Art

Earth Drill, 2025, Crater Fantasia travertine, copper, steel, 242 x 32.5 x 32.5 cm (column), 3 x 60 x 60 cm (base) Left Lamina II, 2025, watercolour collage on cotton paper, 59.4 x 42 cm unframed, 66 x 48.6 cm framed Right Model after Noguchi’s Shrine of Aphrodite N.3, 2025, travertine, marble, granite, quartzite, anyolite, bronze, 46 x 60 x 2 cm Natalia Muntean: Mineral Rising redefines monumentality as something modular and impermanent. What drew you to this idea of monumentality as fragile or changeable? Elena Damiani: What drew me to this idea was the understanding that geological forms, often perceived as fixed, are in fact always in transformation. Stone carries the memory of pressure, rupture, and reassembly; it embodies change over vast timescales. Nature itself organises through fragments and modular assemblies: layers, clusters, and self-contained units that combine, break apart, and recombine, generating continuity through constant change. In my work, I strive to convey this vitality by creating forms that remain open to reconfiguration. In Mineral Rising, the idea of monumentality lies not in permanence but in resilience, in the ability of matter to reorganise, to hold memory within its fragments, and to remain in motion. NM: In Strata Belt, the travertine modules suggest both geological folding and human construction. How do you balance the industrial and architectural references with the natural processes that inspire you? ED: Strata Belt operates at the intersection of geology and architecture. Its modular structure recalls natural processes, folding, stratification, and tectonic shifts, while also referencing principles of design and assembly. The work doesn’t oppose these registers but proposes their simultaneity: structure as both sediment and architecture, fragment and whole. The piece also draws on Alvar Aalto’s room divider, reimagined in stone, a material rarely used for flexible structures. I often work with references that span architecture, Earth sciences, design, and land art. Rather than standing as counterpoints, these references generate a field of associations that inform both form and concept. In Strata Belt, they converge in a sculpture composed of repeated units that can be reconfigured into different shapes, reflecting both geological transformation and structural design. NM: Your work often moves between scales, from intimate collages to monumental public art. How do you decide the scale a project demands? ED: Scale emerges from context and intention. It really depends on the character of the project, whether it is conceived for an institution, a gallery, or a public space; the work must respond to its surroundings. Sometimes this means creating partitions or large sculptural forms; other times it calls for smaller pieces that invite close reading of the materials. I have always been interested in scale models because they shift our perspective, allowing us to observe space as a representation from the outside. With stone, scale also connects to time: massive forms shaped through slow processes coexist with sudden ruptures caused by singular events. Ultimately, scale emerges from both the ideas and the materials, and is shaped by the kind of spatial and temporal experience the work seeks to activate. NM: Do you consider your work a form of storytelling about the earth’s memory, or more as a material investigation?ED: I don’t see my work as telling a story in a linear sense.  It’s more about activating the memory embedded in materials, fragments of deep time that resist tidy narratives. Geological matter records traces of past events and processes that can suggest a narrative, but one that is fragmented, open, and continually unfolding, almost deeper than language. Manuel DeLanda’s notion of history as a nonlinear assemblage of flows and ruptures resonates with my approach, as does Tim Ingold’s view of materials as always in flux. Stone, for me, carries both memory and movement. My work proposes reflection on the Earth’s memory through material investigation, using fragments, layers, and reconfiguration to evoke this unstable, non-linear temporality. Model after Noguchi’s Shrine of Aphrodite N.2, 2025, travertine, marble, granite, bronze, 46 x 54 x 2 cm Strata Belt, 2025, Crater Fantasia travertine, stainless steel, 180 x 252 x 6.7 cm (extended) / 180 x 200 x 56 cm (curved) NM: When working with geological forms, do you ever feel you are collaborating with forces that extend beyond human history? ED: I wouldn’t call it a collaboration, but I do feel that in working with these materials, I am engaging with forces that far exceed human history. Deep time is inscribed in the stone, and I hope the works place