Art

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 Rya has such an interesting history: originally made in 13th-century Norway as functional bed covers, woven with long wool piles for insulation against the cold.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

London’s Must-See Art Installation: Art on the Wharf text Yasmine Mubarak Once defined by its silhouette of skyscrapers and trading floors. Canary Wharf has turned into one of London’s most surprising creative districts. What began 35 years ago as an ambitious plan to change the docks into a financial district has today transformed into a lively neighborhood where art, architecture, and nature coexist seamlessly. Not to mention, home to a must-visit art installation.    For many Londoners, Canary Wharf remains a part of their daily commute. All fast-paced footsteps, shining towers, and a wide selection of lunch spots. But for travelers, it’s your next destination: a place where wellness meets innovation, and where every corner offers a moment of inspiration. A visit filled with art installations and inspiring architecture.   A Contemporary Artwork on the Thames – The Whale That Leaps from the Wharf   The area’s name goes back to the ships that once docked there carrying fruit from the Canary Islands. Today, the district is home to London’s largest collection of outdoor public art, with more than 100 sculptures and installations throughout its parks, plazas, and promenades.   Among them is the striking Whale on the Wharf, located on Walter Street, just a short walk from the design-forward Vertus Edit – a must stay.   Whale on the Wharf is created from five tonnes of plastic waste that were pulled out of the ocean, and transformed into a four-storey-tall whale leaping from the water. From a distance, it is an impressive sculpture — a celebration of nature’s grace. But as you step closer, you see the surface telling us a different story. A surface made out of the plastic of bottles, an old skateboard, single-use plastic items, and other discarded items. Behind the art piece are the architectural duo Jason Klimoski & Lesley Chang, who collaborated with the Hawaii Wildlife Fund to collect as much ocean plastic waste as they could find to create the sculpture. It’s a beautiful art piece to see, a statement regarding the millions of tons of plastic waste swimming in our oceans. Sparking a debate about our not-so-beautiful impact and consequences on the planet.   Reflections and Geometry A few steps away, across the road, stands The Knot by Richard Hudson — a sculpture that shifts as you approach. From a distance, it blends seamlessly in with the surrounding architecture. Up close, it draws you in with its polished, looping form and reflects your own image, the sky, and the skyline all at once. Be aware that standing in front of it, it reflects your thoughts. Hudson, known for his fascination with nature’s organic shapes. Was intrigued by the infinite curves, and rectangular structures of the city surroundings. It’s an artwork that invites personal reflection — both literally and metaphorically. Art in Bloom Art on the Wharf’s dedication to integrating nature into urban design is evident at every corner. There are more than 20 acres of parks, gardens, and waterside promenades weaving through the district, turning the area into a living gallery. At Eden Dock, 21 lifelike figures crafted from moss and dried flowers emerge from the water, as if growing organically from the earth. A first-of-its-kind creation, where each one represents the connection between nature and urban life, a delicate balance of biodiversity and modernity. The 21 figures can be found in front of the Jubilee Line entrance, and are the perfect place to pause with a Hey Tea, Matcha and take in the serenity of the water and the art that frames it. Where Calm Meets Creativity Perhaps what makes Canary Wharf’s art installation so compelling is the sense of calm that runs beneath its surface. The art installations encourage you to slow down- to walk, or why not take a morning run, following the curated 1 km, 3 km, or 5 km art routes that guide visitors through the district’s key works. Families can join in too, with a dedicated children’s art trail designed to inspire young imaginations. Exploring these installations feels almost like a contemporary art treasure hunt. With over 100 pieces waiting to be discovered, you find yourself wandering through plazas and green walkways. The walk makes you stop and notice art in the everyday – from the sculpted architecture to the blooming planters. It’s an experience that feels restorative; a gentle detox for the mind and body. If you are wondering where you should stay during your visit, the Virtus Edit is a hidden gem. It offers a perfect base. Rising among greenery, art sculptures, and riverside walkways, it blends contemporary design with an emphasis on wellbeing. For Scandinavian travellers, it offers a familiar sense of minimalist comfort — a home away