12 june 2025, Martine Bontjes
The studio of... Hester Oerlemans
For Hester Oerlemans, a studio is more than just a space for personal creation. It is a place where unexpected connections emerge. Her father taught her how to use her imagination and in doing so, Oerlemans found her own way of bringing artists and ideas together. Besides being an artist, she initiates projects with other artists in Kreuzberg in Berlin. Her creative ideas are fuelled by the boundless logic of cartoons and comics like Popeye, Tom & Jerry and Donald Duck. In her work, she aims to achieve something similar: disrupt the familiar image with a subtle transformation.
One example is the work "On the run," recently acquired by Fenix Rotterdam. Oerlemans was struck by the colorful news images surrounding the migration crisis: "What looked like decoration, a cheerful touch of colour in a Syrian war zone as grey as dust, offered protection against ruthless violence." With vibrant curtains and mattresses, she evokes the meagre resources by which people try to survive: "a mobile home, as a symbol of safety and shelter, even on the run."
Her solo exhibition "BROOS" is on view at ROOF-A in Rotterdam until 31 August.
Where is your studio, and how would you describe this place?
My studio is in Berlin, right in the heart of Kreuzberg. It’s located in a former barracks that now houses around thirty artists.
Hester Oerlemans, Waiting (2), 2024, ROOF-A
How did you end up working there? Do you have contact with the artists around you or nearby?
In 1999, I received a grant from the Mondriaan Fund to live and work for a year at Künstlerhaus Bethanien in Berlin. After that year, I decided to stay a little longer. I still live and work in Berlin and eventually found a studio in the middle of Kreuzberg. I’ve been working in this studio since 2010, where I’m in touch with other artists on the premises. This gives me access to, for example, a ceramics kiln and a woodworking shop.
In 2010, I built the project space Ozean on the site. The space was raw, constructed from metal and wood, with a fence that, in this case, determined the viewing direction. The space remained closed off; the exhibition could only be viewed from a single perspective through the fence. I was able to experiment with the space again and again, presenting unique solo exhibitions by international artists who found it a challenge to present their work in such a raw environment. Collaborating with artists was—and still is—an essential part of my work. I don’t see myself merely as a curator, but rather as an initiator: someone who enables the realisation of exhibitions in collaboration with artists. The space existed for five years and in 2015 received the prize from the Berlin Senate for Culture as one of the city’s best project spaces.
You actively seek out collaborations with artists. That means you’ve probably seen many studios. What was the most beautiful studio you ever visited?
The most beautiful studio belonged to my father. Not that it was a real studio, it was more a refuge for found objects and stories. Through his work, he visited people in the Brabant countryside daily, collecting antiques and curiosities along the way.
To give all those treasures a place, he once bought an old farm at an auction. A caravan appeared in the barn, and guinea pigs made their home in a discarded boat. In the garden, a church tower suddenly rose, where the chickens laid their eggs. When he won a pony, a small petting zoo began to emerge: sheep, goats, chickens, everything found its place in that magical landscape.
My father died when I was fourteen. But in those years, without realising it, he initiated me into the world of art. Not the art of painting or sculpture, but the art of seeing, of collecting, of combining. The art of wondering.
Your works often have a cartoon-like quality. Are there specific comics that inspire your work?
The first time I saw a cartoon, I was secretly peeking through the neighbours’ window—they already had a television; we didn’t have it yet. I often hung around that window, waiting for the next episode. I grew up with Popeye, Tom & Jerry and Donald Duck. I’ve always been fascinated by the impossibility of everything that happens in those cartoons—characters: walking through walls and doors with ease, speaking, or instantly recovering from any injury. In my own work, I try to achieve something similar. Through a small intervention or subtle transformation, a new image emerges that unsettles the original, seemingly familiar one.
A good example of this is “SEAT,” a work consisting of the seat of a plastic chair by the brand Marko. By folding the backrest and seat together using heat, it strikingly resembles Donald Duck’s beak. An everyday object suddenly takes on a new meaning, balancing between humor and recognition.
Hester Oerlemans, SEAT, 2017
I read about your fascination with “the sudden closeness of something far away.” Can you describe a moment when you were particularly moved? Was it an on-site experience, or something you read in the news or saw on television?
