New medium: Ceramics

Thanks to the Young Talent Grant I received from the Mondriaan Fund in 2016/2017, I´ve had the opportunity to experiment with new materials in the last year. I have fallen in love with clay. I started a basic pottery class in March 2017 where I learnt throwing on the wheel and some glazing and firing skills. I now continue to experiment with different sculptural forms. Ceramics is a field with vast opportunities to learn skills and techniques; it really gives me a kick. It is also a humbling process, where I am a total beginner and still struggle with some technical parts of the process.

It feels very good to reactivate my 3d brain as I call it; thinking in three-dimensional space is something I love to do, and yet haven’t done so intensively since attending art school. Working with ceramics, I concentrate on form, proportions, empty space, colour and surface. Clay is earth, and I can feel this when I work with it. The material itself is part of the natural world, and I can relate to it very well. The process of firing to make the material durable is absolutely fascinating to me.

With special thanks to the Mondriaan Fund to grant me such an enriching year of experiment and play. The process continues and I will be sharing more about it soon.

Become a Bamboo

Become a Bamboo

I Love this Zen story, told like this by Osho: There was once a great painter, he was already well known and was painting bamboos for years and years. But his master said: “No, if you want to really paint a bamboo you have to go and live with the bamboos in a bamboo grove. Right now you only paint the outside of the bamboo, but you have no idea about the inside. Go and become a bamboo.” The disciple went, and it took him three years. Then one day the wind was blowing through the bamboo grove and he started swaying, just like a bamboo. He realised he hadn´t been a man for a while. Now he could go back and paint a bamboo.

It took him three years. Incredible, when I realise I try to make paintings of nature all the time. As a child I grew up in a forest and I believe I had an immediate contact to the nature around me, but now? So many thoughts focused on making money and how to sell this and that, how to present myself to the outside. No time left to become a bamboo!

I suppose this is a reason why aboriginal paintings have such a strong appeal to me. They paint the land they live on: the grass, yam bushes, animals and their dreams. They live in it. There is not much of a separation between the painter and the painted. The paintings are pretty abstract but very vibrantly alive. By looking at them I can feel the stuff they depict, feel rather than see. For me this is the essence of abstract painting: to convey the feeling of something rather than the visual appearance.

OUT!

I sit here in my room, in the flat I have lived for about two years. First alone, then with my partner. This flat has a garden, with diapers and broken glass from upper neighbours who don´t know how to treat garbage. The flat is also close to the forest in Zeist, or what goes as ´forest´ in a country like the Netherlands. It´s actually rather nice I have to say, even compared to Sweden where I grew up.

It´s time to move: In three weeks we´re out of here.  They will rip the whole building down, and expose our wallpaper to the world. I don´t care. Maybe. I dreamt of an earthquake last night so I suppose I do care. The good news is that the earthquake went away: We signed our new contract today. Of a place much more out in nature, where even wild pigs walk around in winter the estate agent told me. I´m not sure if he wanted to impress or scare me, I think the signatures where already on the paper. I quite like wild pigs.

We were in Australia in March. There you have to drive about an hour to get anywhere at all if you live out in the bush. It was an inspiration to me, because I think we´re rather spoiled in a small country like Holland. To travel for more than an hour from A to B is considered to take too long. Now I know better. It gives a lot of freedom to live out in nature, it depends how you look at things. It also depends on how you communicate with the world. I like to communicate with birds and trees actually, and squirrels and mushrooms… Or with wallabies and possums if we´re talking about Australia. To live in flats designed like rabbit cages (quoting my dad) doesn´t feel very free to me anymore. But a year ago I didn´t even have my driving license yet, so it would have become tricky to visit friends and see anyone at all. Now things look different and I look forward to move out. I won´t really miss the diapers in my garden, not even as inspiration for my paintings.

At my own pace

Once in a while I get overwhelmed with this feeling that there is something wrong with how I do things and the uselessness of it all. Everything should be quicker and more efficient but I don´t seem to see anything happening in my life and work. I luckily always manage to drag myself out of this dark pit again. One more of these episodes of crawling out of the hole of doubt resulted in the realization that as artist or creatives, at many points in our career, we will wonder why we are doing what we are doing and if there is any point in continuing. One reason that we wonder, and there are many, is that our work doesn´t show a direct, measurable result. All too often our work is not even met by a proper increase on our bank-balance, but also the effect it may have on people and their lives is not a directly visible one.

