Phone Tag: Interview with Sári Ember

Posted on October 27, 2020 by Linnea

*Glorious times*, Karlin Studios, Prague, 2019. Courtesy of the artist and Ani Molnár Gallery

Sári Ember works in stone, clay, and fabric to create sculptural installations that evoke human culture across time and place. The Budapest-based artist brings her personal experiences to archetypal forms, which equally allow the viewer to see their own inner worlds and associations in the work. In this Phone Tag interview, we discuss collaborating during the pandemic, how time in Brazil shaped her as an artist, and her intuitive working process.

Phone Tag is a generative interview format, where I ask each participating artist five questions (plus others as the discussion meanders). At the end, I ask him or her to introduce me to an artist whose attitude and work they find interesting and/or inspiring, who I then interview with the same five questions.

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Linnea West: What are you working on now?

Sári Ember: Strangely, I haven’t been working for several months now. I decided during the pandemic that, as everything is postponed, I would just make what I was longing for. I took a sabbatical. It was very good. But now it’s nice to have some deadlines, and I’m excited to get back to work. I will have a dual show in October with Eszter Kállay.

She’s mainly a poet, and also an artist. I invited her to do this show. She would present her poems and I would show objects. It’s nice that this has been a process that we started in February. During the quarantine, we exchanged emails. I like that we had this long preparation period and dialogue.

I was due to have a solo show in the gallery which represents me—Ani Molnár Gallery. I had this idea: I wanted to do something about my grandmothers. My last grandmother died a year ago so now, therefore, all this generation is dead. I’ve been dealing with the death of my grandmothers a lot. I was very close to both of them, and I’ve been very close to their problems somehow too.

I was thinking about how they influenced me, the life they lived, and through their point of view how they can understand my life and my problems. I’m often nostalgic or admiring some things from their lives. I feel a lot of love and anger, pride and shame, in my connection to them, which is connected to the female roles they had to play, and the roles I do not want to play.

I very much felt connected to Eszter’s poems. They are in first person; they are both very everyday and celebrational at the same time. I felt my grandmother’s presence and related questions. The presence of her own body. Not only her mind, but also her body, how it is present on the street. What does it mean, a female body? I’m making big ceramic vessels and vases, black and grey with some drawings on them. There will be some androgynous and female figures in different situations painted or drawn on these vessels. It’s still in progress.

*Pouring water (Black)*, 2020, ceramics, 0.3 x 5.4 x 5.2 cm. Courtesy of the artist and Ani Molnár Gallery

LW: Do you think the work is different because you have been collaborating with Eszter over such a long period of time?

SE: I don’t know if it’s different. I didn’t have different ideas about the exhibition, but I’m more confident about it. I understand it more. I am more involved in her poems, and she’s more involved in my works or my way of thinking, and this led to a very subtle selection of works, where I think the texts and objects will communicate in a way that it can create a new understanding for both.

LW: I wonder if that’s a silver lining of the pandemic, that when you take more time you can have deeper relationships. I often feel like I’m having conversations with people now that are very real, very intimate.

SE: It’s strange that when we do things fast and more superficial way, they still often happen. Exhibitions happen, and events happen. It feels so good to do it with more attention and more time.

*Pile of eyes*, 2019, marble, granite, lime stone, 26 x 26 x 6 cm. Courtesy of the artist and Ani Molnár Gallery

LW: Who has influenced your artistic practice? That doesn’t necessarily have to be an artist, just anyone who influences how you approach your work.

SE: Actually, I think what mostly influenced my works are people close to me doing artistic work or other creative processes, such as architecture.

I was very influenced by my best friend, and a very good friend, who are architects; Zsófia Kronevetter also makes ceramics. She’s a wonderful, creative person. I learned making ceramics from her. It really opened new fields for me. I was very influenced by my ex‑boyfriend, Bruno [Baptistelli], who was the first artist that I knew so closely. Understanding his process was very important for me. We made this project CHANGE-CHANGE, a nomadic artist run space. We organized five shows, and the artists and curators were all staying in our house for a week and preparing the exhibition. It was a very intense and inspiring experience for me. It was like going to a residency, but people came to our home. Among them was Daniel Lie, a Brazilian artist, and they inspired me a lot. They are a Brazilian artist. We had an outdoor exhibition space, and one afternoon while preparing, they took a little pillow and said “I’m going to sleep there.” They slept there to see what their dreams are, how they wake up, what are their intuitions. That’s wonderful.