viewers in an encounter with that abyss of time, something vast, fragmented, and still unfolding, which the material itself makes evident. NM: Your pieces embody both fragility and weight. Is holding these contradictions central to your practice? ED: Yes, that tension is central. Weight and fragility are not opposites but coexisting qualities in geological matter. Stone can hold immense density yet reveal fractures and porosity. This reminds me of erratic stones. These glacial boulders, carried by ice and left in improbable positions, are sometimes perched on the edge of a cliff or a smaller rock, as if about to collapse, yet somehow held in balance. That image reflects a balance I seek in my work, where stability and fragility remain inseparable aspects of the same form. NM: Your background in architecture often surfaces in the modular and spatial aspects of your work. Do you still think like an architect when you approach sculpture? ED: I studied architecture but never practised as an architect. What it gave me was an introduction to methodologies of research and project development, how to work with a team and develop a project while responding to changing conditions and contexts. Those tools have stayed with me and continue to shape the way I approach sculpture, especially in relation to space, materials, and context. They become especially relevant when working on projects closer to architecture, such as public commissions that engage directly with urban environments and landscape, or in installations that relate to an already existing architectural language.   NM: In past interviews, you’ve

Aftermath of Paris Art Week 2025 – Echoes of Nature, Music, Human Interaction and Glass text Eva Drakenberg & Matilda Tjäder From «Exposition Générale». La Fondation Cartier pour l’art contemporain, 2 place du Palais-Royal, Paris. © Jean Nouvel / ADAGP, Paris, 2025. Photo © Martin Argyroglo. Open until 23 August 2026. Last month, the city of love gathered artists, enthusiasts, and collectors from all over the world, where Stockholm Art Week joined the rhythm of Paris Art Week. Looking back at the spectacular works experienced across galleries, foundations, and, of course, the ever-iconic Art Basel at the Grand Palais, we feel a sense of hope for the future. The exhibitions encouraged us to reflect on our relationship with nature and our behaviour in modern society, while allowing us to hold hands with the past when reality feels a bit too scary. Heading to Paris any time soon? Lucky you – many of the shows are still up and running. INTERDISCIPLINARY DIALOGUES Through a rich variety of expressions, we observed a recurring desire to explore the intersection of science and culture in our understanding of the natural world. By merging realms we often study in isolation, we are invited to embrace an interconnected, three-dimensional worldview. The reopening of the Cartier Foundation served as a symbol of this thematic shift, with its three-floor space fostering dialogue between architecture, nature, the act of making, and fiction. What happens when we begin to view matter through the dual lenses of emotion and logic? Likewise, at Art Basel inside the Grand Palais, many young artists echoed these conversations through a rich variety of perspectives. The Stockholm/Paris-based gallery Andrehn-Schiptjenko showcased Swedish artist Sally von Rosen, who elevates the spiritual dimension of material by emphasising the bronze sculpture’s own agency and emotion. Meanwhile, a visit to the Perrotin Gallery in the Marais showed The Sun Splitting Stones by the phenomenal India-based artist Bharti Kher, whose paintings and sculptures explore similar dialogues. We highly recommend visiting it. On the left: Sally von Rosen. « Motherform ». Installation view Andréhn-Schiptjenko Art Basel Paris 2025. Courtesy of the Artists and Andréhn-Schiptjenko © Joe Clark. Exclusive for Stockholm Art Week. From Bharti Kher.  « The sun splitting stones ». Photo: Tanguy Beurdeley. ©Bharti Kher / ADAGP, Paris, 2025. Courtesy of the artist and Perrotin. Open until December 20th. SOUNDS OF MUSIC The city of Paris is known for effortlessly merging art forms, which we saw in the interplay between visual art and music. We were delighted to see the Philharmonie de Paris and Centre Pompidou join forces to produce the astounding Kandinsky exhibition La musique des couleurs. Visitors are invited to explore Kandinsky’s impressive collection of over 200 works, highlighting the spirituality of colour while listening to his musical references, from Wagner to Schoenberg. Incorporating piano notes was also recently explored more abstractly at the Marais gallery Chantal Crousel, with Mexican artist Gabriel Orozco’s solo exhibition Partituras. In other words, for a music lover, the art scene in Paris may feel especially exciting right now.     