I saw a violinist yesterday on the train station, carrying a sticker on his violin-case saying “linkse hobby´´ (leftist hobby). This is a beloved slogan of the right-wing party of Wilders to justify the cut of the major part of government money going to the support of the arts, claiming that the arts are an expensive hobby for the leftist `elite´. Of course this sticker must have been a joke, if an ironical one. The danger is that we, as artists, actually start to believe in the insulting notion of `linkse hobby´ ourselves. Why don´t we have a proper job and a proper income ourselves, just like everybody else? The answer is very simple: Because everyone else is already doing things that way. A few thousands more workers going to the same old 9-5 job every day wouldn´t make such a difference. A few thousand artists and creative souls less would make a huge difference. It would doom our world into boredom if all artists got a proper job. So, what I am saying is: yes, to try to find our passion, our truth and the thing we can put our heart into is a luxury, a luxury of a time and place where the basics of food and shelter are taken care of. (Even though also the cavemen made art, and I doubt they didn´t have to work hard for their food every day. It might be their society just put art higher on the agenda than the one we live in and therefor supplied the artists with the necessities to do their art-work.)

We don´t need more food, shelter or gadgets here. We need inspiration. We need bewilderment; a cleansing of the eyes, ears and heart to see life with new enthusiasm. This is the reason I am doing what I am doing, however crazy it might sometimes even look to my own eyes.

This is why I will stop telling myself off for not going to work at 9 o´clock every morning and stick to my strange clock of inspiration. This is why I will allow myself to do gardening, because it gives me new insights for my paintings. This is why I allow time for my soul to settle and do nothing, when I need to assimilate whatever new stuff has come into my system. Yes, something is brewing inside at these times. It´s not visible until it comes out. Have patience. Don´t push your artists again into the crazy production treadmill you have created. I won´t take it. I will walk on my own feet, at my own pace.

P.S. Every artist has his or her own unique way of working. What works for one, might not work for the other. I don´t want to say that a 9-5 job never works. Do your own thing and don´t be bothered by the rest of the world.

Winners Royal Prize for Painting 2014 – photos

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Article in the Gooi en Eemlander, 2013

Settling in the Village, Blaricum, 1 November 2013

Blaricum, 1 November 2013

Settling in the Village

My world is getting smaller here. It’s as if I only see what I need to see. It is mostly a positive feeling, as my world has been overloaded with information from studies and the city in the past years. Things need to integrate. It feels like I am put back in time here: I function like a child in a way. As a grown-up, one tries to manage more than one space at the time on ones head. To keep everything under control, the whole house should be managed in our head, the whole way to the office or studio is already set out in the mind, before we even go out of the door. It’s probably also part of what a city does with us.

Here I am thrown back on my self and simple things. My emotions are suddenly only my own responsibility, nobody else has caused them, because I am alone. I see one space at a time, even my house is too big to contain at once inside. Even though the house is actually not that big. Every night when I go to bed, I have to reclaim my bedroom as mine. It is as if I finally have the space to expand, and now I actually have to relearn how to do it. When I am inside the house, the garden seems another world. When I come from outside, the whole house seems like a strange space. It takes time to fill it again with me.

But all this is not very fearful. It is, I think, the same feeling as I had as a kid, simply realizing the world is too big for a small head. It’s rather strange that this would become so clear in a village where nothing happens, rather than in the city. But I think the reason is, that in a city the ‘too muchness’ is so overwhelming that we filter the information on a huge scale. In this way we don’t even know that we don’t experience half of the spaces we move through. Here in the village the emergency-mode is finally put off.

There are many horses here, also cats and sheep. Yesterday a cat came running into my house, after some kids asked for tricks or treats at Halloween. The cat stayed for a while, running through my house sniffing, just similar to how I behaved here the first week.

About a week ago, I biked home from Hilversum and saw a small hedgehog on the biking path. I picked it up and put it in the bushes, hopefully so he would stay there rather than run out on the road again. After that I continued my way and cried for many minutes. About what I couldn’t tell you. This hedgehog was just amazing.

It might also have been yesterday. I went to the local bookshop to buy a map of the area. On my way back, a small boy fell from his bike right in front of me, because his shoelace was caught up in his pedals. His mother and elder brother stopped and started reproaching him for being so stupid not to tie his shoelaces. He started crying, not from the falling off the bike, but from this nasty treatment by his family-members. I watched dumb, holding his bike while his mother unwrapped the shoelace. I think she didn’t even see me. But I am sure I am not becoming a ghost. I am sorry for that boy, couldn’t do much for him apart from being there for a few seconds. What a strange mother.

Now I will brush my teeth and reclaim my bedroom again. Reclaim it from the world. Maybe I can find a way to make that a bit more easy. My studio and living room are already much faster to settle in, surely also because they are filled with paintings. Would painting actually be a way to give myself a place here, here in this world? To show myself and other people how that place looks, how it looks like when it really belongs to me. Not as a property, but as a feeling. I feel at home in the world when it looks this way. Now, I don’t know if that is always true, because my paintings are really rather strange. But certainly they do something with the space they are in, and certainly the space becomes my territory. I wonder how this works.

Good night my dear friends.

Mouna