How do you bring steel and aluminium to life as a work of art? How do you translate the wild coastlines of Scotland and Ireland into a Post-Minimalist work of art? And above all, how do you reconcile that ferocity with the flat endlessness of the Dutch fields? These are only a few questions answered by Cecilia Vissers in poetic outpourings that could melt the hardest steel during an interview in her home annex studio in Sint-Oedenrode.
How many times has the question been asked and how many times has she answered? The number probably exceeds the fingers of two hands. We sit down at the table for a chat after an approving sniff from her dog Lewis.
How did you get into art?
It was natural for me to end up in the art world, but those close to me thought otherwise. So, I first obtained a degree in English Language and Literature before embarking on an artistic path that took me to the Academy of Art and Design (Sculpture) in Den Bosch.
The next question is perhaps also obvious. How did you end up with steel/aluminium and is this material more difficult to handle than canvas?
What do you think? (laughs) Oils allow for adjustments because of the long drying time. Steel is final. It takes a lot of energy and every modification is for all eternity. I had set up my first studio in an old forge, which was still partly in use. The blacksmith caught my interest in metalworking and the rest is history. With a hand-operated jigsaw, I made an incision in a long strip of steel. That was back in 1998. The end result, entitled Curve No. 1, is still on the workbench of my studio in Sint-Oedenrode.
Has much changed since?
I can answer that question both ways. Curve No.1 is still a template for me to return to, just like my compass and ruler. However, I leave the cutting and milling work to professional metalworkers and their extremely precise programmable machines.
In addition to shape, is colour also very important to you?
Absolutely. Lots of testing has preceded my colour palette. I’ve used orange for years because it radiates positive energy. The colours purple and blue have also recently entered my aluminium sculptures. But let’s not forget that the hot-rolled metal plates themselves also have their own patina: bluer on the edges and greyer towards the centre. Even though I often work in series, these colour nuances mean that my work looks different every time.
Do you consider yourself a painter or sculptor?
A sculptor, no doubt. I think in terms of metal, never in clay, paint or any other material. This does not mean that I will immediately start working with this material. Like I said before, any mistake is punished mercilessly. My works are always created on cardboard, so that I have the opportunity to make adjustments. A notch can be moved a few millimetres and the thickness of the material then determined. The works are always mounted within a few millimetres between the wall and metal plate, which automatically creates a sense of a third dimension.
We’ve mainly talked about the material, but without inspiration there is no work of art. Where is your muse?
The landscape is my muse, even though my artworks seem rather abstract at first glance. I love the rugged landscapes of Ireland and Scotland. The desolation attracts me because for me, it is the essence of life: peacefulness from which all noise has disappeared. I might have been better off entering a monastery. (laughs) These landscapes represent a universal truth that brings me closer to the core of existence. Imagine standing on a cliff looking out over the endless ocean with the wind lashing at your body. I want to convey this experience in my work. The pictures I take during my journey serve as a visual reminder when I later set to work in my studio to capture that immense expanse in steel. This transformation of nature and energy into a work of art starts with a feeling and then communicates with my audience. Without spectators there can be no stage, which does not mean that I do not go searching for this form of dialogue. It is a form of appreciation for my work, but not an end in itself.
And how do you enter into a dialogue with your audience?
My work must be able to speak for itself. Through shape and monochromality, I want to have rhythm and space flow together. The space that arises between two works can form the basis for a new work of art. Or to put it in the words of Richard Serra: “Work comes out of work. I look for new paths, change as a person and as an artist. This is also reflected in my artwork. Experiences in your life can influence your work. It is important that you keep your freedom, keep your eyes open for chance or consciously look for untrodden paths.” Or to put it in the words of the poet Robert Frost: “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less travelled by, and that has made all the difference.”
And where do you make the difference? How would you describe your work?
Personally, I would describe my style as Post-Minimalism, inspired by American Minimalism and such artists as Donald Judd, Dan Flavin, Elsworth Kelly, Carl Andre and Ted Stamm. The latter is perhaps less well known, but has made beautiful work. I find that I especially admire artists who balance along the edge between the second and third dimensions. Personally, I also look for new connections in my work between the images I create, giving them my own twist. This may not always be obvious to an outsider. A good example of this is my evolution from the internal curve (notch) to the external curve (wave).
From introverted art to extroverted experience?
How you change as a person is also reflected in your art. I now realise that I have mastered the production process, so I can move on. The puzzle pieces have fallen into place, yet I make sure that I maintain my freedom. Coincidence must remain a part of my work, nothing should ever be fixed.
What does the future bring?
My solo exhibition The Ocean Path will soon be opening at Scott Miller Projects in Alabama before ending up in Veghel via London. In this project, I show new two-part sculptures in coloured aluminium that were created after my time as an artist in residence on the Shetland Islands. I have noticed that many cross-border disciplines are also emerging. I am quite open to that, but I realise that a critical attitude is very important for this … as is self-discipline. A new path to put it in Frost's words? I'll keep you informed. (laughs)
When I look around the studio afterwards, the stylised beauty of the metal strikes me even more when touched by the sun's rays. Stromness Voe, one of the works that originated in The Ocean Path, shows me a raging wave of some kind that crashes hundreds of times each day against the rocks of the Shetlands. Here in the flat Netherlands, Cecilia Vissers has not only conquered this force of nature, but has also captured it in the hardness of steel without losing a moment of poetic eloquence.