Art

Martin Wickström on Painting, Space and OSLO Written by Natalia Muntean Martin Wickström describes his way of working as one where you “start somewhere, and it kind of develops during.” Presented at CFHILL Gallery in Stockholm, OSLO brings together painting, literature and photographic material in an exhibition informed by Henrik Ibsen, Edvard Munch, as well as the artist’s long-standing interest in found objects. Active since the late 1970s, the Swedish painter reflects on his process, where images are sometimes held for decades before finding their place. In OSLO, references are absorbed rather than illustrated, and meaning emerges through trust in the room, the material and the passage of time. Muntean Natalia: Why Oslo? What drew you to this title, and what kind of space does it open for the work?Martin Wickström: It’s normally when I do a show, I have a room space, obviously, and a deadline. But when I start working, I don’t know anything about the title or anything. I start somewhere, and it kind of develops during, so it’s kind of scary. Will it end well? I don’t know. But in this case, the theme is easier to read than it used to be. When I started, I had this painting with a big truck house. I collect a lot of pictures and images from several sources. The sofa – that one I also had for many years, kind of lying around. But this time, I started without knowing anything about Oslo, with a sofa. The next step was my wife, Lena – that’s important. She had talked about a play she made for television in 1993, Henrik Ibsen’s Hedda Gabler. I decided to see that, and meanwhile, I started thinking about theatre plays and texts. And all of a sudden, I knew that this truck was a “Dukkehjem” (A Doll’s House), the very famous play, also by Ibsen. And then we managed to get Hedda Gabler from the archives on SVT to see it. I was totally astonished.  I also found a photo book by Edvard Munch. He worked a lot with photography, not in a documentary way, but experimental, introspective. One of the paintings here is based on one of his photographs. It shows Rosa, one of his models with red hair, and her sister Olga. At first, I thought it was Munch himself in the photo, but then I read about it and realised it was the two sisters. And then I knew that this was it. It was going to be Norway in one way or another. That’s how OSLO came to be.NM: You mentioned strong women like Hedda Gabler and Nora from A Doll’s House. Were you also thinking of the current political situation?MW: No, it wasn’t that, but it’s even more important to reflect on it. These plays were written in the 1860s-80s and were extremely progressive stories about strong women. Nora, in the end, decides to just leave her husband and kids to start a new life; in its time, that was extremely radical and provocative. Then there is Hedda Gabler, a strong daughter of a military colonel. She inherited duel pistols from her father, and she is almost exploding in her marriage. In the end, she kills herself. These were written 150 years ago, and all of a sudden, women’s history is going down again fast. It’s frightening, and it makes it even more important to take these strong women out. NM: What can you tell me about the use of the colour red in this exhibition?MW: I’ve used it sometimes, but not like this. I started with this small painting of a woman with a telephone, which is cut out from a film still of Jane Fonda. That image was red from the beginning. When I finished that painting, which was the first one I did, I thought, “Wow, I really like the red,” and it also corresponded with the strong theme in the exhibition. Initially, the photos are in black and white, so I turned them into red. Photo: Courtesy of the artist & CFHILL NM: It sounds like you have some intentions when you start working, but there’s also a lot of play involved. Could you walk me through your creative process a little bit, and what a typical day might look like?MW: I mean, I obviously have a lot of things collected, but I don’t really know how they fit together at first. People ask me, “How do you dare to work like that?” I’ve done it now maybe 60 times over 50 years. You start with what’s important: the space. So I start with the space. I work on the computer: I virtually ‘take down’ the walls of every space I work with and then build it up again. I turn images red, change them, cut them, whatever is needed, and then I place them as miniatures, in the right scale, on the virtual walls to test how they might work together. Of course, as you understand, I don’t have all the works ready at that point, but I can still start by saying, “Okay, I need this, and that, and that. Maybe that’s a bit too much,” and so on. I can begin to see what I need and how it might fit. For example, I knew about the truck house painting, and that was the first one. Then I thought, if I put that one there, and the sofa painting over here, which has nothing to do with Oslo, but I named it after George Harrison’s ‘Norwegian Wood’, the Beatles classic, then it starts to connect. Even if the final exhibition doesn’t end up exactly like the computer model, I’ve learned how to read the room. That’s my process. And when it comes to separate paintings, I also work with them digitally: I change the colours, cut things away, and then make a big photocopy. I look at the photo I made on the computer and work from that. NM: How

