Art

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

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