Now I am very influenced by my boyfriend. He has a very different approach to art. It’s very critical and deals with ethical questions. I’m very fond of his way of thinking, which is very different than my process.

When I was in Brazil from 2013 to 2015, I was overwhelmed by the Brazilian art scene. I saw a lot of exhibitions, and I was in touch with lots of artists. The art scene is so open… Of course, it has its limits, but it’s very open with the forms and how you express things. It’s very much about the thought and the intuition. For me, that was very much part of being in Brazil, to see how these people work.

*Blue vase with eyes (No. 18)*, 2018. glazed ceramics, 53 x 21 x 21 cm. Courtesy of the artist and Ani Molnár Gallery

LW: I’m curious because you mentioned one influence is your boyfriend, and that he has a critical perspective in how he approaches his work. I wouldn’t necessarily use that word to describe your practice, but I do think you’re thinking of social roles to some degree, too. For example, when you think about your grandmothers, you’re also thinking about the role of women in society, but maybe it’s more from a perspective of how it feels to live it.

SE: Yeah, it’s true. My starting point is intuitive. I don’t read for my topics. I work based on what I experience. Whereas he researches. He reads about the historical context, studies, articles.

I’ve been thinking a lot about why I talk about these topics in a very delicate and kind of poetic way. For me, it wouldn’t be my language to speak directly, because I like to approach more people with my work. Even with my opinions, I would like to leave more layers or ways of interpretation.

The forms or materials I use are very simple. Not simple, but I carve faces and figures in stone or ceramic vessels; these are kind of objects that we know well from ancient history. We make our own interpretation of these objects based on our point of views and connections to them. I really like that we don’t really know what they are. I like to provide this experience of my work, that you don’t really know what it is.

LW: Right. There’s an openness to that.

SE: Yeah. I like to keep that openness.

*Untitled (Mask No 6.)*, 2017, marble, 29.5 x 23 x 2 cm. Courtesy of the artist and Ani Molnár Gallery

LW: When did you first think of yourself as an artist?

SE: I think that was also in Brazil. I studied photography, and for a few years I was a photographer. I wanted to go to Brazil, and I was looking for residencies like an art residency, a photography residency. I found a close deadline, and I applied, and I got it. In Casa Tomada, we were eight international and Brazilian artists sharing a small studio space, and having some talks and visits together. It was the first time I was considered simply as an artist and not a photo-artist. It was very interesting for me. Also, it was the first time I had a studio, so I had a table outside of my home where I can do whatever. Then I started to call myself an artist. I wasn’t very confident. In the Hungarian language, if you say, “I’m an artist,” it almost sounds like, “I’m an asshole.”

[laughter]

It sounds pretentious. At that time, all my artist friends, I asked them: “When they ask you, what do you do, what do you say?” Then they said, “I say my practice is painting.” Or, “I am doing a graphic work,” or, “I’m making sculptures.” [laughs] No one really said, “I’m an artist,” which has many layers. It’s about confidence. It’s also about the prejudice you get. “OK, but what do you do?”—I mean, you can’t make a living off it. It’s your hobby, practically, or your passion.

LW: You mentioned having a studio for the first time, and now of course, you’re making objects. I’m curious… is your practice largely studio-based? What’s an ideal day in the studio?

SE: My practice is not very studio‑based. I had a studio, and then for a year now I haven’t had a studio. I was away for residencies too, so I decided to just have a storage for some time. But now I will have again a small space. Otherwise I work at home. I make the ceramics at home. The stone pieces, I plan on my computer, and then I go to the stone carver and I choose the stones. I don’t actually make them, but there are smaller pieces which I bring home. Then I can live with them a little to see what to do with them. I would like my work to be more studio‑based but it’s mostly my sketchbook and computer and kitchen table.

LW: Are you able to do all the ceramics at home?

SE: It’s quite good to do at home because with ceramics time is very important. I let something dry for two hours, or five hours, or half a day, or one day. Then I do another step in the process, which might be 10 minutes, but I have to do it at the right dryness. It’s good to do it at home. Then I bring it to fire somewhere else.

