“Feel First, Think Later”: Sally von Rosen on contradictions, her creatures, and the power of objects text Natalia Muntean Sally von Rosen’s work is a study in contradictions – beauty and grotesque, violence and tenderness, familiarity and alienation. Her sculptures, often described as “creatures,” evoke visceral emotions, inviting viewers to feel first, think later. “I want people to experience contradictory emotions,” she says, “to feel both the desire to care for the work and the urge to run away.” Drawing on her background in philosophy and aesthetics, von Rosen explores the political ecology of objects, treating them as active participants in human interactions. “Objects have their own intentions, their own ‘thing power,’” she explains, referencing Jane Bennett’s theories. From her early egg-like forms to her latest monumental outdoor sculptures, von Rosen’s work is a continuous evolution, blurring the lines between the past, present, and future. This ethos is central to the group exhibition Feel First, Think Later at Andréhn-Schiptjenko Gallery in Stockholm, where von Rosen’s hybrid creatures take centre stage. Alongside works by Annika Elisabeth von Hausswolff, Dev Dhunsi, and Minh Ngọc Nguyễn, the exhibition explores how intuition and emotion can precede intellectual interpretation. Von Hausswolff’s The Blind Woman (1998) serves as a symbolic portal into the act of letting go and trusting one’s senses, while Dhunsi and Nguyễn examine themes of tension and cultural identity. Together, the artists create a space where materiality and emotion converge, challenging viewers to engage with art on a deeply intuitive level. From von Rosen’s early egg-like forms to her latest monumental outdoor sculptures, her work is a continuous evolution, blurring the lines between the past, present, and future. Natalia Muntean: The title Feel First, Think Later comes from one of your quotes about how you want your work to be perceived. Could you expand on this idea and how it ties into the exhibition? Sally von Rosen: It’s about the transference of emotions – from me spending time with the object to someone else experiencing it in an exhibition. I remember a visitor in 2021 who looked at one of my creatures, the ones with claws and sharp tips, and said, “I want to take care of it, but I also want to run away from it.” That’s exactly the point. It’s about feeling contradictory emotions first, before intellectualising them. Art becomes interesting when it comes from intuition: the shapes, forms, and materials that feel right. Then, of course, there’s theory to apply. I have a background in philosophy and aesthetics, and I grew up surrounded by art – my mother was a ballet dancer, my father was an opera singer, and my grandfather a painter. Art has always been part of my life. NM: You mentioned the transference of emotion. Can you tell me about your emotions while making Offsprings and Ananke’s Playbunnies? SvR: These works are part of an evolution. The first ones were like eggs with claws, but they weren’t standing on their tips. At the time, I didn’t think much, I just worked with the material. Later, I realised I made these eggs during a time when my body wasn’t functioning well – I didn’t have my period, and it felt like these eggs were locked in my body. I only realised it a year later when my period returned. These creatures started as eggs, then grew bigger, and I flipped them so they had legs. They started to look more like creatures, part human, part animal. They evolved into a herd, and in 2023, I created a large installation with 60 sculptures climbing on top of each other during Berlin Art Week. The sculptures in Feel First, Think Later refer to that exhibition. My work often evolves in steps, like the evolution of a species. It’s about something that looks like it’s from the future or the past, raising questions about time and existence. NM: Do these creatures have a life of their own after you create them? SvR: Yes, once I’ve done my part, they exist on their own, often in exhibitions. This ties into the title Feel First, Think Later. I also research theories that resonate with my work, like Jane Bennett’s Vibrant Matter. She writes about how objects can have their own intentions, their own “thing power.” This idea gives meaning to how I think about my sculptures. NM: Do you work intuitively, or do you have a plan when creating these creatures? Do connections emerge during the process, or do you start with a clear vision? SvR: It’s different each time. It often begins with an image – shapes or forms. I start experimenting and realise, “Okay, this means that.” The visual aspect usually comes first, and then I tap into my mental library, thinking about how things relate. It all makes sense in the end. Sometimes, I dig into my foundation, like a “bad archaeologist,” as I once called myself. For example, I made some fragile sculptures that looked like they were sleeping, but the material was strong. I cast them in fibreglass and resin, then broke the mould to get the sculpture out. It’s a violent process, but something beautiful comes out. NM: It sounds cathartic, in a way – hammering it down and then having this newborn, so to speak. SvR: Sculpting can feel violent sometimes. You have to use a lot of power, especially with certain materials. For example, when I work with bronze, I use heavy tools and a 1000-degree flame to shape the surface. Then I throw acid on it. It’s all very violent and uncomfortable, but something beautiful comes out. It’s interesting how that process works. NM: Tell me more about you playing with the duality of things. Like beauty and grotesque, or violence and creation? And how do you balance them? SvR: I think those contradictions are where it gets interesting. How can a sculpture be both of these things? It’s not about balancing them intentionally. It’s about the tension between contradictions; something can be