From Philharmonie de Paris. « Kandinsky ». La musique des couleurs. » Own photo. Open until February 2nd 2026. From Gabriel Orozco.  « Partituras ». Courtoisie de l’artiste et de la Galerie Chantal Crousel, Paris. | Courtesy of the artist and Galerie Chantal Crousel, Paris. Photo: Jiayun Deng — Galerie Chantal Crousel . From Elmgreen & Dragset. Massimodecarlo Gallery. Exclusive for Art Week 2025. Photo © Thomas Lannes courtesy MASSIMODECARLO. Exclusive for Stockholm Art Week. INTERACTIVE ART Interactive art stood out as a truly wholesome observation during the week, with several exhibitions revealing something intimate about our own everyday behaviour. Overall, we felt a renewed appreciation for the arts’ ability to create spaces for self-reflection and to question our individual roles within the collective society. A favourite of ours was the hyperrealistic sleeping sculpture showcased in the Massimodecarlo gallery window, created by the dynamic Scandinavian duo Elmgreen & Dragset. When we first passed the Marais gallery, we gasped, thinking it was an overworked or perhaps even a little over-partied gallerist. Trying to wake her up, we finally found ourselves laughing with other confused Parisians. It made us reflect on civil courage, the complexities of today’s gallery scene, and the delicate balance of everyday work life. Similarly, the iconic École des Beaux-Arts de Paris presented an interactive experience with its Objects Trouvés installation by Harry Nuriev. Visitors were invited to bring a personal object from home and exchange it for something new within the grandiose Chapelle des Petits-Augustins. The installation prompted reflection on how deeply personal materialism can be, even when it often feels homogeneous. After all, we are each drawn to different objects shaped by our own memories and personalities.  From Harry Nuriev, « Objets Trouvés », Les Beaux-Arts Paris. Own photo. Exclusive for Stockholm Art Week.   BLURRY MEMORIES Speaking of memories, we saw exhibitions that explored the complex theme through both abstraction and objects. At Foundation Louis Vuitton, we were blown away by the Gerhald Richter exhibition showcasing an exceptional retrospective of 275 works stretching from 1962 to 2024. Known for his blurring technique on photo-inspired oil canvases, we are reminded of the uncertainty of our collective memory. While at the Swedish Institute, Tarik Kiswanson explores memory through the language of objects. Instead of resolving historical contradictions, he exposes them and their lasting impact. From Fondation Louis Vuitton. Gerhard Richter. Own photo. Open until March 2nd 2026. From Institut Suédois. Tarik Kiswanson.  « The Relief ». (Steinway Victory Vertical, 1944), 2025. Courtesy of the artist and Sfeir-Semler Gallery. Photo: Edward Greiner. Open until January 11th 2026. GLASSMANIA  Strong. Fragile. Poetic. Glass as a medium of expression is becoming increasingly popular to exhibit, introducing a deeply personal dimension to an artist’s creative expression. Unlike working with other materials, glass is literally on fire, requiring high control and trust among collaborators. During Art Basel, in a setting like the Grand Palais, gleaming glassworks were instantly eye-catching beneath the iconic roof. Outside Grand Palais,

Estelle Graf on Art, Vulnerability and the Human Condition Written by Natalia Muntean Photo by Felicia Larsson In her exhibition “Dressed Up and Desperate” (Finklädd och Förtvivlad) at WAY Gallery in Stockholm, Swedish artist Estelle Graf delves into the complexities of the human condition through anthropomorphic figures. For the self-taught artist, these themes are not new obsessions but lifelong inquiries. “Everything I’ve painted… these are things I’ve been thinking about my whole life: what it means to be human, exist in this world, and hierarchies,” she explains. The exhibition brings into focus the fragile balance Graf depicts: the tension between the suit-clad personas we perform and the vulnerabilities we hide from others. “People usually try to hold up a picture of themselves being controlled,” she says, “and then underneath that, for everyone, there’s something unresolved or raw.” Through scenes with animal-headed figures, Graf uses humour and unease to strip away our social costumes, asking a question that fuels her entire practice: “We all seem to be struggling with the same things… and then when we go out in life, we’re still so conforming. We’re so tense, and we’re so scared. Why is that?” Natalia Muntean: “Dressed Up and Desperate” is an interesting