Bart Vandevijvere's entire studio is covered in paint, the result of more than 20 years of painterly practice. For Vandevijvere, it is above all a place to fret, waste time and allow things to fail: “often the gateway to discovery”. In each work, Vandevijvere sets out without a preconceived plan in search of the tipping point between abstraction and geometric patterns. His work fluctuates between two extremes: order and chaos, seduction and repulsion, sluggishness and agitation, and between coming and going. Life and death. In the summer exhibition Summer Vibes at Sofie Van den Bussche, he shows, among other things, an older work: “I do not consider my development to be purely linear. On the contrary, it winds slowly, with loops.”
Where is your studio and what does it look like?
My studio is located in Marke on the outskirts of Kortrijk. It is in an attic directly under the ridge of the roof. The total space is around four by twelve metres. Large skylights have been added to both sides of the roof. They offer views of the vast sky, as well as mental space.
When you enter my studio, you are entering my habitat, an environment that reflects 23 years of exploration after more than ten years of a different exploration at a different location. The traces of my process still remain, as everything is covered in paint. It feels like an archaeological site.
I take it that your studio is more than just a workplace. Am I right?
A studio is much more than a functional, one-dimensional workspace. It is a place where work and life intertwine. Visitors are welcome, thoughts can be shared, it is a place where I can contemplate and lose myself in reflection and dreaming. Above all, it is an environment where I can fret and waste time. My studio slows down time. Here, I can afford to fail, as that is often the gateway to discovery. In a purely functional work environment, that is not a possibility.
What makes a good studio you: natural light, spaciousness, lots of greenery or colleagues in the area?
To me, the size of the studio doesn’t really matter, although this will influence the nature and dimensions of my work. Of course, an artist’s discipline also influences the size and accessibility of a studio. There are as many different types of studios as there are artists. For the painter in me, natural light is key. It is an absolute prerequisite for working properly.
Your work is currently on display in the Summer Vibes exhibition. Can you tell us a bit more about which work you are showing?
I am showing two paintings at the exhibition Summer Vibes. The most eye-catching one is Lost in Conversation, a large canvas from 2014. It is flanked by a smaller canvas, Wedge, which I consider an appendix in this context.
I am showing Lost in Conversation again because it is a distinct work. Showing an older work reflects how I am re-encountering myself. I don't consider my development as being purely linear. On the contrary, it winds slowly along, with loops in which I am again confronted with previous painterly discoveries.
The large field shows the residue of a gestural stroke. It is what has remained after washing off the previous coat of paint. This gives it a graphic look from a distance. It might as well have been a linocut. A green surface appears to be floating around in that field, but pops up clearly from the background. It is a view that reveals how it came into being.
Both works have metaphorical titles. Is that common practice for you?
The titles are not a literal indication. That’s not my style. But I do think they are important for identifying a work, while providing the viewer with some clues. They say something about my artistic attitude, about my practice, process and what keeps me up at night. In this painting, I touch on the phenomenon of conversation, the dialogue that is essential for a work of art. Without a viewer, there is no dialogue. Without a recipient, the producer and the artwork lose relevance. At the same time, I avoid confining the viewer and too much personal interpretation. It remains abstract work that appeals to the imagination, but above all challenges ‘viewing’, beyond the conditioned way of viewing.
You make abstract compositions, often using multiple techniques – clean taped surfaces interspersed with grid patterns and seemingly wild brushstrokes – so that as a viewer, you sometimes think you are looking at a collage. How did you come up with this visual language?
At the start of my career, I developed an abstract approach. It was sort of the crux of the matter for me. The integration of pronounced geometric patterns originated from the need for anchor points within the composition. Those geo-forms derived from constructivism, suprematism and architecture represent order and structure. Yet they also clash with each other or reconcile with free lyrical-abstract and expressionistic painted sections.
This kind of interaction creates tension that keeps the overall picture alive. It is precisely that tipping point that I so often am looking for: the point where the balance between two opposites starts tilting. The fluctuating back and forth between two extremes manifests itself at different levels in my work. I'm talking here about order versus chaos and temptation versus repulsion, but I'm also referring to the interaction between sluggishness and agitation. It reminds me of the natural cycle of coming and going, of life and death.
Just as my entire oeuvre develops through processes, each individual painting grows organically through processes. Again and again, I start from scratch without a plan, sketch or preliminary study. At most, I have a vague destination in mind, which I also rarely arrive at. Yet, above all, there is that necessity and drive, and the backpack I carry with me, crammed with the legacy of painting and knowledge and experience I have gained on my decades-long journey.
Much that is written about your work mentions music. The 20th-century American composer Morton Feldman is often quoted. The titles of your works also regularly refer to jazz. What is the role of music in your work?
I consider music as an ally on my journey, on the path towards the plot. Just to be clear, I don't transpose music. That process is too one-on-one for me. I do not use a homemade system to convert sounds into colours. Nor does this relationship have anything to do with synesthesia, the neurological phenomenon in which specific colours are heard and, conversely, sounds are seen. For me, it is about the parallels between the painter's attitude and the attitude of the musician and/or composer. It's about the modus operandi. Music is an essentially abstract medium and that is where I make the analogy with my work. Listening to carefully selected music while working can be very inspiring and propel me forward.
I like to be accompanied by jazz and improvisation, music in which intuitive intelligence, freedom and associative thinking and acting play a significant role. I also see many differences between these two disciplines, the most obvious of which is that music is fleeting, while a painting is solidified time.
Which artists have inspired you?
Painting inspires me. I can be blown off my socks by Rembrandt, as well as by Brusselmans, just two fish out of that great pond of art history. As far as abstract art is concerned, I enjoy the work of Kazimir Malevich, Marc Rothko, Brice Marden, Gerhard Richter, Christopher Wool and closer to home, Raoul De Keyser and Marthe Wéry.
Suppose you’re at a party and start talking to someone who knows nothing about art. How would you explain your work?
That’s a difficult one. It’s a giant leap from narrative to abstraction. I often turn on the music. Then I strip it of its lyrics and address the simple parameters: tone, timbre, rhythm, emotion, tension. These are properties that can be turned into the parameters of a painting with a little imagination and some good will: material, colour, tonality, light, composition, etc.
What are you currently working on?
At the moment, I am preparing a few presentations. These are for the exhibition Run Paint Run Run at Ruimte 4N2O in Kortrijk, together with painters Wannes Lecompte and Joachim Devillé and trumpeter Bart Maris, and Between the lines at the TaleArt Gallery in Vlierzele, together with Jean De Groote, Bert Drieghe, Inge Decuypere and Mohammed Alani.