Maurice van Tellingen makes miniatures of everyday scenes: front doors, fireplaces, manhole covers, birdhouses. There are neither people nor joy in them. Van Tellingen's work consists of small, sad worlds that look commonplace, dirty and lifeless, yet still bring a smile to your face. He shows us the other side of the visual language used by consumer society to seduce us.
Van Tellingen is particularly interested in the borderland where culture ceases to exist and therefore defines the 'outline'. “The forgotten space that is only inhabited by outcasts, drifters, pets and children.” His work is currently on display together with that of Lisanne Hoogerwerf, Pim Palsgraaf, Hugo Tieleman and Casper Verborg in the group exhibition Shifting Perspectives at Galerie Wilms.
Where is your studio and what does it look like?
My studio is located on the 'cultural business park' of 1800 Roeden. This former ammunition depot on the outskirts of Amsterdam near Halfweg was purchased about 25 years ago by two private individuals and developed partly with a subsidy from Bureau Broedplaatsen into a place where around 30 artists and designers have their studios, as well as various workshops and a restaurant. Surrounded by a beautiful garden, it is an almost idyllic place with a fertile creative climate.
What makes a good studio for you? What are the minimum requirements?
I don't really have many requirements for a studio. For me, it is mainly a work and production space, so it is important that it is practical and somewhat neutral in terms of atmosphere. My focus is inwards, so you can actually put me anywhere. But I must admit that the location at the 1800 Roeden, surrounded by greenery, certainly contributes positively.
Your work has a muted or sedated quality to it. People are absent and we only see traces of human activity in the form of architecture. So, the question is, do you prefer to work alone in your studio or do you like to have visitors?
When making art, I prefer not to have anyone around. I also prefer to do the practical implementation, sawing and carpentry alone. Occasionally, I need to work with an assistant, but that also costs me a great deal of effort. At the same time, being alone is only enjoyable for so long and I find it very pleasant to be interrupted in my activities. This is why I took up the management of the business park a few years ago. So, tenants regularly walk into my studio with all kinds of practical questions or minor repairs that need to be carried out. For me, it’s an excellent mix of introverted and extroverted living.
Your work is currently on display at Galerie Wilms in the group exhibition Shifting Perspectives. Which works are you showing and can you tell us about the similarities/relationships between the different artists?
I was asked by Lisanne Hoogerwerf, who is represented by Gallery Wilms, to participate in the group exhibition Shifting Perspectives. I met Lisanne two years ago at This Art Fair in Amsterdam, where our stands were very close to each other. The link between our work is, of course, that we both create miniature worlds that evoke a strong illusion of reality, but even more so, the tendency to describe things by showing what lies around them. It is an investigation of people and their society by analysing their periphery. And I see the same theme among the other participants in this exhibition: Pim Palsgraaf, Hugo Tieleman and Casper Verborg. They explore the relationship between culture and nature, the borderland where culture ceases to exist and therefore defines the 'outline'. I also see a focus on the things we surround ourselves with rather than on people themselves. Architecture, objects and infrastructure are all qualities designed to protect and sustain us. Basically, these are a huge surrounding prosthesis that reveals a lot about who we are or think we are.
You mainly make wall sculptures, reliefs, often with a trompe'l ouil effect and the work often resembles miniatures or model constructions. The subject is usually an architectural element, such as a front door, bird house or fireplace. How would you describe your work?
Having started as a painter, the artistic interpretation of painting increasingly inhibited me. Painting is so hermetically captured in tradition and presuppositions that I had serious problems with it. Although an exaggeration, you can simply wipe a brush on any surface and this becomes an artistic, dramatic gesture. To escape this, I initially started using linoleum, which I glued onto abstract geometric shapes. Linoleum, like oil paint, is a linseed oil product and therefore a prefabricated artist's paint. However, the colour palette is limited and the texture unambiguous, as are the variations. So, I continued to look for alternatives to expand the visual language, with the result being that more and more 'reality' ended up in the works. Fabrics with different designs, imitation leather, wood, veneer, etc. I created installations from the various objects and eventually practical circumstances, storage, transport, studio space, money, led me to 'downsize' to miniature installations. However, the miniature also proved to have an important added value for me. While the viewer enters into a physical relationship with a 1:1 object, the miniature simply shifts to the imagination.
There is an everyday quality to your work because everyone recognises the front doors, fireplaces and birdhouses that pop up in it. Why do you choose such subjects?
The origin of my work lies in a simple question I once formulated: What does the world look like that consumer society seduces us with and what does the opposite look like? An energetic and exciting advertising world is the first thing that comes to mind. Young, fresh, new, surprising, optimistic, cheerful, summery, warm, secure. All basic human sentiments, but very one-sidedly optimistic, like rose-coloured glasses.
The opposite is immediately clear. Gloomy, dirty, old, broken, de-energised, uninteresting, boring, dead, hopeless, and so on. That is a simple observation and hardly surprising, of course, but if you create work exclusively with the opposite qualities, a space emerges that has a number of qualities. Firstly, it becomes clear that it is a space you could call the 'space of the forgotten experience'. Our gaze is so determined by consumerism that we hardly notice the space next to this directed focus.
The forgotten space is only inhabited by outcasts, drifters, pets and children. Children are still uninhibited and unbiased, with the neon letters of the snack bar being just as magical to them as the piece of forgotten land behind their grandparents' garage, without one being more valuable than the other. So, I depict the space we recognise from a personal past and my work evokes a nostalgic feeling in many people. That is why I look for moments in my work that you might call abstractions of memories, recognisable atmospheres that bring a sense of recognition and grounding.
The absence of people and the griminess of the scenes gives me an uncanny feeling. It's never inviting, rather the opposite: a kind of silent suffering. Is this something you consciously create or does it come naturally?
It appears as of the 'timbre' arises naturally from the direction in which my research is oriented. At the same time, I have a definite preference for the tragicomic, for complete hopelessness. I share this preference with, for example, a writer like Samuel Beckett. Somehow, existentialism, which often leads to an investigation of the boundary between one thing and another, an investigation of identity, seems to easily evoke a sadly comic result.
What is the biggest misconception about your work?
I don't believe in misunderstandings. Art is nothing more than a coat rack around which the viewer's mind can form itself. All interpretations are correct.
What are you currently working on?
At the moment, I am mainly thinking about new possibilities to present my work. The usual way in which art is displayed in gallery spaces and on other stages has, of course, been the subject of debate for a long time. Despite that, the 'white cube' remains the most commonly used form in which there is only marginal experimentation. Perhaps there is no great need to escape from this, but I think there are possibilities to introduce more variation and also possibilities to take art off its pedestal a bit.