On the intrinsic value of the artistic process

Oslo, March 2024

“Dear me! How long is art, and short is our life!” With these words, the eponymous character in Goethe’s Faust complains about the imbalance between human ambitions and their temporal limitations, thus pointing to a famous Hippocratic aphorism. Any artist, in fact anyone with a bucket list, should be familiar with the problem, the fear of not having accomplished their goals when the hourglass runs out. And time is running faster than ever before. German sociologist Hartmut Rosa even speaks of an acceleration of the speed of life in our modern times. Likewise, our attention span is gradually decreasing, as research suggests. Watch any movie from the 60s or try reading through an entire newspaper article and you’ll have proof. What does this mean for the artistic process? Interestingly, art is also changing. It is adapting to the shortness of time and has itself become faster. In the past, it was not unusual for a work of art to take months or even years to complete. For a modern artist, it’s a fight for survival, socially and economically. I am in fact both excited and concerned about how AI will change our understanding of art and how artists will use it to evolve throughout the 21st century. To be clear, what worries me most about AI is not that it produces poor quality, but that it undermines the artistic process and with it the possibility of subjective encounters with ourselves and the world.

From an art viewer’s perspective, I expect my works to have a certain gravitas so that they resonate accordingly and create meaningful encounters with others. Without the effort and time commitment, it simply wouldn’t work. That’s why I refuse to equate slowness with inefficiency. I have therefore developed a particular interest in the various cognitive processes that take place as a drawing takes shape. For me, these are the primary values, or intrinsic values, because I assume that they precede the physical artwork. These values ​​are mostly  phenomenological in nature, but they can also be about flow, growth and persistence, all of which I assume are the fundamental building blocks of creativity and innovation. The artistic process is about thinking and learning. But most of all it is about opening up, listening and tuning into the essence of art. No one has described this more beautifully than Martin Heidegger. Immersing yourself in the work ultimately means creating a space for reflection and introspection, a storehouse of ideas, a place free of distractions, trivialities and banalities. I consider this space to be more valuable and more real than the physical work of art itself. It is also intrinsic to the artwork, as its ultimate essence or aura, as Walter Benjamin put it. That is why I am sometimes tempted to delay or completely prevent the moment of completion in order to remain in the state of listening, harmonizing and resonating. At the same time, I also think that perfection is an overrated goal, in art as in life. The fact that neither Doctor Faust nor anyone else leaves the stage satiated speaks for itself. Perhaps a slight change of focus would not be inappropriate.

I believe that the artistic process has great potential, not just for artists, but for everyone. We live in a time when introspection often takes the form of narcissistic self-expression or destructive self-fragmentation and self-alienation, none of which leads to growth. More and more young people stop “functioning” and are becoming social cases, as recent figures show. And that is understandable. The fear of personal failure is overwhelming. The constant flood of information wears down the mind and creates paranoia. Paradoxically, it is not the noise that causes the most anxiety, but the silence.

One of the biggest challenges of our time is to reclaim time, to fill the vacuum, to become self-aware again and to be constructive. I like to think that artistic processes can be part of the solution, simply because art is at the core of creativity and self-awareness. Art can also teach us to observe, listen, learn and improve. It can help us become more resilient. I hope that curricula in the future will be less geared towards market forces and instead create more sustainable learning conditions. I would like to see more practical and aesthetic learning strategies in schools to encourage creativity and innovation. In this sense, I also hope that our future understanding of art does not completely abandon the process in favor of the product. To be honest, I’m even a little optimistic.

On drawing

Oslo, July 2023

My works are inspired by nature, science, philosophy and the still life genre. They also reflect my own phenomenological reflections, the dialog between artist, object and world that manifests itself in the work. When I draw objects, I try to reveal their enigmatic, mysterious nature as well as the mathematical complexity of which they are composed.

Creating art means reaching out for the impossible, the nameless, the unfathomable. I want my pictures to have a touch of this mystery, knowing full well that most of it remains hidden in the realm of the subjective. Although I work figuratively, one could also say realistically, it is never my aim to depict reality. Rather, I want to reveal a kind of hiddenness of the object, its innermost and unheard substance. The key factor in this process of observing, listening and refining is time.

My work is largely dependent on this process. This may explain my preference for lengthy, traditional techniques. As I apply layer upon layer of thin lines, the resulting pattern develops into its own entity. The motif can appear heavier, darker and more intense. This very time-consuming process is a goal in itself, the drawing becomes a time capsule, a small bastion against entropy.