Lara de Moor's paintings depict serene interiors in which not much seems to be going on—a stack of blankets on a bed, a light spot on a wall, a tub in the middle of an otherwise empty room. Yet the underlying tension in the canvases is palpable. There is a sense that something is about to happen or has just taken place. The exact nature of it remains elusive. "To me, all things have a kind of inherent mysteriousness." raadselachtigheid.”
In Counterglow, her current exhibition at Roger Katwijk Gallery in Amsterdam, De Moor focuses on sunlight in a space, emphasising someone who has lived there for a long time. "Events that have occurred in this space have left their mark, preserving episodes of a life. Time has solidified in the walls as it were." Taking place concurrently at Museum More in Gorssel, The Other Place showcases an overview of De Moor's work from the past 18 years.
Counterglow is on display at Galerie Roger Katwijk in Amsterdam until 16 December.
The exhibition The Other Place at Museum More runs until 10 March 2024.
Where is your studio and what does it look like?
My studio is located in Rotterdam in a former carpentry workshop in Kralingen. It's a rough space with a high ceiling and garage doors that I've fitted with glass at the back, opening up to a patio. I live above it.
What do you like most about your studio?
It's great that it has enough space and a large wall area to evaluate several works alongside each other. In the past, I worked on the first floor and all those large works had to be carried down the balcony, which was tricky when it was windy. It’s easy now because everything can go outside through those tall doors. I have wonderful neighbours, who have become friends. Various kinds of people live here together, including many artists—writers, photographers, and illustrators. I feel at home here.
Given the silence emanating from your work, I suspect you prefer to be alone when painting. I won't put words in your mouth, but do you prefer to work on a canvas alone and in silence or is there music playing and do people drop by regularly?
I prefer to work alone, yes. I need to be as unaware of myself as possible when I'm working. Oddly, as soon as someone is nearby, that becomes difficult. I have to completely immerse myself in the act of painting. It involves rapid decision-making because before you know it, it's too late. I forget myself and as a result, I forget that it's late or that I should have eaten three hours ago. I often have music playing because it helps me maintain my energy level. The ambiance of the music and sense of urgency to create something valuable, along with the lyrics generating associations, all contribute. It's hard to describe really. It enters my consciousness but then immediately leaves again, helping to maintain a hyper-focused state of attention. But at crucial assessment moments, I switch off the music. I then need to be able to evaluate the work based solely on what it communicates and I continue working without music. It's quite interesting actually to think about the effect of music when working.
Your oeuvre primarily consists of tranquil interiors where something has just happened or is about to unfold. The underlying tension is palpable on the canvas. When did you realise that you could almost tangibly convey such tension to the viewer on canvas? Was there a specific moment when you thought, "This is it, I need to pursue this"?
That tension has always been present in my work, even when I was still creating objects. To me, all things have an inherent mysteriousness. Whether it's a place in twilight full of nettles, an animal with its back to you or a person doing something you are not certain what exactly it is, things possess a kind of self-contained purposefulness that we cannot comprehend. That indistinct quality, like a light spot on the floor or a space with a velvety ambiance, creates tension. Something is unfolding and as a viewer, you are standing in front of the canvas, but there's no one to ask. That powerlessness is an essential part of my work. Sometimes it's heightened—a tap is running and the sink is nearly overflowing, but you can't turn off the tap, so it keeps running endlessly and the sink perpetually remains on the brink of overflowing. The painting in itself expresses the powerlessness we feel regarding time and its passage. It reflects our desire for control. The painting is a frozen moment in time in a moving world. But time is unstoppable and we must rely on our memory, which is changeable. It evokes a sense of loss. The tension isn't in the canvas, but is evoked in the viewer.
The exhibition at Galerie Roger Katwijk is entitled Counterglow. What exactly is a counterglow and why does it interest you?
It is a meteorological phenomenon, a faint light spot in the night sky that appears directly opposite the sun's position, a reflection of sunlight. Essentially, it's a reflection, an echo. With this phenomenon, the sun acts as a transmitter, causing a counterglow. Imagine the sun as a person in a room, someone who has lived there for a long time. Events that have occurred in this space have left their mark, preserving episodes in a life. Time has solidified in the walls as it were. Emotions, thoughts and events have influenced the space, but the space in turn influences all these things. The room's counterglow also has an effect on the person in this space. In my mind, this raises the question of how autonomous we really are. Does our essence end at our skin or does it extend beyond our boundaries of existence? But it also touches on the essence of painting. Creating a painting means placing and fixing a continually changing image outside yourself. It creates a space in which you can meet others, a place where overlap and recognition are found. It eliminates isolation in a way that words cannot. It's not just about transmitting and receiving, but a process in which the viewer and creator each play an indispensable role.
You refer to the rooms you paint as ‘containers’. What do these containers contain?
This ties into what I described earlier: a space preserves past events, emotions and thoughts, acting as a resonant space for the person living there. You can view these paintings as a translation of the place a person carries within themselves, where their thoughts reside.
I also read that you are familiar with the spaces you paint. Why is that important to you?
The spaces do indeed exist and it's important to me that I've genuinely experienced them. That's why much of my work is based on places where I've lived or frequented a lot. I often sought out vacant houses or approached a real estate agent, posing as a potential buyer, in order to view and photograph a house. But ideally, I prefer to stay there for a while, allowing me the opportunity to create a setting—essentially a still life or installation—a way to respond to the space or illustrate a problem. It's true that, with some of my paintings, I didn't have that opportunity and had to create a setting in a similar space that matched in terms of lighting. With some later works, I've combined multiple spaces. But it's always based on existing places. The details in the wall and floor surfaces, lighting, objects I come across and atmosphere are all elements that are extremely important to me.
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Your work is currently on display at Museum More in Gorssel. What can visitors expect?
There's a selection of works spanning the past 18 years that clearly show a common theme, paintings portraying a reality reduced to its essence that both attracts and unsettles. The exhibition is entitled The Other Place and focuses on the larger interiors I've created. This title contains an impossibility, touching on something that never quite falls within reach: the other place where people meet or the next space, the unconquered space.
Is there a space you would like to use as a 'container'?
I would love to use the house that my partner built from the ground up in the desert in Chile as a basis for a painting. I haven't seen it in person yet. He poured the walls in adobe concrete, bucket after bucket. The walls have a sandy softness and I imagine they feel like an embrace.
What are you currently working on?
Right now, I'm developing several larger standing canvases that will be even more stripped down and rudimentary, parts of interiors where I want to capture a condensed emotional reality. I feel quite obsessed at the moment. I have the sense that I'm on the verge of unlocking a new path.