from home in the heart of the city. From here, it’s even easy to reach Soho, Southwark, Greenwich, and beyond, while enjoying the slower pace and wellness-focused energy that Canary Wharf now embodies. A Legacy of Public Art Between the two exits of the jubilee line, hides a green oasis of calmness, water springs, even a few ducks had found their nest. In the pathway of Jubilee Park lies Fortuna, a large bronze sculpture from Helaine Blumenfeld Obe. Blumenfield wanted to connect with the large number of people who visited Jubilee Park. Not to mention, for the bronze sculpture to say something about the human condition of turbulence, hope, community among many other emotions. Public art in Canary Wharf doesn’t just decorate its spaces — it defines them. In a district dominated by architectural ambition, these works bring warmth, humanity, and colour to the landscape. Here, even the bridge of the DLR is an art piece by artist Sinta Tantra. In addition, on Montgomery Square, Julian Wild has created a large red sculpture in a flamboyant doodle of steel. Art became central to the area’s identity already in 1999, when it hosted The Shape of the Century: 100 Years of Sculpture in Britain. It included a number of sculptures that became the start of a permanent art

The relentless forms of Claudine Monchaussé Written by Natalia Muntean Photo by Isabelle Arthuis – Fondation d’entreprise Hermes For over six decades, driven by a “relentless necessity,” Claudine Monchaussé has spent her life getting closer to an image that has burned within her since she first touched clay. At 89, her first major exhibition outside France, “Sourdre,” at the Fondation d’entreprise Hermès’s La Verrière in Brussels, finally brings her work into the light. Curated by Joël Riff as an “augmented solo” show, the exhibition places her potent stoneware sculptures, born from the telluric force of the pottery village La Borne, into dialogue with artists across generations, including Germaine Richier and Marie Talbot, creating a conversation around universal symbols and the act of creation.  Natalia Muntean: Your work is described as being driven by an “inner pursuit” and a “relentless necessity.” Could you describe the sensation of that creative impulse and how it guides your hands when you begin a new piece?Claudine Monchaussé: I always had a fire burning inside me that I wanted to put to use with clay. In the first years, I didn’t quite understand what I was doing, but there was an image that stayed with me. I spent my entire life wanting to be as close to it as possible. It isn’t my hands that guide me, but rather, my intuition. NM: You have lived and worked in La Borne for over 65 years. How has the spirit and tradition of that place specifically shaped the energy and form of your sculptures?CM: I came to live here with a potter/ceramist who divided his time between Paris and La Borne. At the time, in 1959, there were still traditional potters. I loved their simple, functional work. La Borne has centuries of pottery tradition behind it; there is a telluric force here. I never wanted to make pots, nor did I ever try, but I always felt that clay would be my medium; it was essential to me, visceral. Some people paint. I work with clay.   Photo © Isabelle Arthuis – Fondation d’entreprise Hermes NM: After working in relative solitude for decades, how does it feel to see your life’s work being brought together for this major exhibition, your first outside of France?CM: I am very grateful to the Fondation d’entreprise Hermès and Joël Riff for inviting me to exhibit. The works come to life, and the exhibition reveals the connections not only between them but also with the visitors. I have always felt somewhat overwhelmed by my work, but seeing so many pieces together moves me and brings me a sense of serenity. NM: You have said you never had a choice but to make your work, that it is a “relentless necessity.” Does the act of shaping the clay feel more like a process of discovery, of uncovering a form that already exists, or one of creation from nothing?CM: In my studio, I meet people from all over the world, and every person has been able to relate to the forms and symbols in my work. No matter what language they speak, they are able to access the ideas that I have experimented with. It probably speaks to the fact that everything already exists somewhere. I’ve never left my studio and yet somehow, thanks to many encounters with people, it is as if I have travelled the entire world several times and am the bearer of many civilisations. NM: When you finish a sculpture, do you feel its journey is complete, or does it only truly begin once it leaves your studio and meets a viewer’s gaze?CM: I have always been very demanding with my sculptures. Until now, they have only been seen by a very small circle of people who have come to me to discover them. I always think of someone when I make them, someone I have seen and known for a long time, or even someone I have never met.