*Leporello with lying figure in green*, 2019, marble, 130 x 50 x 22 cm. Courtesy of the artist and Ani Molnár Gallery

LW: That makes sense. My final question is my favorite because people have a lot of interesting answers. Do you think as an artist, it’s more important to be in a big city—a place maybe like Budapest, or New York, or whatever—where it’s busy and there’s a cultural scene and there are galleries, or to be in a smaller place where you can focus on just making?

SE: The ideal would be to live in the countryside. To have space and time and calmness, no distraction from work. Then spend two months in New York, or London, or whatever. It’s interesting because Budapest is somewhere between the two. It’s a small city where many things are happening but not the big important things.

It’s calm, but then it’s not super calm. It’s somewhere in the middle. Actually, I quite like it. Recently I’m not longing for too much inspiration, to see other artworks or concerts. Mostly, the input is tiring to me, so I’m very selective now.

LW: There are moments where I really miss seeing art. But I don’t know if I need it as much as I thought I did before the pandemic started.

SE: True! I think at some point in the next months I will miss seeing art and travelling a lot.

I remembered one more thing for the studio practice, that there is one thing I do in the studio that I can’t do at home. Since Brazil, I have a practice of making collages, even if I only do thirty a year. It’s a very nice, loose way to think about new works and projects. It’s a very different material. It’s not stone; it’s not ceramics; it’s two‑dimensional. It’s the abstract, third version of my work and it’s very free to make them. That, I miss a lot. That’s why I would like to have a studio again.

LW: That’s great. Thank you for participating in this interview.

SE: Thanks.

*Untitled (white marble half mask on black – king)*, 2019, paper collage,
16.6 x 11.7 cm. Courtesy of the artist and Ani Molnár Gallery

Phone Tag: Interview with Bronwyn Katz

Posted on October 27, 2019 by Linnea

*Driekopsieland (Île à trois têtes)* (2019). Mild steel, wire, steel wool, steel pot scourers, cardboard. Installation view at Biennale de Lyon, Lyon

Bronwyn Katz is a South African artist who frequently turns to metal, found metals, and other objects to consider structures of place and language. These resonant and unruly materials bring specificity and context to the minimalist forms. In this Phone Tag interview, Bronwyn describes her family connection to metalwork, the importance of sustaining networks, and how the different environments of Capetown and Johannesburg shape her practice.

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Linnea West: You mentioned that you are recently back from a project in Lyon. What were you working on there, and what are you working on now?

Bronwyn Katz: Currently I’m working in my studio. I’m preparing work for a solo show at Peres Projects in Berlin. While I was in Lyon, I was preparing work for the Biennale. I spent three weeks there preparing the work for the Biennale.

LW: Were you in Lyon for so long because you were making work there, or because it just takes that long to install, or…?

BK: For the Biennale it was important that all of the artists make new works. Most of the works that were on show were new works created specifically for the Biennale. It was also important for the Biennale that we collaborate with local factories and local artisans. Many of the artists ended up producing the work from start to finish in Lyon.

LW: What did you make?

BK: I created an installation out of wire and steel wool. The installation is called Driekopsieland. Basically, it’s a continuation of work that I’ve done before, but on a larger scale. I was trying to also shift some of my previous thoughts and ideas about what I was making. Most of the work that I made for the Biennale is very similar to work that I made earlier, where I was working with the idea of language, language formation, and the possibility of creating an alternative language with material. Also sounds. I created sounds.

For the Biennale, using the same material, I was still interested in the sound but also in trying to create a landscape. I was also reflecting upon the fact that the Biennale was being held at an old washing machine factory, and so I wanted to create a type of metal landscape. The installation looks like a fuzzy cactus metal forest, and the wire extends from nine meters up so that it begins to look like a type of water source or rainfall.

LW: That sounds amazing. The first image on your website is of some sculptures made out of steel wool. When I first looked at those, I didn’t know what that material was, and it almost looks like it could be soft instead of sharp. Why do you like working with steel wool? Where does that interest come from?

BK: I think I’m generally interested in metal. Growing up, my father was a metal worker. He made gates and burglar bars, and I’ve always had a relationship with metal. I think that the work comes out the way it comes out, because I try to find alternative, quirky ways of working with the material. Instead of spending time welding a large structure, I’m more attracted to softer metals and also found metal.