In Conversation with Diana Orving: Celestial Bodies at Millesgården Museum Written by Natalia Muntean Photo by Märta Thisner What happens when the sculptures of Carl Milles encounter the fluid, porous textiles of Diana Orving? To launch the &Milles exhibition series at Millesgården Museum in Stockholm, the inaugural presentation features Stockholm-based artist Diana Orving, whose exhibition Celestial Bodies introduces textile sculptures into the world of Milles’s mythology and astronomy. Working with silk, linen and repetitive stitching, Orving creates “organic beings” that seem to defy gravity. In this exhibition, she reflects on the spirit of the site, the vulnerability of her materials and her belief that the human body is our first universe. Natalia Muntean: The &Milles series is framed as a dialogue across time. In your site-specific response, were you in conversation more with Carl Milles’s artworks, his themes of mythology and astronomy, or the spirit of the place he and Olga created?Diana Orving: For me, the strongest dialogue was with the spirit of the place itself – the atmosphere Carl and Olga Milles shaped through a life lived alongside art, nature, belief, and curiosity. Rather than responding directly to individual sculptures, I was drawn to what exists between them: the air, the height, the light, and the sense of upward longing embedded in the former studio. Early on, I understood that my work needed to inhabit the upper zones, ceilings, thresholds, and in-between spaces, responding to the building’s own vertical rhythm. Knowing that Milles observed the stars from a small tower room made something click. It felt like entering a place already oriented toward the sky. The works grew out of that shared sense of wonder, rather than from a desire to echo Milles’s formal language.  NM: Why did you choose the title Celestial Bodies for this exhibition?DO: The title carries a dual meaning that felt central to the exhibition. Celestial bodies refers both to planets and stars, and to bodies as vessels – human, animal or imagined. Throughout the exhibition, bodies appear in states of becoming: drifting, hovering, suspended, or transforming. Everything alive is in motion, slow but persistent, and I try to capture that sense of movement in my sculptures, as if they are not truly still, only momentarily paused. The title holds a tension between intimacy and immensity – between being grounded in the body and reaching toward something unknowable.  NM: There’s a contrast between your soft forms and Milles’ solid bronze and stone. Is this a conversation about contrasting worldviews, or did you find an unexpected softness in his work, or a hidden strength in yours?DO: I experience it less as a contrast and more as a dialogue between different kinds of permanence. Milles’s materials speak of endurance, gravity, and monumentality, while my textiles speak of breath, vulnerability and change, yet they carry their own strength. There is a quiet tenderness in Milles’ figures, particularly in their upward reach or moments of suspended movement. In my work, strength lies in time: in the accumulated labour of stitching, folding and installing. The dialogue unfolds somewhere between weight and weightlessness. NM: You explore origin, memory and the subconscious. When creating for this specific site, did you feel you were weaving your own memories, responding to the memories held in the Milles home or tapping into a more collective or mythological memory?DO: It was a layering of all three. My hands carry embodied memory – gestures and repetitions built up over decades of working with textiles. At Millesgården, I was also surrounded by another life’s devotion to making, belief, and imagination. Beyond that, the site holds something archetypal. For me, mythology functions as a form of collective memory, a way of holding experiences that resist rational explanation. The works move within that shared subconscious space, where personal experience meets something older and more universal. Photo by Erik Lefvander NM: You work a lot with themes of the body and memory. How do those ideas connect to the cosmic themes in this show?DO: I think of the body as our first universe. It’s where we first encounter gravity, rhythm, expansion and balance. When I work with cosmic themes, I’m not thinking of space as distant, but as something reflected within us. Memory functions like a constellation – fragmented, non-linear and constantly shifting. The sculptures carry that sense of internal movement, suggesting that both bodies and memories are always in motion. NM: What is your favourite material to work with and why?DO: Textile, without question. It carries time in a very direct way. Every stitch records a decision, a hesitation, a breath. I try to give the material a body, a presence and an internal movement, as if guiding it to speak in its own language. Its lightness allows me to work at a monumental scale without losing intimacy. Textiles can hold vulnerability and strength at once, which feels essential to my practice. NM: As the first artist in the &Milles series, you are setting a tone. What do you believe is the role of a contemporary artist when entering into dialogue with a historic legacy and collection like this one?DO: I believe the role is to listen before responding, not to illustrate the past or position oneself against it, but to allow a conversation to unfold. A historic collection isn’t static; it continues to breathe through new encounters. Contemporary artists can activate these spaces by introducing uncertainty, tenderness, and alternative ways of knowing, adding a new layer rather than overwriting what already exists. Photo by Erik Lefvander NM: What do you hope people feel or think about when they walk between your textiles and Carl Milles’s bronze sculptures?DO: I hope the exhibition opens a quiet, generous space for reflection – on fragility and endurance, longing and belief, and on life as something constantly unfolding.

