Painter Lotte Wieringa has a studio in Berlin with lots of daylight, north-facing windows and ceilings 6.5 metres in height. The space ticks all the boxes, except that it’s a bit cold in winter. Wieringa works there on her paintings, which are often described as dreamy, psychological and spiritual landscapes. Personally, she finds it difficult to describe them: "The language of words is so different from the language of paint. How do you name the unnameable, the intangible?"
This intangibility is also present in the title of the group exhibition Angel's Egg, which can be seen this summer at Kersgallery. The title is taken from one of her works. "The idea of an angel’s egg is not something you can grasp. It's an emotion, feeling or mindset, yet also a moment of transformation, challenging you to keep creating your own hopes and dreams."
Angel’s Egg can be seen at Kersgallery in Amsterdam until 25 August. Wieringa's solo exhibition opens on 13 September.
Where is your studio and how would you describe it?
I've been living in Berlin for almost a year now, working in a building where large-scale lithographs were printed in the last century. Apparently, at its peak, it had about 1,000 employees. The building is very spacious with lots of daylight. There is a total of around 30 workspaces. I share my studio with three others. Together we have 170 square metres to divide among us, 1/3 of which are mine. The ceiling is nice and high, at its highest over 6.5 metres, with windows facing north. All the painter's studio wish boxes are ticked. I'm very lucky with this place. It's a 45-minute bike ride, but it's totally worth it. I enjoy it every day. It's quite cold in the winter because of all the concrete and no insulation, but that's part of the charm. You just need to wear lots of layers.
Take us through a typical day in the studio.
My mornings start with yoga and meditation, which is already part of my workday. I find it important to check in with myself and my body to see how things are going. The goal is to be in the studio by around 10 a.m. Early in the morning, my creativity flows less, so I'm more practical then. I use this time to answer emails, order materials, etc. I'm always surprised by how much time that takes. I prefer to get all those things done before I start painting, so my head is free of to-do lists. In reality, I’m more flexible and these things overlap more. I try to work until around 6 p.m. If there's a deadline that requires a lot of work, that’s a different story and I can easily work 12 hours a day. And sometimes I don't feel like stopping and stay longer. This is a rough sketch of what my days look like; every day is about seeing what needs to be done.
I understand that music is very important to your creative process. Is there always music playing when you’re working? If so, what kind of music and what role does it play in your work?
Music helps me get into the right mood; it provides rhythm and focus. As soon as I put on music, I'm immediately in a different place. Rhythm is form, movement and energy. When I choose the right music, the rhythms in the music activate movements within me. Those movements and forms then emerge and land on the canvas. But there are also moments when I work in silence. When I'm in the right mood, I can generate everything myself.
I read somewhere that besides traditional painting techniques, you also develop your own methods. Has that always been part of your practice and what exactly is the wild-mono method?
It happens naturally! You're working with materials and things just happen, either accidentally or intentionally. Wild-mono is one of those things that ‘happened’, a spontaneous discovery. It's a printing technique similar to a monoprint or drawing with carbon paper. This is how I create the scratches on the paintings.
Until 25 August, your work can be seen in the group exhibition Angel's Egg. The title comes from one of your works. What do you mean by an angel's egg??
The idea of an angel's egg is not something you can grasp. It's an emotion, feeling or mindset. The title comes from an anime film from the 80s. In the film, it is a real thing. A girl protects a large egg and carries it with her everywhere as she wanders through a dark, apocalyptic world. Eventually, the egg breaks and turns out to have been just an empty shell all along. You wonder what that means, all her hope and expectation in pieces of eggshell on the ground. At the same time, it's a moment of transformation, challenging you to keep creating your own hopes and dreams.
Your work is often described as dreamy, psychological and spiritual landscapes. Would you agree?
The words I find for my own work are still evolving. Sometimes I find it difficult because the language of words is so different from the language of paint. How do you name the unnameable, the intangible? What is emotion, feeling or movement? My work is about the experience of being human in this world, about what moves inside me as a reflection of everything taking place outside. During the creation process, I dive so deeply into the visible world until only energy remains. How other people think about my work largely depends on how I describe it. Painting is my strength, not the language of words. Sometimes it feels like I'm standing on an Escher staircase when talking about it, while other times I have a lot to say.
If I gave you carte blanche – anything is possible and achievable – what project would you want to carry out?
What I dream of is to revitalise impoverished land, give a piece of nature free rein to return to abundance. I want to give something back to nature. My work originates in the here and now, in Mother Earth, both in terms of materials and inspiration. For my paintings, I use all kinds of materials, such as precious minerals for my paint. They come from somewhere, are taken from somewhere. I still live in the city and am not yet at the point in my process to do something like that, but it is my ultimate goal, the missing piece. Maybe I'll put a little building on that piece of land with some paintings in it. A painting temple. But this is a maybe; perhaps that's not necessary at all. It would be nice if that piece of nature is simply nature without a nameplate or stamp. Although I can imagine that at the end of the journey, when you've had the chance to grow old well, you can create very special paintings. I'll have to see what happens, but I believe something like that will eventually happen.
You have a solo exhibition at Kersgallery in September. What can we expect?
For this show, I’m creating the series under warm wings, round eggs. There will be some paintings that belong to that series and some new works in which I further reflect on the colour red. The opening is on 13 September. Won’t you come see it?