Karla Black on material, chaos and the function of art Written by Natalia Muntean Photo by Simon Vogel “For me, culture is no different from nature; there is no hierarchy,” says Glasgow-based artist Karla Black. Known for her fragile, pastel-coloured installations made from materials like plaster, cellophane and makeup, Black has long explored the physical and emotional charge of matter itself. A Turner Prize nominee and Scotland’s representative at the Venice Biennale in 2011, she continues with her current show at Belenius Gallery in Stockholm to blur the line between painting and sculpture, insisting, as she puts it, on “the difficult, messy, chaotic characteristic of human behaviour” that keeps art alive. Natalia Muntean: Your work often resists explanation in words. When you begin preparing for an exhibition, where do you start? With a material, a colour, or with the space itself?Karla Black: The first thing that happens is that a desire arises in me. Maybe I want to mix paint into a particular colour, or touch a certain material like polythene, or scrabble around with some powder. In this sense, I think that my work begins with an exercising of the unconscious, which is experimental.  La Biennale di Venezia NM: You have described your sculptures as having “functions” rather than “meanings.” In the context of the Belenius Gallery show, what kind of functions or consequences do you hope these works might have for visitors?KB: The ambition that I have for my work in general – to force the institution or the gallery to present what art really is – the difficult, messy, chaotic characteristic of human behaviour that is so necessary to allow and to preserve. I hope that my work practically accomplishes something – it forces what art really is into the arena of the gallery and of the historical canon, something that has been very much missing in recent times, as art fairs and commercial galleries and therefore, the prominence of the transferable object has so prevailed. I want to make the real thing, not just some sort of dead historical, immovable object. It should also be ‘difficult’ to move around the powder without damaging it, and to encounter the possible stickiness of the vaseline, etc, I hope people feel this. NM: Pastel colours play a central role in your installations. How do you think their softness shapes the atmosphere of this exhibition?KB: I use colour like I use form. In a way, colour is a material for me. It is really the tone of the colour that is important. Just like the sculptures are almost objects or only just objects, so the colour is only just colour. I never use primary colours because I am mostly trying to get as close to nothing as possible, or as close to white as possible. NM: Each of your exhibitions carries only your name as its title. What does it mean for you to strip away all other framing and let the work stand on its own?KB: It’s a feminist stance. It is also a statement about the importance of abstraction. The ‘great name’ of the artist, as used in museum shows and monographs, is traditionally of male artists. The name itself as title is a representation of the fact that the interaction of me and the space is all there really is.  NM: When you step into the finished space at Belenius, what do you feel the works are doing here?KB: Hopefully, they are embodying a ‘real’ creative moment in an increasingly hermetic, sealed-off, commercially driven art world that prizes the transferable object above all. Hopefully, they don’t appear too ‘finished’ or  ‘clean’  and they are therefore allowing space for the process, for the mess to be felt by people in the pristine gallery space itself. NM: What is the most recent material, colour, or gesture that truly surprised you in your own work?KB: The use of the mirrors is a surprise to me. I never really expected to work on a surface that is attached to a wall. There was always mark-making on my sculptures, and there was an aspect of the sculptures that kept getting thinner and thinner. Although it is a surprise, it also feels like a natural progression. I think I can only make works on 2-dimensional surfaces if those surfaces are either reflective or transparent because, somehow, the work still needs to involve space or the 3-dimensional. NM: Do you see your work as more about exploring the world, or about creating a space separate from it?KB: Both, I suppose. The world is the world. I think my work is part of nature. For me, culture is no different from nature; there is no hierarchy. NM: What do you hope people take away from your show? KB: An impetus towards physical response. Photo by Capitain Petzel