title. What emotions or ideas did you want to capture through it?Estelle Graf: The title points to a tension I think many of us carry: the desire to present ourselves as composed, cultured, even elevated, while underneath there is something quite raw and unresolved. ”Dressed Up and Desperate” refers to that duality. We perform being human. We dress up, but the deeper emotional landscape is rarely neat. There is longing, confusion, insecurity, and hunger. The works move between the theatrical and the vulnerable, almost like characters caught mid-scene, mid-collapse. I wanted to hold both the absurdity and the sincerity of that state. NM: Was the title something you decided in the beginning, or did it come to you when you started working?EG: The theme it explains has been there. I’ve known what I’m trying to talk about all the time. But I think it always comes to me through the process – what could best describe what I’m thinking about right now, what I’m trying to communicate. So somewhere in the middle of the process, I think, “Okay, so this is it.” NM: How do you title your works?EG: When I’m finished, definitely. Sometimes I have a title in the beginning, and then it changes. I have an idea, “Okay, this is the story,” and I work with that as something to hold on to. Then, in the process, it changes and shifts and ends up as something else. I think the truth in the work often shows when I’m done. It’s similar to the way I work with myself as a human being. You have an idea of who you are, and then through the process of living your life, you realise stuff about yourself. You thought you were one way, and then three years later, you look back and realise something stood for something else. I think it’s the same when I create art. I start with one wish, one vision, one title, and then throughout the process, I realise, “Okay, this is probably more about this than that.” NM: Tell me a bit about your process – what does a day look like in your studio? Do you go in with a plan, or do you just let your intuition lead you?EG: To be creative and start my process, I need to be alone in a quiet space for quite some time. When I start the actual practical process, I can sit and just paint for eight hours straight. But before I do that, I have to sit in complete quiet. I can’t listen to anything, and I usually just stare at the wall, waiting for inspiration to kick in. NM: So you just need to be with yourself. And you don’t create from a place of chaos?EG: My work is about chaos in one way. It’s chaos to just be alive. And in order to be able to tell the story about chaos, I need to be in harmony. NM: I know you’ve written a book before as well, and have explored some of its themes through your art. How does storytelling differ between these two media? Obviously, painting and writing are quite different, but how does your approach shift depending on the medium?EG: When changing media, it’s also a way of getting a new outlook. If I have an idea and I’m writing about it, it will give me one conclusion. If I try to translate that into a painting, even directly, it will maybe give me a different conclusion. That’s something I think is really interesting. The medium can help you find new conclusions or discover things about a subject you thought you had turned upside down. You change medium and you’re like, “Oh, this is what it’s about.” NM: You are a self-taught painter – tell me about this journey.EG: Yes, I am self-taught. I’ve been painting all my life, but I was so scared of making that my work identity. NM: Why?EG: I think maybe because it’s vulnerable. If something really means something to you… I have a feeling, when I talk to friends and read about people’s lives, that a lot of people are doing their plan B because their plan A is vulnerable. It means something to you. So if you’re going to take it too seriously, that’s a risk. It’s the same with relationships. The more it means to you, the harder it is to get too close. That was the case for me. I wasn’t even trying to walk close to it until I actually studied form and learning design. It started with a book. I felt like, “Oh, so this story that I’m telling, or the thoughts that I’m having… people seem interested in this narrative.” That’s a nice feeling – to feel that

