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Hanne Hagenaars
The roundness of loss. Living as a round shape.
Introduction: Manuela Klerkx | Text: Hanne Hagenaars
Exhibition-maker and publicist Hanne Hagenaars, 63, has written a fascinating and touching book that combines a narrative about continuing life after the death of a loved one and art. It is not a sad or serious narrative about death (there is already so much written about that), but a testimony of what art can mean during the grieving process, or better yet, how art can shape sorrow, the feeling of ‘missing’. In fact, it is about everything that can arise after death in terms of love or the lack thereof. How do you go on living? The roundness of Loss (working title) is a beautiful travelogue about surviving a profound loss.
Hanne spoke with artists and wrote easily accessible, essay-like texts based on artworks. The book opens with the early death of her mother (Hanne was 18 at the time) and how she seemed to never have existed because there was no talk of her in their home. There were no photos in the house. So, what do you do then? This question made her curious about how artists experience and process grief and loss in their art. To find out, she spoke with them in their studios, wrote and emailed letters, and delved into all the topics that emerged in their work.
‘If you stop talking about someone, you lose your memories.
And if you don't live through your grief, it accumulates in your body and, in my experience,
you start processing it again in your 60s.’
De Volkskrant, 25 July 2023, in a conversation with Karolien Knols
In her book The roundness of loss (such a beautiful title), Hanne shares her encounters with around 30 artists. She learned that artists with a non-Western background are much more concerned with the unnameable, the spiritual, which made her – a non-believer – less doubtful about what exists beyond this earthly life. She also observed that with every creative process, whether you're an artist or not, you can bring the deceased closer. As a means of remembrance, she made miniature versions of her mother's clothing and then had them photographed (‘capturing’ is a more appropriate word in this context) by none other than Paul Kooiker. In addition to all the fantastic artworks in the book, memories of Hanne's mother also come to life through this approach.
‘When I ride my bike through the city and I see certain flowers, I feel my sister Aldi, I feel the loss. I will carry that loss with me for the rest of my life. And that's okay. I keep them with me, even though they're gone.’
NRC, 16 August 2023, in a conversation with Lucette ter Borg
Meanwhile, Hanne has started on a new book entitled The roundness of loss, based on research into spirituality. Now it’s Hanne’s turn.
The roundness of loss. Living as a round shape.
I believe in spiritual and cosmic energy. Energy comes to you in a way you cannot explain. We are empty transmitters that receive cosmic energy. So I'm spiritual. A sense of humour is so important. The Dalai Lama always starts with a joke.' I read this in an interview with Marina Abramovic. While writing my book Missing as a round shape, it became very clear that the loss of a loved one is easier to bear when you feel that you are part of a larger whole, and when you believe in 'something'. The question of how to get closer to that intrigues me. What does life look like at that point? I often hear people say ‘I believe in nothing’, but nothing is quite meagre and frightening. Is there then an 'everything'? I look for examples of a spiritual life: contact with ancestors, Mother Earth, rituals. Not the church as an institution, but a personal belief in God can be good for a person.
Exhibition-maker and publicist Hanne Hagenaars, 63, has written a fascinating and touching book that combines a narrative about continuing life after the death of a loved one and art. It is not a sad or serious narrative about death (there is already so much written about that), but a testimony of what art can mean during the grieving process, or better yet, how art can shape sorrow, the feeling of ‘missing’. In fact, it is about everything that can arise after death in terms of love or the lack thereof. How do you go on living? The roundness of Loss (working title) is a beautiful travelogue about surviving a profound loss.
Hanne spoke with artists and wrote easily accessible, essay-like texts based on artworks. The book opens with the early death of her mother (Hanne was 18 at the time) and how she seemed to never have existed because there was no talk of her in their home. There were no photos in the house. So, what do you do then? This question made her curious about how artists experience and process grief and loss in their art. To find out, she spoke with them in their studios, wrote and emailed letters, and delved into all the topics that emerged in their work.
‘If you stop talking about someone, you lose your memories.
And if you don't live through your grief, it accumulates in your body and, in my experience,
you start processing it again in your 60s.’