*Untitled, notes on perception (i)* (2018). Wire and rope from used beds. 186 x 250 x 23 cm, 186 x 127 x 5 cm. Image courtesy of André Morin and the Palais de Tokyo

LW: That’s sounds like it has been an interesting influence. I wonder who else or what else influences how you work now?

BK: I’m not sure. I’m very influenced by my community that I grew up in, but also the community of artists that I practice with currently—my network basically. Also what’s happening in the country, in South Africa, but also the rest of the world. It’s difficult to point out one specific thing. It’s more about the way I’m living at the time, how the city works, or just what is around me and the space that I’m living in. So many things. I think place would be the number one influence on the work.

LW: You mentioned working in a community of artists. Is that a community in Johannesburg? What’s that art scene like?

BK: I’d say it’s a community between Johannesburg and Cape Town. I spent a lot of time in Cape Town. I studied in Cape Town. After studying, I spent two extra years in Cape Town. Most of my community is in Cape Town. Now, having moved to Jo’burg, I’ve been able to broaden my network and expand my community.

In Cape Town, I was part of iQhiya, a collective of 11 women. We all met at university, at different stages of university, and we decided to come together as a network to support each other’s practices. When I speak about a community or network, that was a very structured community-network.

In Jo’burg it is more fluid. There are artists in similar positions of their career that I’m engaging with. I’ve also recently joined a reading group called the Lessor Violence reading group. Just being able to share ideas with people on a regular basis is important for my practice.

LW: Absolutely. I’m interested in this collective in Cape Town that you were part of. You mentioned that it was 11 women. Is it a coincidence that they all happen to be women, or was it specifically women coming together?

BK: It was very specific. Like I said, at the time we were all studying together but at different stages. We were all black women students at the university, and the way that we were taught about art, the art world or just who was able to have a successful career or who was acknowledged within the institution… it was almost never a black woman. Coming together, we wanted to create that space where we give each other the attention and support that we were not finding within the university.

*Droom boek* (2017). Salvaged bed springs and mattress. 180 x 150 cm

LW: It’s wonderful to make spaces like that. When did you first think of yourself as an artist?

BK: I’m not sure.

[laughter]

LW: Do you think of yourself as an artist?

BK: I do, but I can’t think of a point where I didn’t think I was an artist or a point where I started to think that I was an artist. I’m not answering your question well. [laughs]

LW: Well, one of the things it seems to me, from the outside, is that you’re younger and you’ve already been quite successful. That you have galleries in different places, and you’re showing work all over. Maybe you haven’t had to wrestle as much with that identity because you’ve been able to show work.

BK: I agree with you. I was on a residency just outside of Jo’burg with an older artist a few years ago, and she was telling me every five years she had to make a decision to continue being an artist. In my career, this is something I haven’t experienced because my career has been so short. Maybe that’s a question for the future.

*Untitled, notes on perception (iii)* (2018). Wire. Image courtesy of André Morin and the Palais de Tokyo

LW: Do you have a studio? What is an ideal day like in your studio?

BK: Yes, I do have a studio. An ideal day is me waking up on time, going to studio, maybe reading for a bit, working on a project I’ve been working on, and hopefully somehow magically discover a breakthrough.

[laughter]

Or discover something that I haven’t seen in my work before or just lean something from the material. I think most days, I go to studio and I try and find something that I haven’t found yet. The ideal day would be finding something that I’m looking for.

LW: You mentioned that you recently moved to Johannesburg. Do you think it’s important for an artist to be in a big city where there are galleries where you can see art, where you can make connections but where it’s often expensive or chaotic, or better to be somewhere smaller or quieter, where it’s a little easier to make?

BK: Basically, this is my second time coming back to Johannesburg. I lived in Johannesburg in 2017 for a few months. I had moved from Cape Town to Johannesburg to test out how it would feel to live in the city. Then in February this year, I moved back to Johannesburg. I would say that there is a lot going on in Cape Town, in terms of cultural institutions. My gallery, for example, is not in Johannesburg; It is only in Cape Town. I don’t know if you’ve ever been, but the cities are on opposite ends [of South Africa], and they’re very different from each other.