Evelina Kroon: A Modern Revival of the Rya Rug text Ulrika Lindqvist With her precise yet playful approach to color and form, Evelina Kroon brings new life to one of Scandinavia’s oldest crafts. In collaboration with Layered, she reinterprets the traditional rya rug, transforming a functional textile into a tactile piece of contemporary art. Ulrika Lindqvist: Can you tell us how long you’ve been working as an artist, and what first inspired you to pursue a career in this field? Evelina Kroon: I’ve somehow been involved in art for as long as I can remember. I started attending art school as a kid, mostly because my parents encouraged it early on, and over time it just became a natural part of who I am, what I’ve studied and what I do. It hasn’t been a perfectly straight path. There have been detours and periods of uncertainty.  But art has always been the one thing I’ve felt truly connected to, and the thing I know best? Since then, it’s been a mix of dedication and a few lucky opportunities that have allowed me to keep working. Every step, whether planned or unexpected, has shaped how I see my practice today.   photography Andy Liffner  UL: This collection focuses on the rya rug, a craft with roots in 13th-century Norway. What drew you to center the collection around this traditional technique, and did it present any creative challenges? EK: The idea actually came from Layered, but I’ve always been a fan of rya rugs, both for their comfort and their aesthetic. There’s something about that texture and warmth and they are timeless. Rya has such an interesting history: originally made in 13th-century Norway as functional bed covers, woven with long wool piles for insulation against the cold. Over time, they evolved into richly patterned decorative textiles, combining practicality with artistry which I find very inspiring. So while the starting point wasn’t entirely mine, I couldn’t resist the opportunity to explore this craft further. And honestly, I think it’s about time for a dignified comeback of this iconic dust collector, don’t you? UL: I absolutely do! Could you walk us through your creative process? Do you have any routines or rituals that help spark inspiration? EK: I have a specific method, it’s a ritual in itself. Within that structure, I allow myself a lot of freedom. It’s strict, but I’ve learned it over time. I work with grid patterns as a tool, always subordinated to color, focusing on frequency, spacing, filling, and layering. Talking about inspiration is tricky for me. It’s everywhere, really. In words, in pauses, in both the beautiful and the ugly. It’s less a single moment and more a constant presence that informs my work. UL: Are there any particular projects or moments in your career that stand out as especially memorable? EK: There are definitely memorable moments, even if I don’t always notice them at the time. Everything feels connected, and I’m just grateful to keep creating.  Every project, big or small, shapes my practice in its own way UL: How does working with textiles and furniture differ from creating on canvas or with tape? EK: It’s mainly about scale and material, of course. Working with textiles and furniture allows me to lighten and translate my work into something more accessible. Just turning it into an everyday object that people can interact with in a different way, that’s something else.  UL: You’ve collaborated with Layered before, what feels different about this partnership, and how was it to continue working together? UL: Layered was one of my first collaborations, and it’s always felt like a safe and inspiring space. For me, it’s really the people working there that make me keep coming back. We’ve found a way of working that just works, so why not continue? UL: How did you choose the location for the campaign shoot? EK: We felt it was a perfect, beautiful contrast — exactly the kind of balance I like to aim for. UL: And finally, what are you most looking forward to in 2026? EK: December. When I finally see what it all turned out to be. And after that, I hope it can start over again and again.

The Art of the Meal: A Dialogue in Glass and Culture text Ulrika Lindqvist When artist and author Charlotte Birnbaum joins forces with renowned glass designer Erika Lagerbielke, the result is Måltidens teater – glas för alla sinnen, an exhibition that turns the meal itself into a multisensory performance. United by a shared fascination for food as art, the two explore the table as a stage for creativity, craftsmanship, and conversation. photography Michelle Meadows Ulrika Lindqvist:  Could you tell us a bit about how the idea for this collaboration came about? Charlotte Birnbaum & Erika Lagerbielke: We have meet through our work in the organizations The Swedish Academy of Meal science and the Swedish Academy of Gastronomy. We have found that we share a passion for meals as an expression of culture and art, and that we shared an interest exploring these events through our artistic work.   