looking for ancient ruins. We look for buildings that are unique and strange, geometric, symmetrical, a good, balanced, straight-on composition, and ideally with openings between interior and exterior that let us emphasise that boundary. And we look for places that haven’t been overly photographed already. NM: Has a building ever surprised you, looked right on paper, then turned out not to be, once you got there?RK: All the time, every trip. Often you find images online and by the time you arrive, the building’s gone, or fully renovated, or partially torn down, or the roof’s collapsed. Sometimes one usable location is enough to justify the whole trip. Other times, you travel for one specific building, don’t end up using it, and instead stumble onto something completely different. Every country, every trip, has some huge challenges and some amazing unexpected discovery. NM: Do you usually shoot the interiors, rather than the exteriors?RK: Yes, usually inside, that’s the core of it. We have shot facades and exteriors before, but mostly we’re looking for interior spaces with doorways or windows, which we later remove to create depth between interior and exterior. We shoot the inside and often use photogrammetry to scan it; instead of a single picture, we shoot 360 degrees of a space, then combine it in software into a three-dimensional, navigable model. You can walk under a balcony because you’ve shot from so many angles. Back at our studio in Stockholm, we reconstruct those photographs into a 3D space using software like Cinema 4D. Then we build and model the overgrowth, the floor, the plants, the flowers, the light, and add motion. The final piece is a single-point-perspective video work, though it exists in two forms: video and large-format prints. More recently, we’ve added a third layer, physical mosaics of these scenes. It came full circle, in a way: in Georgia, there were mosaics on the walls of these buildings, and an old post office full of postcards people had sent from the sanatorium town. Seeing those floral postcards scattered on the ground was actually one of the early sparks for thinking about colour and flowers inside these decrepit spaces. Now we’re making hand-cut glass mosaics; some recreate the postcards directly, others are our typical architecture-and-nature pieces rendered physically. They take months to make. NM: How do you choose the plants and flowers you add?RK: It depends on the piece. Sometimes it’s purely aesthetic: colour, shape, scale, composed around the architecture. Most of the plants originate from photographs of real flowers that we bring into 3D and manipulate, and over time we re-adapt them until they become almost a fantastical, non-existent species. That points to a relationship we like exploring: what’s real and what isn’t. People often assume the architecture is the fake part and nature is real, when actually it’s the reverse: the architecture is human-made and real, and nature is the artificial layer. Other times the plants are more literal: the national flower of a country, or for a piece from an old psychiatric facility in Italy, every plant was medicinal, used for treatment in some way. But composition, scale, and colour are always a big part of the decision, alongside whichever concept we’re working with, including researching and rebuilding species that are genuinely endemic to a place, like a recent piece in Cyprus using five or six native species. NM: You started in Georgia, then moved through Armenia, Lebanon, Italy, Poland, and now this new chapter spans Italy, Poland, Lebanon, Mexico, Azerbaijan, Turkey, and India. What connects all these places?RK: After Georgia, we realised this phenomenon exists in so many places. Armenia came next, then Lebanon, then Western Europe, Italy in particular, which has an enormous history of interesting architecture and sociocultural reasons for abandonment, and southern Poland. For a while our interest shifted to the Levant and the Gulf. India is fascinating too, though we’ve only spent a bit of time around Mumbai, but there’s so much to explore that it’s actually been daunting. And we recently shot in Mexico, which has a completely different history and lineage behind its abandonment. The locations end up scattered because it really comes from personal interest, real life bringing up an interest in a place. NM: Is there a deeper thread connecting them, beyond the buildings themselves?RK: It’s abandoned buildings that are actively decaying, not being protected or preserved, almost a race against time. A lot of these countries are also going through exponential transformation and redevelopment, so there’s a high concentration of change happening as a country modernises, and that’s often what pulls our interest to a place. It’s not an infinite resource, either; it’s more like an existing stock that slowly disappears. You can’t manufacture a new abandoned building. NM: Was there a site that changed how you think about the project, or was harder to document than most?RK: Tskaltubo was the most impactful. I had never seen buildings designed quite