Gavin Gleeson’s Partial Parade Offers a Playful Pause Written by Natalia Muntean “Too far Jacob” Gavin Gleeson found painting at twenty-seven. Or perhaps, painting found him. “I was in Paris, working a remote job, and I had taken a few drawing classes, but I just decided to pick up some paint for the first time and did a little watercolour. That was really the first time I painted,” he says. Born to Irish parents and raised in Kentucky, Gleeson grew up between worlds. “Growing up as a first-generation Irish American definitely gave me a sense of feeling a little bit abnormal,” he says. What began as a peek into painting became a path of its own, leading him away from business and into an intuitive studio practice where, he explains, “I like coming into the studio as if it’s an improvisation session.”  He never imagined it would carry him as far as a master’s degree at the Royal College of Art. Now presenting his first solo exhibition, Partial Parade, at Saskia Neuman Gallery in Stockholm, Gleeson translates how he experiences the world into canvases, inviting the viewer to join him in a “playful pause.”  Muntean Natalia: You picked up a brush at 27, and at 30, you have your first exhibition?Gavin Gleeson: I’m pinching myself, definitely! Growing up, my next-door neighbour was a lawyer by day but painted in his spare time. I would see him paint or make sculptures, so I was aware of it, but I didn’t think anybody painted full-time.  NM: But was there something that made you pick up the brush?GG: Honestly, boredom. I wouldn’t start work until the afternoon and just wanted something to do, so I signed up for a class. Later, back in Ireland, I reached out to a second cousin who’s a painter. He told me what to buy, a few basic colours, and I started painting in my Nana’s garage, using old bottles and family photos as references.Eventually, I found a one-year course at the Burren College of Art, a tiny village on Ireland’s West Coast. When 250 Ukrainian refugees moved in during the war, the population doubled overnight. I would drive past the playground, the kids playing, the women smoking, against this bleak, windy landscape. That contrast between playfulness and heaviness really stuck with me. There was also a Ukrainian artist at the school, in his seventies. We would talk through Google Translate. His work filled whole walls – huge pieces. Even without understanding the words, I could feel the weight of them. It taught me that emotion can be grasped through marks and strokes alone. Portrait by Pelle Nisbel Fjäll NM: Let’s talk about your show, Partial Parade – what does this moment mean for you? And how did you land on that title?GG: It’s very exciting because I waited so long to get started. The show came together at a good time because it can be tough when you’re coming out of your master’s degree, a bit aimless, and you’re just making work to have a portfolio and get by. When it comes to the title, it came from its dual meaning – partial as in incomplete, and partial as in biased. It felt cheeky. Is it a parade or a protest? I like that ambiguity. Humour is a big part of my Irish culture. It’s an invitation to improvise, to question. I ask myself, where am I being partial? Coming from business, from a place of privilege, there are a lot of questions we’re all facing. NM: And does painting give you the answers?GG: Maybe just better questions. A place of refuge and questioning. I think art’s inherently political. I think it’s a really important time for art and painting. For me, it’s a reflection of what’s going on. I feel proud to be a painter right now. I very much feel like a member of a choir more than someone trying to prove a point. And I think that’s really important to me: one of many. NM: Do you have a routine? Is it like a nine-to-five for you?GG: I wish. That’s the goal. It’s a balancing act in London. Initially, it was part-time jobs, jumping in the studio when I could. Now I work full-time and come in on weekends or an evening. I have the attention span of a puppy in the studio, which is good and bad. But with that excitement of, “Oh my god, there’s so much to paint,” it feels like I could keep going, which is a nice feeling. I’m quite a prolific painter. When I go to the studio, I get my painting clothes on and listen to music very loudly. There’s a getting stoked aspect, like getting psyched up for a game. It becomes like a spiritual practice, searching for truth from the unknown. My mantra is “trust the hands.” They’ll lead you where you need to go. “Timorous Machination” “Red Rover” NM: What role does playfulness have in your process?GG: Coming into the art world, I found it overwhelming with all the rules. Then you see a kid with a sketchpad just doing their own thing. My cousin, for example, has autism and is an amazing artist with no agenda. We had this moment of communication through art when we drew one of his cartoon characters. That was right before art school, and that started from play, as so many ideas do. Things get legs on their own.  NM: Who or what influences you the most?GG: Music. My brother’s a musician, my dad works in music now, and my best friend back home is one too. When we were younger, he’d be looping tracks in one room while I drew in another; we would feed off each other’s energy. That rhythm and spontaneity are what I try to capture when I paint. Growing up in Kentucky also shaped me. There’s a strong punk and DIY culture there – that “just make it” attitude. It taught me not to