UL: Charlotte, how would you say the process of working on this collection and exhibition differs from your work as an author and artist? CH: It has been a wonderful experience for me to work in dialog with an important artist who really has a much deeper understanding of the world of glass than me. I am more of an assemblage artist who selects already existing components. I work with glass objects as readymades. But I think that we share a certain esthetic sensibility, in spite of our very different approaches. We have collaborated on the display of our works, so the exhibition itself really is a collaborative effort. It’s the first time I try something like this, but hopefully not the last.     UL: What were the biggest challenges you faced during this project? EL:  I gave myself the challenge to find a new expression for “living glass”. I wanted to capture light and a way to express flow. It took some experimenting in close cooperation with the skilled glass blowers at Kosta glassworks before we finally were successful in developing a new method that worked. I have used the new technique in the series Wild Optics, which will be shown for the first time in our exhibition at Galleri Glas.   UL: Charlotte, in your opinion, what are the most important elements of a well-set table? CB: I have always viewed the table as a kind of exhibition format. That is what I have written about since many years. I edit a book series called On the Table. These publications explore interesting encounters between art and food. Most of my examples are historical. I have written about baroque napkin folding and about the art of the banquet at renaissance courts. These are of course quite extravagant examples but in fact every set table is an exhibition. In that sense most of us are curators.   UL: How did your approach to this collection differ from how you usually work on your other projects?  Could you walk us through the process of creating the collection? EL:  The biggest difference is that we are two artists working together when creating the exhibition. Having had the good fortune to work with such an interesting and accomplished artist as Charlotte has added a lot of inspiration to my work. We had several creative conversations, also over enjoyable meals, where we developed the concept, “Måltidens teater – glas för alla sinnen”, as well as our key words and a colour scheme. Since we use completely different techniques creating our artwork, we then continued our own. We have continuously supported each other in the creative processes and kept each other informed regarding successes and obstacles. It has been very smooth. photography Stefan Pohl

Lars Nilsson – Botanical Stripes text Jahwanna Berglund  photography Harrison Wakley Carling Dalenson Gallery, 19 November–17 December 2025 In his latest exhibition Botanical Stripes at Carling Dalenson, Lars Nilsson invites us into a world where memory, craft, and cultivated nature intertwine. Known to many for his decades-long career in haute couture working for houses such as Chanel, Dior, Lacroix, and Ricci, Nilsson has in recent years turned his gaze homeward. From his studio in Rättvik in Dalarna, he continues to refine his language of form, translating fashion’s discipline and attention to detail into objects that breathe with tactile intimacy. The exhibition unfolds through watercolor collages and sculptural candleholders, each piece resonating with the artist’s fascination for structure within apparent spontaneity of what he calls the “organized chaos” of English gardens. Inspired by the 17th-century topiary landscape of Levens Hall, Nilsson explores how nature’s geometry and human touch coexist. His collages evoke the depth of Dutch still-life painting: floral compositions emerging from shadow, delicate yet deliberate. In The Pottery Floor, a work referencing Villa San Michele in Capri, patterned stones are reimagined as rhythmic, almost textile motifs currently being translated into a woven tapestry at the Alice Lund studio in Borlänge. photography Andreas Zetterqvist Stripes, a motif that has followed Nilsson from his couture days run like a quiet pulse throughout the exhibition. In the candleholders, the pattern materializes in tactile contrasts: oak against wool, porphyry beside glass, bronze next to ceramic. All materials are locally sourced, assembled in collaboration with craftspeople across Sweden, from Nittsjö ceramics and Bergdala glassworks to Morell’s metal foundry. These sculptures stand as both domestic objects and miniature landscapes, echoes of the Dalarna forests and English gardens that shaped Nilsson’s imagination. In Botanical Stripes, Nilsson continues a conversation between craft and couture, between discipline and instinct. The result is a body of work that feels both rooted and fluid, quietly celebrating the persistence of beauty in the handmade.