Tillsammans – Group Exhibition at JUS Written by Natalia Muntean “This exhibition is about celebrating all those years we’ve known each other and collaborated in various forms.” Ann-Sofie Back’s words set the tone for Tillsammans, a group exhibition at JUS that functions as a gathering of “different kinds of eras.” Bringing together Ann-Sofie Back, Diana Orving, Horisaki, Lotta Jansson, Lovisa Burfitt, Martin Bergström, and Yasar Aydin, the exhibition features seven practitioners whose work moves fluidly between fashion, art, jewellery, and objects. Hidden away on a back street in central Stockholm, JUS has for more than thirty years functioned as both destination and platform—a space where fashion, jewellery, objects, scent, and art coexist. Rather than presenting fashion as a fixed system, JUS has long embraced a layered, intuitive approach. For many of the artists, the space is inseparable from their own histories. Photo by Henrik Halvarsson Material sensitivity and process run throughout the exhibition. Yasar Aydin presents one-of-a-kind silver jewellery, “a twist on something recognisable as me,” while Martin Bergström shows woven works rooted in calmness, nature, and long-standing material exploration.  For Aydin, JUS has been foundational. “Without JUS, I wouldn’t be where I am,” he says, describing how his practice shifted from art jewellery toward a more material-driven, handcrafted approach through years of showing and selling his work at the store. “JUS has been number one for me to develop and be successful in that sense.” Showing work alongside other makers is, for him, about exchange: “To interact with each other, to talk about materials and techniques.” For Ann-Sofie Back, the exhibition became a marker of a relationship that began in the late 1990s when Ulrika Nilsson bought her graduate collection. “This exhibition is about celebrating all those years we’ve known each other and collaborated in various forms,” she explains. Her contribution to Tillsammans, a sculptural Christmas installation made from repurposed wigs, reflects her shift from fashion to interior objects. Currently focusing on objects rather than garments, Back describes her new work as “super decadent” and “vain.” She describes the process as spontaneous and playful, shaped by what materials could be found rather than by a fixed plan: “Now that I don’t have to work with the body, it’s freer. I can objectify the object instead.” Photo by Henrik Halvarsson Photo by Henrik Halvarsson For Martin Bergström, the exhibition is a celebration of a relationship with JUS that has “grown together for years,” beginning in the 1990s. He likens the exhibition to a “shared garden” where “everyone grows in their own way, yet we share the same soil.” Working freely across fashion, art, and interiors, Bergström presents Reflections of My Shoes, a series of jacquard weaves born from a specific moment of connection. “I was on the phone with Ulrika Nilsson, sitting on a jetty at Pålsundet in Stockholm. When I looked down, the water reflected my shoes. I translated that reflection into jacquard weaves.” Bergström views JUS as a “collective lab” and a home that “holds the fragile patterns within us.” His history with the space is marked by moments of deep inspiration, from the time he showed his “poisonous plants” to discovering the writer Vivi Täckholm at the store, who became one of his greatest sources of inspiration. To him, the space remains a “calm and kind place” that addresses the “quite quiet” atmosphere of an institution that has remained “solid for so long.” For less established voices, the exhibition carries a sense of trust. Lotta Jansson speaks of being encouraged rather than judged: “Ulrika just said: ‘Don’t worry, people are kind.’” That atmosphere, supportive, confident, and unselfish, was repeatedly described as central to the JUS experience.  Jansson highlights the unique confidence Ulrika projects: “She’s become very confident in her way of thinking and choosing… that’s also how she shares her confidence with you.” Regarding the theme of the exhibition, Jansson suggests that the “togetherness” might be more about the curator’s perspective than the artists’ own connections: “I think we all individually represent togetherness for her, more than us together.” For Horisaki, whose crushed and reshaped hats form one of the exhibition’s most tactile installations, Tillsammans marks a return to an aesthetic first shown at JUS more than a decade ago. “We’ve always done crushed hats,” they explain. “It’s about making hats that are not fragile. You can sit on them, pack them, reshape them, and they’ll still look great.” The hats are described as carrying “the memories of life, time and randomness” in their structure, objects shaped by use rather than preservation. That philosophy extends beyond the objects themselves. “We don’t believe in competition or sharp elbows,” Horisaki says. “Everything is better when you collaborate and work