My main reason for moving out of Cape Town was that Cape Town is a very expensive place to live, because it’s a tourist destination. It’s a lot cheaper to live as an artist in Johannesburg, especially in the center of the city. Most of the center has moved to other parts and the center has sort of been abandoned. The center is poor in Johannesburg, whereas in Cape Town the center is very wealthy. The poor in Cape Town are outside of the center, pushed out far outside of the center. It’s much more affordable to live in Jo’burg, and I would say it’s much more interesting to live in Jo’burg as well. I think Cape Town has the potential of becoming a bubble. There can be a disconnect from what’s actually happening in the rest of country.

But in comparison to a place like Kimberly, which is a smaller city, where I’m from, that’s a different aspect of your question. I think it would be very hard at this stage of my career to live in a place like Kimberly where there is no art market. I think that maybe at a later stage of my career, that would be possible, but at such an early stage of my career I think it’s important that I live in either Cape Town or Jo’burg. And for the way that I wish my practice to grow, Jo’burg makes more sense.

LW: That makes sense. It was great speaking with you—thank you!

BK: Thank you.

Phone Tag: Interview with Pedro Wirz

Posted on August 28, 2019 by Linnea

Installation view featuring *My home is my dinner* (2018) and *Guard‘águas* (2017) at Centre Pasquart. Photo © Gunnar Meier

Pedro Wirz uses raw and discarded materials to create sculptures and installations that invoke a synthetic, decomposing natural world and a tension between man and nature. As a Swiss-trained artist who grew up in rural Brazil, he toys with the different mythologies and cultural tropes through which we encounter and understand such discordant ecologies. In this Phone Tag interview, Pedro talks about working from his gut, how he found his way to Europe and the visual arts, and the importance of maintaining a criticality toward the work.

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Linnea West: What are you working on right now?

Pedro Wirz: I have my first solo show with Nagel Draxler Gallery, in Berlin, in September during Art Week Berlin. I’m producing the work for this show.

*Saci-Baldio*, 2019. Mix media on wood construction. 100 x 60 x 25 cm. Installation View at Kunsthaus Langenthal. Photo © Alex Kern

LW: One of the things that I thought was interesting looking at your work is the materials you use. Where does that come from? Does it feel natural and intuitive, or are you planning in advance the specific materials you want to work with?

PW: A lot of people ask that. It is intuitive. I grew up on a farm in the countryside of São Paulo. My mother is a biologist. My father is an agronomist. I understand soil, bees, animals… these were the things I learned about. I never had any sense of disgust toward things that make some people go, “Ugh.” The materials always seemed absolutely natural to me.

I’m working a lot with soil at the moment and I have my reasons, but I also just have to move forward. I’m just working and I do what is urgent. Intuition is a big part of us. Why not just follow it? Learn out of it. You cannot be blind all the time. It’s amazing to learn out of blind moves, but then learn how to deal with it. What is the answer behind it all? What is even the initial question?

*Ministério Morto* (*Dead Ministry*), 2019. Soil, red clay, twigs, chicken wire, paper mache. 27 x 24 cm (90 cm – plinth). Installation View at Kunsthaus Langenthal. Photo © Alex Kern

LW: You said that you first met [former Phone Tag participant] Beto [Shwafaty] in Europe. Of course, you are both Brazilian but you met working on different projects or studies over there. How do you end up in Switzerland?

PW: No one in my family is an artist, but I was long involved in theater and I was always making drawings. I never thought about whether this was art or not. It was just a sort of expression that I always had to practice. When I was growing up, in Brazil, I wanted to study music, actually, but then I didn’t get into the university. My girlfriend at the time said to me, “You should do what I am doing, studying public relations. It has a lot to do with you.” I see why she suggested this–I like to talk. So before studying art, I completed an education in Public Relations at the University of Taubaté in Brazil.

I went through some good jobs while studying communication and after graduating as well. I ended up landing a very good position in a big French company. However, I very soon realized, this was not where I belonged.

Well, I just quit. At that time, I was 23 and I told my parents, “I want to do photography.” I moved to São Paulo to work with the photographers Claudio Elkisabetsky and Moa Sitibaldi. They taught me a lot about thinking artistically, and especially how to be attentive to detail.