De Volkskrant, 25 July 2023, in a conversation with Karolien Knols
In her book The roundness of loss (such a beautiful title), Hanne shares her encounters with around 30 artists. She learned that artists with a non-Western background are much more concerned with the unnameable, the spiritual, which made her – a non-believer – less doubtful about what exists beyond this earthly life. She also observed that with every creative process, whether you're an artist or not, you can bring the deceased closer. As a means of remembrance, she made miniature versions of her mother's clothing and then had them photographed (‘capturing’ is a more appropriate word in this context) by none other than Paul Kooiker. In addition to all the fantastic artworks in the book, memories of Hanne's mother also come to life through this approach.
‘When I ride my bike through the city and I see certain flowers, I feel my sister Aldi, I feel the loss. I will carry that loss with me for the rest of my life. And that's okay. I keep them with me, even though they're gone.’
NRC, 16 August 2023, in a conversation with Lucette ter Borg
Meanwhile, Hanne has started on a new book entitled The roundness of loss, based on research into spirituality. Now it’s Hanne’s turn.
The roundness of loss. Living as a round shape.
I believe in spiritual and cosmic energy. Energy comes to you in a way you cannot explain. We are empty transmitters that receive cosmic energy. So I'm spiritual. A sense of humour is so important. The Dalai Lama always starts with a joke.' I read this in an interview with Marina Abramovic. While writing my book Missing as a round shape, it became very clear that the loss of a loved one is easier to bear when you feel that you are part of a larger whole, and when you believe in 'something'. The question of how to get closer to that intrigues me. What does life look like at that point? I often hear people say ‘I believe in nothing’, but nothing is quite meagre and frightening. Is there then an 'everything'? I look for examples of a spiritual life: contact with ancestors, Mother Earth, rituals. Not the church as an institution, but a personal belief in God can be good for a person.
0 Éléments multimédias ᛫ 1 Oeuvres disponibles
1 Spectacles ᛫ 0 Points forts ᛫ 0 Recommandations
Sirine Fattouh, AKINCI
A perfectly shiny object lies in the artist's hand. Sirine Fattouh made these stony objects during sleepless nights and then poured them into brass, which she then plated with silver. The shiny surface reflects the hand – and perhaps also the sleepless face of the artist. This stone is like an ex-voto, an object that carries a plea within it, a request to God to heal an aspect of your life, to heal from that festering wound or to finally become pregnant. Please, give me sleep. The churches in Southern Europe are full of ex-votos.
A perfectly shiny object lies in the artist's hand. Sirine Fattouh made these stony objects during sleepless nights and then poured them into brass, which she then plated with silver. The shiny surface reflects the hand – and perhaps also the sleepless face of the artist. This stone is like an ex-voto, an object that carries a plea within it, a request to God to heal an aspect of your life, to heal from that festering wound or to finally become pregnant. Please, give me sleep. The churches in Southern Europe are full of ex-votos.
0 Éléments multimédias ᛫ 0 Oeuvres disponibles
1 Spectacles ᛫ 0 Points forts ᛫ 0 Recommandations
Agnes Waruguru, ROOF-A
In an intimate and ephemeral exhibition by Agnes Waruguru during the Open Studios of the Rijksacademie in 2023, I saw a small ensemble as a kind of footnote: a composition of two small drawings with flowers drawn in yellow, purple and blue together with a photograph of a girl in a blue and white polka dot dress sitting on the edge of her bed. I read these handwritten sentences:
Flowers for Thogori
Even when the body is no more
It will be back.
'I... I am still looking for you.'
This was unmistakably an in memoriam, a memorial for a beloved friend or family member. I emailed Agnes Waruguru to ask whether this ensemble is intended as an 'in memoriam'. And could she tell me more about it? She replied with an extensive email that began like this:
'In the past two years, I have been thinking about how to create spaces that are meditative and could hold space to encounter a spirit of someone past. I wanted to make a space that felt ephemeral but also grounding and calming. I asked many questions about how to represent an in-between space where a spirit might exist. The works can also be seen as an offering or invitation.'
Under a large canvas lie ceramic gourds entitled Ngomi, meaning 'the eternally sleeping ones'. In her grief, Agnes Waruguru tried to capture the voices of the deceased loved one in the everyday sounds around her. Those sounds found their destination in the round ceramic forms, the Grief capsules. The ensemble for Thogori is part of an oeuvre that breathes transience, a plea to live attentively and to let our lives flow like water.