Ludi Leiva: on Intuition, Ancestry and Home as a Verb text Natalia Muntean “Art is essential. It’s how we record history, emotion and collective experience,” says Stockholm-based artist Ludi Leiva. Rooted in her Canadian, Guatemalan, and Slovak heritage, Leiva’s practice traces the spaces between displacement and belonging, with creation as an act of both remembering and reimagining.    A former journalist turned artist, she earned her MFA in Visual Communication from Konstfack University in Stockholm and now continues her studies at the Royal Drawing School in London. Her commercial collaborations with Apple, Vogue, and adidas coexist with deeply personal explorations of ancestry, ecology and belonging.    Working across painting, printmaking and text, she treats intuition as both a compass and collaborator. “It can bring people together, start difficult conversations, and help people process difficult topics. It can protest. It can do everything,” she reflects on the role of art. “That’s why I think it’s one of the most precious things humanity has, and it deserves to be championed and protected well.” photography Sandra Myhrberg Natalia Muntean: How did you become an artist?Ludi Leiva: I think I was born one. It was more about finding my way back to a more honest way of being. I actually started professionally as a journalist, so writing came first. Around 2016, I began working as an illustrator, mostly doing editorial commissions and client projects. Over time, though, I started to feel a kind of creative fatigue. I began asking myself who I was outside of a brief, what I actually wanted to express that wasn’t being dictated by a brand or an assignment. That curiosity eventually led me to Sweden, where I did my master’s in Visual Communication. Ironically, after two years of studying illustration, I realised I had only scratched the surface of what I really wanted to explore. Being surrounded by people working in so many different media opened up a lot for me. During my final exhibition, I found myself much more excited about designing the installation and its conceptual direction than about the illustrated book I’d been working on. So I followed that feeling and decided to trust my intuition. That led to two years of real growth as an artist. In 2024, I received a working grant from the Swedish Arts Grants Committee that allowed me to focus fully on my studio practice without relying on commercial work. It’s been a really deep, exploratory period. NM: Was that scary to do?LL: It was scary to stop investing in the thing that was giving me social validation and dive headfirst into something very unknown and difficult. As a self-taught artist, I didn’t have that institutional background. That’s something I’m still dealing with, particularly here in Sweden, where I think a lot of emphasis is placed on attending places like the Royal Art Academy and the networks you make there. It’s interesting for me to wade through that, but I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished in the last couple of years by just winging it and following my gut. I’m excited to see what else this journey brings. NM: What surprised you the most in these two years? Maybe you learned something about yourself or your practice?LL: I was able to really uncover a way of working that feels very intuitive. A few years ago, I would sit at a blank piece of paper and feel panic, not knowing what to do because I was used to at least being given an idea. Over the last several years, I’ve developed this strong inner sense of what a material, or what something, wants to be, and I listen to that. I’ve found different methods of working where I feel the material is a collaborator. For example, I work a lot with monotype printing, where each painting can only be transferred once, so it’s an original, and I really love that. You can work as much as you want, but you can only control so much of the process. There’s a level of surrender in the transfer because it’s never exactly how it was. Something can change depending on the paper, the water or the printing surface. I find a great sense of freedom in co-creating with something other than just my mind trying to enforce an idea. You have to have a sense of non-attachment and openness to it becoming something slightly out of your control at all times. I know exactly how long to soak the paper and what pigments to use, so there is some reliability, but there’s always a one or two per cent chance that something could go slightly differently than expected. I find that quite lovely. NM: You work in different media now, painting and printing. How do you choose which medium you’re going to use?LL: I go back and forth quite a lot. It depends on my mood or where I am mentally, and I think different thematic explorations are better suited for one medium or another. For instance, I recently started a series because I remember my dreams a lot, and I’ve kept a dream journal for years. I have really intense dreams, and I often remember them like full films in my mind in the morning, and I write or sketch things out. I always consider my dreams, but I try not to plan too much around them, because it can be a little scary if something happens and you wonder if it’s the future. But I do find a lot of inspiration in them, especially in the visuals, the strange landscapes and geographies, often like psychedelic dreams. I started a series where I take visual images from my dreams and paint them onto bed sheets, either old ones of mine or found ones from second-hand stores. I like finding ones with old initials. It’s a way for me to explore if dreams leave any kind of physical or energetic residue in domestic space, because we spend so much of our lives in