*Mãe do Ouro* (*Gold‘s Mother*), 2018 . Humus (black soil), wood glue, fired clay, plaster, twigs, wire. 120 x 50 x 50. Installation View at Swiss Art Awards, Basel. Photo © Alex Kern

After two years I decided to move to Europe. A young French man that I met while working at the French company had become a very good friend of mine. He said, “Why don’t you come to Europe and work here as a photographer?” I said, “OK, I’m just going to go.” By the age of 25, I moved from São Paulo to Nantes in northern France. I was trying to find work and it wasn’t happening, but I didn’t want to give up yet. I have Swiss roots, and my uncle in Switzerland invited me to stay with his family for a while so I said “OK.” I moved to Switzerland, and I started to work in whatever jobs I could to make ends meet. But I kept on working on my photography.

When I was living in Switzerland, in the very beginning, I moved out of my uncle’s place into a house with new friends. One was a singer, the other one was going to art school, and the third was a musician. As a 25 year old, who was artistically motivated but did not really possess any tool to express himself yet, to live with this constellation of people was fantastic! At the same time I also fell in love with a girl that was going to art school. I visited her at the school to see what she was working on and realized “This is what I want to do.” I prepared a portfolio and applied to all the Swiss art schools that I had heard of.

Long story short, two years after I moved to Europe, I enrolled in the art school in Basel, in 2007. I started going to school and doing more and more stuff. I studied one year in Stuttgart in Germany. I finished in 2011.

*Trilobites*, 2017. Rocks, bronze cast, paint. Dimensions Variable. Installation view at Cologne Sculpture Park. Photo © Pedro Wirz

LW: Across all of this time, was there a moment when you thought to yourself, “OK, now I’m an artist”?

PW: Honestly, I was thinking that from the very beginning when I entered art school. It’s terrible, but it’s true. I was absolutely convinced that what I was doing was amazing. I would talk to the teachers in my very bad German, asking “Do you get it?” Now, I realize this is pretty much a first-year bachelor student thing. It took me a long time to understand what my practice as an artist could be. Back then I thought, “OK. I’m going to the art school, people are teaching me how to be an artist, and when I finish school I will be an artist. I’m going to paint, and people are going to buy it, and I will be some sort of Picasso, I guess.” The reality is completely different!

It took me a long time to understand and accept what my practice is about. The route that led me here was one that took a lot of work and time. I think this is beautiful because artists are thinkers, and they have a responsibility towards what they bring to an audience. Alongside continuously working on my practice, I traveled a lot and found different ways to connect with people. It helped that I am good at communicating–at discovering different sources and not being afraid to establish a connection with them.

It isn’t long ago that I arrived at the work that I am doing today. That happened, maybe around four years ago. And from that very moment, many things followed in my career… I started to work with galleries, received bigger invitations for shows, etc.

*Consoantes Líquidas (Liquid Consonants)*, 2019. Cast beeswax, fabrics debris. Dimension Variable. Installation view at Centre Culturel Suisse. Photo © Pedro Wirz

LW: You say you met and spoke with a lot of people all over. Looking back, who do you think had the biggest influence on the work that you make now?

PW: I think criticality is very important. One of the most important people that I have talked to is a very good friend of mine, Gabriel Lima. He’s a Brazilian artist who studied at the Cooper Union in New York. He also studied at the Royal College in London. From the very beginning, I think by the age of five, he knew that he would be an artist. He’s a very virtuosic person. He can draw; he’s a fantastic painter; and he’s a brilliant mind. He had all this critical knowledge that I didn’t have–I just followed my gut.

He would be very hard toward the works critically, saying, “Man, why are you doing this? It’s not working.” I would be very angry with him because I was still thinking, “This is killer.” We had a very tight relationship, and he helped me a lot. I would go from residency to residency, and sometimes when I had no money, he would also help me.

My last residency was at the Swiss Institute in Rome. A place that afforded me time to work. I was just in the studio, working, working, working, working. Calling Gabi–Gabriel Lima–all the time. It was ten months of just working, and then I had my first show in New York with my first gallery. It went very well, but in the meantime the residency had finished. So I had to find a studio. I was asking myself “How do I do this? I have to pay for a studio. I don’t want to have any other job. I just want to do art.”