Alexandra Karpilovski is knocking at her door Written by Natalia Muntean Photo by Elvira Glänte “It’s about looking for yourself, trying to find your place,” says Swedish artist Alexandra Karpilovski. I met her amid the creative chaos of building her show’s universe, Howling to My Window and Knocking at My Door. My initial impression of chaos gave way to certainty: she knew exactly what she wanted to do. “I make a plan during the process, but it usually comes quite late,” Karpilovski tells me. Her process rests on intuition – a belief that each impulse carries its own reason. “I have things I want to make, and then maybe something else along the way evolves into something different. It’s very intuition-based and from my own heart.”  The title itself sounds like an instinct, something raw, almost animalistic. It began, she explains, with a painting she made years ago, Howling to My Window, that she never showed. After a period when life was intense and took another turn, she added Knocking at my door. Karpilovski keeps a mental archive of words and fragments until they find a place in her art. “The part I added really spoke to me because it’s like I’m knocking at my own door,” she says.  The show’s DNA grows from her paintings, words, painted lamps, and fabrics, but equally from the small objects she’s gathered across her life: pieces from her grandparents’ estate, her travels, or secondhand shops. When she began preparing for this show, life had unmoored her, and she didn’t quite know how to begin again. Her way back into work was simple, almost ritualistic. “My daily thing was just walking,” she says. “I would go to a thrift store and just find things I feel a small connection to, even without knowing why. But then they somehow fall into place.”  Tenderness runs through Karpilovski’s process – in the way she collects and arranges, giving space to what might be overlooked. In a poignant contrast to the visceral title, the act of choosing becomes a quiet conversation between what remains and what’s been lost.  “They may seem silly, but then they become special. They accompany the works for me. They bring a physical, human touch because somebody had them before.” For Alexandra, exhibiting her work is about finding connection: “I think this is what we all want.” The works, she notes, represent different emotional states, her brushstrokes navigating the space where humour and gravity meet. “I take things from myself, but I think there are a lot of universal things that people can connect to.”  The exhibition is on view October 10–19, 2025, at Doubble Space, a venue housed in a former gasworks with raw concrete walls and dramatic light, a setting both industrial and ghostly. “You have to embrace it as it is,” Alexandra says. She saw the space as a psychological ‘alley,’ a journey that starts airy and moves toward the heavier emotions, creating a sense of flow where visitors wander through different states of mind. The works, she explains, act “like windows, looking into people’s different situations.” To complete the experience, a forty-five-minute sound composition threads through the exhibition, made with her friend Danilo Colonna for their music project, Private Parts. “I wanted to create a gathering place, a moment of joy,” she says.  Born in 1988 in Kyiv, Karpilovski says she doesn’t remember drawing much as a child, but recalls a defining moment at seventeen when she saw Marie-Louise Ekman’s Hello, Baby, a work that sparked something in her. She later studied at the Gerrit Rietveld Academie in Amsterdam and spent several years abroad. Now, returning to Stockholm feels like a homecoming after years of movement.  Alexandra’s wish for those who see Howling to My Window and Knocking at My Door is simple: “I hope they leave with a sense of openness – to feel more, relax and loosen up. And maybe they might go on their own journey within themselves.” Recreating spaces, stages and scenes.  Through shifting states, we walk this way, where lines will blur and drift away.
Where in meets out, and ends begin, where dreams and choices lie within. There’s clarity, a trace of might, 
Long sleepless hours before the light. 
We watch, we walk, we let things go, we dare, we reach, we let it show Alone is where we once were two 
Just for a moment — something true. Alexandra Karpilovski