THE BIG SKY – An Interview With Adèle Aproh text Natalia Muntean images courtesy of the artist At five years old, Adèle Aproh copied a parrot from a classmate’s sketchbook and never stopped drawing. Years later, after a detour into business studies and corporate work, she returned to what had always been her private language. “I didn’t really have a choice,” she says. “I needed to draw.” Today, her intricate compositions, inspired by fashion, performance, and ritual, are both therapeutic and theatrical, opening space for viewers to find their own narratives. “They’re stories within stories,” she explains.  Natalia Muntean: Do you remember the first drawing you did? Adèle Aproh: Actually, yes, I do. It was a bird, a parrot. I was in elementary school, maybe five or six years old. There was this girl in my class, Marie, and she was drawing parrots in a certain way. You know how kids just go from one line to another, and you don’t know where it’s going, and then at the end, you have a bird? Like she was following a scheme. I was fascinated. I thought, “Oh my God, it’s magic.” That is literally how drawing started for me, thanks to this girl. I thought, “Wow, you have a magic trick to draw parrots.” So I started like that, drawing tons and tons of birds for I don’t know how long. Since then, I have always kept drawing. All my school books were full of drawings in the margins. It was a big mess until the end of high school. NM: So it was always meant to be. Adèle Aproh: Yeah, kind of. I always dreamed of it. That’s why it was tricky for me to choose at the end of high school. But yeah, no regrets on the business path. NM: It’s good that you tried it. Now you did that, and you know what it’s like. Adèle Aproh: Yeah, exactly. This is also where I think I’m lucky. I’ve been there. I know what the corporate job is, and I also know I really don’t want to go back there. So I think that’s another motivation to keep doing what I’m doing. My boyfriend is also an artist, and he’s always been a painter. Sometimes you seek stability, and when you don’t know something, you might wish you were in an office because you don’t know if it’s meant for you. I had the chance to know that if I had a choice, I’d rather be an artist now. Even though it’s unstable and it can be scary, and even though you don’t know what tomorrow is made of, this is really where I want to be.   NM: Your work pulls from a very rich palette of cultural influences, from fashion to comic books to memory. Can you tell me a little bit more about these sources of inspiration? Adèle Aproh: I have many different inspirations. Fashion has always played a very instinctive role in my work. I think of it as a form of coded communication, a kind of language. Also, the characters in my drawings are all kinds of based on me. I use myself as a model for the poses. I’m not explicitly drawing myself, but as I’m free and available, I take videos of myself. So they all pass through me. They’re not me, but they pass through me. That’s also why they all look like each other. I always used clothing as a way to distinguish them, to create thought, so they all have their own identity. NM: To separate them? Adèle Aproh: Yes, exactly. I’ve also always been fascinated by historical costume, ballads, uniforms, circus attire, and anything that carries a sense of ritual and theatricality. I often see figure dressing as a kind of choreography. It’s about how identity is compared to movement and material. Also, when I work on a series, I often go to a library in Paris. NM: I read that you do that every week. Adèle Aproh: It depends on the regularity of work, but I often go. It’s the library of the Musée des Arts Décoratifs. So it’s focused on visual art and fashion. When I go there, I always take a ton of books on design or works on costumes and layering. All my mood boards are full of archives from this library, so that obviously directly inspires my work. Also, I grew up with a mom who loves fashion. She was, and even now is, literally addicted to shopping. So clothing has always been important. I grew up in a family where fashion was important, so I think I developed a kind of sensibility toward it.     NM: Can you tell me about your sources of inspiration and how you bring them together? I know you’ve mentioned Diego Rivera, but also Alice in Wonderland. How do these influences mix in your work? Adèle Aproh: I’m really inspired by what surrounds me – what I see, watch, or read every day. My influences move with my daily life. I can be inspired by a movie I watched the night before, something I found in the library, or an exhibition I visited. For my last series, I often went to the Louvre, looking at Renaissance paintings, especially the dresses and costumes, and also Degas’s dancer series. Each time I see something I like, I memorise it, store it in my own archive, and later it reappears in my drawings. Recently, I’ve also been very drawn to the world of carnival and circus, because it shows so clearly how reality and performance come together. NM: You grew up with Chinese, Hungarian, and Spanish heritage in France. How has this background shaped your perspective? Adèle Aproh: My family is very multicultural. My mother’s parents came from China during the Cultural Revolution, so she grew up in Paris. On my father’s side, my grandmother is Spanish and my grandfather Hungarian; they also met in Paris. Part of