I'm interested in the act of doing art.
The finished artwork isn't my main concern.
Both are equally important.
Artist Statement
I want my art to be intriguing or disorienting rather than impressive or persuasive. It is minimalist and tactile, aiming to create intimacy with the viewer. Although often political, its primary concern is the human condition.
My practice exists at the intersection of painting and conceptual art. While the work originates in ideas, it is equally grounded in material execution. The pieces are not painted but “cast” in oak panels with a 5 mm–deep ridge using standard wall filler. I begin by building a three-dimensional landscape, which I then smooth out: protrusions are sanded away, and cavities are filled. What remains is a two-dimensional cross-section that records its former depth—a graphic image in which gradients are reduced to sharp edges. In this way, the works engage the painterly tension between pictorial depth and material surface.*
I work with only two colours: white and grey. Cavities are activated in a manner akin to printmaking. As the material dries, cracks emerge and are accentuated, reminiscent of kintsugi—the Japanese technique of repairing ceramics with gold lacquer. These fissures become a metaphor for time.
Influenced by Richard Serra’s well-known list of verbs, I apply material through methods such as spreading, rolling, and pressing. At times, I intervene before the filler sets, shaping it directly. I call this body of work Res Ipsa, after the legal term res ipsa loquitur. Making art interrupts causal logic by producing something new and unforeseen. Art is a committed act; the work itself is residue—evidence.
Chance and temporality are integral to my process. Participatory elements also play a significant role, as I invite the audience to shape the work within general parameters, incorporating forces beyond my control.
At its core, my practice explores the relationship between language and materiality. Every image is a semantic expression insofar as it can be translated across media, yet it must be materially instantiated to communicate. This dialectic is central to how humans perceive themselves as subjects—sentient individuals capable of reflection and choice. Becoming a subject is a linguistic process, consolidated through bodily action.
My work also reflects an engagement with political struggles around distribution and equality, including issues of privilege, class, and xenophobia.
*Appendix
I strive to make my art rigorous and precise in how it addresses the core problem of painting—flatness. Where conventional painting uses layers of paint applied one atop another, I create a faux two-dimensionality by casting my work with an inlay technique, thereby extending the surface into the third dimension. I believe this allows for the clearest and most credible expression of actual flatness we can achieve in physical reality.
The relationship between surface and pictorial depth is not merely a dry, medium-specific concern. It speaks to how the mind relates to the body and to the external world—that is, to the alienation of the human subject.
True flatness is a mathematical abstraction, while the illusory depth of an image exists only in the mind of the perceiver. Both are constructions of language, as is the human subject itself. What exists materially is matter alone. Yet matter can only be encountered through perception, and perception is structured through language. This tension constitutes the human dilemma and forms the underlying subject of my work.
Within the dichotomy of surface and pictorial depth, the surface is typically treated as matter; however, this obscures the illusory antagonism between them. It bypasses the linguistic condition of flatness and, consequently, neglects the subject’s paradoxical relation to materiality. We are not identical with our bodies; we have no direct access to the exterior world. We are confined to the structures of our own perception. The only means we possess to bridge this divide is language. Yet language never fully penetrates material reality—it circulates at the surface, simultaneously concealing and describing it.
This is where art, and painting in particular, becomes significant: it can point toward the true nature of our condition.
Me talking about my work i relation to group exhibition "Tegning og tekst" at Tegnerforbundet, Oslo
Questions from Marion
For the occasion of the Affordable Art Fair in Stockholm in 2020, where I am invited to participate in the Singulart booth, Marion Sailhen asked me these questions to understand my work and to better promote it.
Could you explain your artistic process?
I usually get intuitive ideas for work in an entirely random manner. I then make a small sketch which I put on the wall of my studio. I have a lot of them there. For some time, I have been thinking about them and letting the ideas grow, merge and change. At some point, I decided to produce one of these small sketches into real work. Creating the work often changes it from the original plan because of the qualities of the material I use. This change is something I usually welcome. I want to add something extra to the work.
I start with one colour, white or grey and apply the next one after drying. When it dries, it often cracks up a bit, and I fill the cracks with different coloured filler to enhance them. Finally, I sand the whole work off. It is not until this last operation that I see how the piece looks. This process makes it very interesting to me. It's almost like developing an old black and white photograph. Or maybe like an archaeologist freeing the buried" image" from the topsoil.
Have you always worked with filler?
Not always, but for the last 17 years.
How did you discover this material? What can you express with it that you can't express with paint?
