Lives in Stockholm
How do you describe your own art practice?
I make sculptural situations in which different time spans and sensations temporarily line up. I tend to work with ephemeral or precarious materials – paper towels, glass, music, reeds, plants, gusts of wind – on the threshold of what they’re capable of sustaining; together they aspire to create a sort of emotional support structure.
Which question or theme is central in your work?
How material history shapes itself – or refuses to shape itself – onto landscapes and into bodies. I search for glitches and hidden alliances in materials that contribute to different ways of avoiding categorisation. Humble strikes.
What was your first experience with art?
Not sure which came first, but I know for sure that a mix of these made a deep impression on me early on: movies by John Waters, faded reproductions of Marc Chagall paintings, Passover, the patterns woven into carpets, and When Doves Cry (the song) by Prince.
What is your greatest source of inspiration?
I’m drawn to traces of movements in objects, materials, bodies or histories that most often appear fixed or unchangeable. It could be sticky asphalt, a slight breeze in a well-isolated room, body language, life fossilized into stone, the archives of knowledge passed down through our DNA. I’m also really into the type of personal, anthropological assemblages of objects people make in their homes, especially the ones they keep next to them when they sleep.
What do you need in order to create your work?
It changes all the time, but consistently: walks, collaborations, coffee and contradictions. And the conversations with Santiago Mostyn, whom I share my home and studio with, that span years.
What work or artist has most recently surprised you?
When the museums finally opened up again (after the lockdown in Berlin, where I was living last year) I ran to the Gemälde galerie to see The Glass of Wine, by Vermeer. I love Vermeer’s perfect balance between the mundane and the sublime. What an epic sip of wine!
However, this time at Gemälde, I found myself standing for a long time, very surprised, in front of a painting from the 1600’s – by whom I don’t remember – of two very tiny, very serious babies with golden glorias levitating in front of two pregnant women, one young and one old.