Gabi motivated me to move to Porto and was very generous, offering me a place to stay for the first six months. He knew I had no money. The first six years after graduation, I had been living on the edge. So I went to Portugal. I found a studio. I also sold some works at this time and everything started to roll, more or less. I start to work with Kai [Matsumiya] and do some fairs and group shows. Suddenly, other galleries began to show interest, and I got an invitation to my first big institutional show in Brazil. I was super happy.

What also happened around that time is that my partner, Leonie Thalmann, came into my life. Soon after we became a couple she became pregnant. At that same time I received an invitation for a residency in Berlin; someone called me and said something like, “Mr. Wirz, you’ve been accepted.” Then I was like, “Oh, I didn’t apply to anything. I’m not willing to move anywhere.” Then this other curator called me like, “Are you crazy? This is one of the best residencies in Germany. I am the person who suggested you.”

My plan was to move to Zurich, to be a father and to find a job, but Leonie said, “No. You should accept this offer.” So I went to Berlin for this residency. It was insane. I worked three months non-stop, not sleeping, just producing and thinking about the work. At the end, I started doing studio visits, studio visits, studio visits. Leonie had told me, “You go there, and you come back with something.” This was two years ago, exactly two years ago. So that’s what happened. I had to close this amazing studio that I had in Porto, organize my life, and come back to Switzerland, to find a new studio, to live in Zurich, the most expensive city in the world.

*Consoantes Líquidas – Notre Dame (Liquid Consonants)*, 2019. Cast beeswax, fabrics debris. Dimension Variable. 46 x 46 x 44 cm (150 x 50 x 50 cm – plinth). Installation view at Kuntshaus Langenthal. Photo © Alex Kern

LW: When you come into your studio, do you have a plan for what you are going to do? Do you just respond to what’s around? What is an ideal day like in your studio?

PW: I think this question has reshaped itself since I became a father. Now I have an ultra-tight schedule. The amazing thing behind the question is: how can you control creativity or tie it to a schedule? What I do is, I get all the juice out of the two hours that I have.

I think mostly all days in the studio are good days. I always think about the privilege of it. Growing up in the country where I grew up and the social level that I was raised in, I always keep this in mind while producing and thinking about art.

*Breastfed Tadpole* at Kai Matsumiya Gallery, New York City. Photo © Kai Matsumiya

LW: You’ve lived in different places and now you live in Zurich, a city and a particularly expensive city at that.

One of the questions I always like to ask is: Is it more important for an artist to be in a big city where you have galleries, where you have an art scene, where you have other people but it’s expensive and there can be a lot of pressure, or to be in a quiet place where you can really focus on making things?

PW: I cannot give you a black or white answer, but I can tell you what I have experienced because I have lived in many different places. During the art school, everybody was going to Berlin and I went to Stuttgart. Everyone was like, “Why?” It felt better. In Berlin, in big cities, people struggle so much to even be alive or be there. For myself, I had a lot of fears moving back to Zurich, but I love it. There’s a lot of culture here. The city is very small. I can get around quickly. In New York, I’m mad all the time; I’m lost all the time.

You do have to have a certain presence in cultural hubs. I don’t know how artists should manage this. I’m not saying they always have to have a gallery. I think artists have to understand that they are responsible for creating the economy that they are going to live in. That’s the most important thing. Once you realize that, then you’re free to go. I know people who are great artists, amazing painters, and they don’t have galleries. They have organized themselves in different ways. They get museums to pay them, or they teach. There’s no answer to say what is the best way, but I think in larger cities you meet people. It’s in these cities where you’re going to have the chance to see important artists or shows. Whereas small cities have treated me very well and have brought me to the place that I am in now.

But of course not only the place is important, but to meet the right mentors and peers. For me, for example, it was helpful to meet Rainer Ganahl, who was my teacher in Stuttgart. I met him because I decided to go there. His dealer is also Kai, my dealer in New York now. I told Kai and Rainer, “Well, I’m going to go to Portugal now, and everybody’s going to forget me.” Kai was like, “You should move to New York,” but Rainer said, “It doesn’t even matter. You have to go to a place where you can work. Is Portugal where it’s going to be? Just go there and work there. Work your ass off there. If it’s good enough, everybody is going to hear about it.”

Anyway, the most important thing is to work. That’s what it is. At the end of day, at the end of this era, what is going to matter is the work.

LW: That’s great. Well, thank you.

PW: It’s an honor talking to you. Thank you.