I was unsatisfied with the process of using regular paint, which involves covering the surface beneath and working with layers. I wanted everything to be equally visual in my paintings, so the different parts of the image fitted into each other like a jigsaw puzzle or intarsia. That way, I felt that the work could be genuinely two-dimensional and also as a physical object. So I started mixing different kinds of mediums in the paint to make it thicker and ended up using filler. After a while, I began to appreciate how the filler cracked up when drying, revealing an ageing process. It introduced both time and contingency into my work, which I loved — visual elements beyond my control.
As you are not properly using paint, do you define yourself as a painter or more as a sculptor/craftsman?
I am very much a painter. I'm interested in the fundamental problem of painting, which is the relation between depth and surface, which means the illusory pictorial depth and the physical matter of the work. More profoundly, this equals the relationship between language and matter, how immaterial linguistic information always has to be manifested in the physical world to communicate. And also how that physical representation of the linguistic "idea" inevitably taints it and transforms it. There is more and less information in any language expression than the sender of the message intended. It can be a spoken word, a printed or painted image, or any other form of media.
But as I also put much emphasis on the physical matter, my works are as much objects as images; this also relates to sculpture and craft, I guess.
Your work is primarily grey and white, do these colours (or lack of colours) represent something for you?
Not really. The point is that it is two different colours so that you can differentiate between the two surfaces. It could have been other colours, but it is the natural colour of the two different kinds of filler I use, smooth and coarse. That said, I kind of like the sharpness of the whites, and I also like that the works are a bit low in contrast. Together with the dry, greyish brown of the oak wood, it gives a crisp, sober look. A bit Scandinavian, I think.
Is there some hazard in your work, something provoked by the material/process itself more than by the hand of the artist
As I mentioned, I definitely need a contingency plan in my work. There is something added that is beyond any cognitive or calculated process. But I also want the ideas behind the work to be somehow intuitive and incomprehensible to me. There has to be some risk involved, since I'm not entirely sure what I'm doing. So there is something I can learn from doing them. It's a continuous investigation.
What do you like the most in your creative process?
I like that I don’t know how they will turn out when I start doing them, and that it is a relatively fast process. I’m a bit impatient and couldn’t spend months on the same work. There has to be progress. I only use a few visual means in my work, so I enjoy how the different paintings can function together and bring new meanings when I combine them in exhibitions. Of course, making exhibitions and showing my work to the public is an essential motivation.
Would you define different periods in your work? If yes, which ones?
I graduated from school at the same time as I had children, and I spent several years dealing with family life. I based these works on photographs. They were about documenting and the meaning of photos on a personal level. So this could be perceived as a first ”period”, I guess. By the time of my divorce, my images also disintegrated, and I started to do abstract striped works. I wanted to leave photos as a base for my work, but still keep a sort of matrix or underlying system. You could call it a second period, even if I didn’t produce so much during this time. Six years ago, I began working from scratch, without a model or system, guided only by a vague formal idea, and explored the visual possibilities inherent in the properties of the filler. To focus even more on this, I stopped using pigments to colour the filler and began working only with grey and white. So this constitutes my third and current period, you might say.
You say you "primarily explore the theme of human alienation" Could you tell me more about it?
I believe that because we as humans are self-conscious, we are always a bit detached from the reality of our situation. We observe and reflect more than engage. So we unconsciously and primordially feel alienated from both ourselves and our surroundings. This alienation creates a desire to transcend the boundaries of our subjectivity and "step out" of ourselves. That desire is the driving force behind almost all human endeavours.
Even though it may not be evident in any particular work, I think my understanding of this is the fundamental reason I do art in the first place. I investigate different angles of this dilemma, and perception is at the heart of it. Since painting primarily deals with perception, I use it as a tool for this.
Where does your inspiration come from? Is there any topic/art movement/experience that inspires you?
As someone interested in political issues and philosophical/psychological theories, I find my biggest inspiration and motivation in this area. In art, I think Informalism and artists like Antoni Tapies are very important to me right now, as well as movements like Arte Povera. When I started as an artist, I was very inspired by conceptual artists like Bruce Naumann, Sophie Calle and Sol Le Witt, among others.
Is there an artwork (painting/photograph/sculpture) that inspires you the most?
I recently saw a video installation by Richard Mosse called Incoming in Copenhagen that was very powerful. I think I consume art, meaning it has to be fresh. I need to see art concerning the present. But as older encounters, I also had intense experiences with Henri Matisse's Rosary Chapel in Vence and Picasso's Guernica in Madrid.
If you could meet an artist from the past, who would it be?
I have never considered that. I don't think there is anyone in particular. I'm more interested in art than the artists, I believe. But I wouldn't mind a game of chess with Duchamp.
If you have to describe your work in 3 words, which ones would it be?
Minimal, material and graphic.