together.” In this sense, the title Tillsammans is not symbolic but practical, describing a way of working grounded in openness and shared experience. “The installation reflects what we have sought since our very first hats: the beauty of patina, of hats that are crumpled, worn, and cherished… We aim to highlight the hats’ functionality, how they can be worn and reshaped in countless ways, always changing yet remaining true to their character. This last part also applies to how we perceive JUS.” Beyond retail, JUS has long positioned itself as a space for education and exchange, hosting exhibitions, talks, workshops, and art history courses throughout the year. Tillsammans embodies this role not through a single curatorial statement, but through presence: works shown side by side, conversations unfolding quietly, and histories intersecting.  More than a group exhibition, Tillsammans became a reflection on continuity – on what it means to build something over time, and how creative practices, like places, can remain open, generous, and alive by growing together. Photo by Henrik Halvarsson

Amine Habke: The Garden of Intimacy, Repairing Masculinity Written by Natalia Muntean In the delicate, deliberate stitches of Amine Habki’s textile works, a new language of masculinity is being woven. For his first solo exhibition in the Nordic region, I Will Sew Up All the Petals of Your Garden, the French-Moroccan artist transforms the Andréhn-Schiptjenko Gallery in Stockholm into a meditative interior where softness is strength and vulnerability becomes a form of resilience. Drawing on the visual heritage of Islamic ornamentation, European Romanticism, and the diasporic experience, Habki’s practice, spanning embroidery, painting, and sculpture, cultivates a space where the body and the botanical merge. “I don’t have any memories where I wasn’t an artist,” he reflects, “I felt obligated to be an artist and to live by my art.”  Natalia Muntean: Can you elaborate a little bit about the meaning behind the title of the exhibition?Amine Habke: The title, I think, represents the energy and the entire mission of the show. The idea of a garden, for me, represents the area of intimacy, an inner world. But at the same time, the garden is famous in the iconography of romantic paintings. For this show, I was really inspired by The Garden of Earthly Delights by Bosch. The idea of the show is also to talk about the idea of rehabilitation. I am trying to repair an image of what masculinity is. NM: Why is it important for you to challenge these ideas about masculinity through art?AH: This is not about changing something for the world; it’s just for me. It’s a quest for me to take care of this image, of this body. I like the idea of doing a new vision, a new iconography, just for my own healing, just to feel kinder, more connected to what I want to look like. This is a little poetic way to talk about this, and it really helps me, and I think this also helps other people. NM: What are you looking for in this connection to your work?AH: I’m looking for more liberty to represent masculinity, to represent romance, to represent love, vulnerability and fragility. NM: Your practice spans embroidery, painting, and sculpture. How did you begin?AH: I started with a lot of drawing, but I wasn’t really fulfilled because I was trying to find a volume and to have more relief. So, embroidery was a way to give more shapes and three-dimensionality to my drawings. Embroidery also comes as a visual heritage. My family has a lot of tapestries. I feel connected to these objects. The houses of my grandma and my aunties were places of something soft, domestic, warm, and resilient. I was trying to incorporate this aesthetic onto bodies that are generally represented outside, in heavy material, in big forms. The media often destroys the non-white body, centralising some communities and cultures while excluding others. For me, this is a way to make an opposition to Orientalism. Orientalism destroyed our culture and our heritage. When you’re born in the third generation of Moroccan diaspora, you have certain expectations, but then you discover the reality is more complex. I think exploring these objects and the story of civilisations helps. NM: The slow process of embroidery – does it influence the narrative of your work?AH: In my studio, I have a lot of drawings on the wall, and I also write a lot of poems. Sometimes poems give me images, and some images give me poems, so it’s a mutual dialogue. I start by selecting one of the drawings, and I go to the shop for textiles and fabrics. The element of chance comes in because sometimes I can be obsessed with one fabric, and I think, “Okay, it could match with this drawing, with these colours”. Then I create the image. But there’s a lot of improvisation and freestyle. I have the idea and the concept, but I never strictly know what colours I will use, or if I will add extra things. NM: You incorporate found objects into your