A moment that deeply moved me was when I saw a small photograph in the newspaper of a group of people, dressed in brightly coloured clothing, attempting to cross the Mediterranean Sea. It wasn’t a dramatic or overtly tragic image, on the contrary, the colours made it seem almost festive. But that very aesthetic stood in sharp contrast to the gravity of their situation. That clash of visual appeal and underlying tragedy struck me profoundly. The image became a catalyst for a deeper awareness of migration.
Are there artists, writers or thinkers who have influenced your view on migration?
Absolutely, there is one work in particular stands out. Specifically, a video still from Adrian Paci’s 2007 video “Centro di Permanenza Temporanea.” It shows a group of people standing on an aircraft stairway, but there is no plane in sight. They continue to wait, with no clarity about departure, evoking a sense of uncertainty and hopelessness. In this work, Paci refers to the experiences of migrants and refugees who often exist in a state of limbo, waiting for a chance that may never come.
Hester Oerlemans, Refugee monument’ (orange), 2017, ROOF-A
One of your works, “Refugee Monument,” shows a large red slipper filled with figures. What does this slipper symbolise and who are these characters?
The drawing of this slipper symbolises the vulnerability and hardship of refugees. Slippers are often the only footwear they have during their perilous journeys, highlighting the harsh conditions they endure. By enlarging the slipper to monumental proportions, its everyday quality is contrasted with the magnitude of the issue: millions of people are displaced by war and poverty. The gigantic slipper thus becomes a powerful symbol of human resilience as well as the indifference of a world that seems out of balance, a world gone off the rails. The work is meant as a tribute to refugees but also as a critical reflection on today’s global order. I would very much like to realise this image in a public space.
FENIX in Rotterdam has acquired your work “On the run.” We see a migrant walking away carrying a stack of mattresses. Who is this person? Is it a specific migrant or a universal image of migration?
The image comes from my archive and does not depict a specific person. It is a universal image of migration. Migration is often cloaked in anonymity. In an earlier series of drawings of gyms filled with beds, I did include names of refugees: not to label them, but to underscore that we’re not dealing with “the refugee” as a category, but with individuals who are hoping for better times.
The idea of someone running away with a stack of mattresses on their head may seem absurd at first glance. But it could also be seen as carrying a roof over one’s head, a mobile home, as a symbol of safety and security, even on the run.
Hester Oerlemans, On the run, ROOF-A
The mattresses are colourful, with cheerful patterns. That seems to contrast with the harsh reality. Why did you make that choice?
In another series I made, “Sniper Curtains,” the colourful patterns also stood in stark contrast to the subject. Large coloured cloths were hung across streets in Aleppo. However, the canopies, sheets and curtains served a macabre purpose. They were to block the view of snipers hiding in the abandoned houses of the largely destroyed city. Thanks to this softly swaying fabric, residents could quickly cross the street without being caught. What looked like decoration, a cheerful touch of colour in a Syrian war zone as grey as dust, offered protection against ruthless violence.
You prefer using stencils and spray paint rather than a brush. What draws you to this technique, and how did it develop?
What draws me to this technique is the immediacy and layering it allows. It all started with making small drawings, applying and repositioning tape on paper. This process gave the drawings a distinctive character, almost like painting in miniature. From there, I began enlarging these drawings using handmade stencils and transferring them onto canvas. The challenge is to preserve the spontaneity and impact of a drawing in a larger format. Often, it has to work in one go, if it doesn’t, I paint over the canvas and start again. That process leads to interesting layers.
Hester Oerlemans, On the run, 2025, ROOF-A
Your work has an expressive power, somewhat reminiscent of graffiti. How do you see that?
While my work sometimes evokes associations with graffiti, that’s not my intention, nor a context in which I position myself or my practice. Still, I do notice that my work often resonates with younger people because of its raw and direct quality.
What would you still like to create or explore in the future?
Receiving the Wilhelminaring 2025, the national lifetime achievement award for sculptors, offers me a special moment of reflection as well as a chance to look ahead. For the accompanying exhibition at the CODA Museum in May 2026, I want to present a multifaceted view of my practice. That means not only realised works, but also proposals for public artworks that were never executed. In addition, I would very much like to bring the “Refugee Monument”, the enlarged slipper, to life.