textile works. What is their role?AH: I think they can symbolise an idea. For example, one piece in the Stockholm show features a lace fabric with flowers already on it. I add painting and embroidery to put a spotlight on, and to make a combination with what I want to symbolise. Found objects are also a way to make more funny combinations. I think this is more the fun and spontaneous aspect of my practice. NM: You get inspired by the ornaments in Islamic art, transforming arabesques into living patterns. How does your French-Moroccan heritage inform your visual style?AH: I’m really inspired by the ornamentation, like the grotesque. I discovered that this is not a well-known or celebrated form because, for many people, grotesque is just like minor art; it’s not a major form. I like this idea of putting a spotlight on a minor form. For me, ornamentation is the beginning of surrealism. You have a lot of different motifs and patterns, and sometimes it can look like something real. The grotesque embodies that by mixing humans with animals, with flowers. You also see this phenomenon in some Islamic cultures, for example, the zellige tiles, where the symmetry and repetition make human or body shapes appear. This is the ornamental aspect that inspired me. I’m also really inspired by my French background, like the Surrealism of Magritte. I like Romantic artists like Friedrich. At the same time, I also like Persian miniatures. It’s a mix of the Mediterranean area. ‘Still Dirty’ ‘Body Guard’ NM: The flower is a recurring symbol. Beyond beauty, what does the flower represent for you?AH: Flowers have different meanings. I tried to show that it can also be a trap. I did some pieces with men holding flowers; it can be a really soft object, but also really dangerous at the same time. Flowers are present in mythology, like Ovid’s Metamorphoses, and also in the poetry of Mahmoud Darwish. I like the idea of the flower as

Virtual Serenity – Engineering Empathy with Sean Hogg text Dante Grossfeld The Waldorf Project / FUTURO – X (Thailand, 2019) In 2012, during one of his Waldorf Project performance art pieces in London (where all their performances except for the 2018 Stockholm performance, 2019 Thailand performance, and 2019 Lufthansa performance have taken place), founder Sean Rogg did something remarkable: he successfully manufactured empathy in a group of 40 people. By using sight, sound and touch to subject the participants of his experiment to anxiety and, as he puts it, “trauma,” followed by a state of euphoria, he managed to create a strong emotional bond between them. Many began to weep, others held hands. This went on for almost exactly eight minutes, before the mood abruptly changed and things “went back to normal.” The next time he performed the experiment, the same thing happened again, and it went on for eight minutes. As well as the next after that. The participants all developed a close emotional bond stemming from shared trauma and euphoria, but it never lasted more than eight minutes. Since then, Rogg’s goal has been to develop a method of engineering empathy on a larger scale, with more people and for a longer period of time. His next experiment to this end, Virtual Serenity, will be held at Sergel Hub in Stockholm on the 26th and 27th of April, and will incorporate VR technology, a tool which Rogg believes will open up many new possibilities. The Waldorf Project / FUTURO – X (Thailand, 2019) The Waldorf Project / Virtual Serenity Test (Berlin, 2024)     Upon entering the Sergel Hub venue, located in the heart of Stockholm, right around the corner from Sergels Torg, I am greeted by a massive industrial interior, reminiscent of a renovated warehouse. Usually this space is reserved for conferences, but with this project, as Rogg explains, Sergel Hub will make its debut into the world of art. On a bar counter along one side of the room lies a collection of 300 VR headsets. Rogg explains that these will all be linked together through a series of complex systems in order to create a network of connection throughout the room, where participants will be seated in groups of four. In previous experiments, Rogg has employed immersive theater, contemporary dance, and molecular gastronomy in order to design an experience, but this time VR is his tool of choice. “If you boil it right down, it’s about human connection. The technology is just a tool to connect. So it’s not about having a VR experience, it’s about connection,” he says. The use of VR technology with biometric sensors will allow the experience to be personalized for each person, adapting in order to elicit the desired emotional response. Each person will go on a unique journey, but, if everything goes according to plan, it will be one that draws them all closer to their group mates and to every other person in the room The Waldorf Project / FUTURO – X (Thailand, 2019) all images courtesy of Waldorf Project

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