In an intimate and ephemeral exhibition by Agnes Waruguru during the Open Studios of the Rijksacademie in 2023, I saw a small ensemble as a kind of footnote: a composition of two small drawings with flowers drawn in yellow, purple and blue together with a photograph of a girl in a blue and white polka dot dress sitting on the edge of her bed. I read these handwritten sentences:
Flowers for Thogori
Even when the body is no more
It will be back.
'I... I am still looking for you.'
This was unmistakably an in memoriam, a memorial for a beloved friend or family member. I emailed Agnes Waruguru to ask whether this ensemble is intended as an 'in memoriam'. And could she tell me more about it? She replied with an extensive email that began like this:
'In the past two years, I have been thinking about how to create spaces that are meditative and could hold space to encounter a spirit of someone past. I wanted to make a space that felt ephemeral but also grounding and calming. I asked many questions about how to represent an in-between space where a spirit might exist. The works can also be seen as an offering or invitation.'
Under a large canvas lie ceramic gourds entitled Ngomi, meaning 'the eternally sleeping ones'. In her grief, Agnes Waruguru tried to capture the voices of the deceased loved one in the everyday sounds around her. Those sounds found their destination in the round ceramic forms, the Grief capsules. The ensemble for Thogori is part of an oeuvre that breathes transience, a plea to live attentively and to let our lives flow like water.
0 Éléments multimédias ᛫ 14 Oeuvres disponibles
3 Spectacles ᛫ 0 Points forts ᛫ 0 Recommandations
Hans van Ham, Stigter Van Doesburg
Hans van Ham sees a parallel between ancient indigenous worldviews in which everything is animated and modern technology. He uses the term Humanoids for these newly amalgamated beings in his paintings. However, although new techniques breathe a sort of life into dead matter, such as with robots and A.I., it seems a pitch-black and perilous scenario.
This spring, hundreds of top executives from artificial intelligence companies warned of the risks of Artificial Intelligence. They even envision, in the grimmest scenario, the possibility of human extinction due to A.I. Drawing closer to Frankenstein and Dr. Godwin Baxter. Perhaps this is why the paintings are so dark. The procession of this new kind of humans is full of references to ancient myths and biblical stories (as indicated by titles such as Boatsman, Pantalone, or Jacob). The work Conspiracy Of The Supernaturals 2024 (Created) poses the question of who is actually creating: a God, or has humanity invented that God themselves, or have they now taken over the role of God? In the universe of the artist, this question burns brightly. In the matter of paint, the matter of humanity appears — a fragile human, who without animation, is left with nothing.
Hans van Ham sees a parallel between ancient indigenous worldviews in which everything is animated and modern technology. He uses the term Humanoids for these newly amalgamated beings in his paintings. However, although new techniques breathe a sort of life into dead matter, such as with robots and A.I., it seems a pitch-black and perilous scenario.
This spring, hundreds of top executives from artificial intelligence companies warned of the risks of Artificial Intelligence. They even envision, in the grimmest scenario, the possibility of human extinction due to A.I. Drawing closer to Frankenstein and Dr. Godwin Baxter. Perhaps this is why the paintings are so dark. The procession of this new kind of humans is full of references to ancient myths and biblical stories (as indicated by titles such as Boatsman, Pantalone, or Jacob). The work Conspiracy Of The Supernaturals 2024 (Created) poses the question of who is actually creating: a God, or has humanity invented that God themselves, or have they now taken over the role of God? In the universe of the artist, this question burns brightly. In the matter of paint, the matter of humanity appears — a fragile human, who without animation, is left with nothing.
0 Éléments multimédias ᛫ 0 Oeuvres disponibles
2 Spectacles ᛫ 0 Points forts ᛫ 0 Recommandations
Lies Kraal, Galerie Frank Taal
I have never seen Lies Kraal's work in real life and a small coloured square on the screen does not do it justice. Lies Kraal has been making abstract works her entire life, but there is little information available about her. Online, there is a short film in which she explains her work in her studio, a studio with a paradisiacal garden full of flowers, stones and tomato plants. Kraal strives for the simplest possible, minimal life in which every part is equally important. A match is lit and with the flame, she lights an incense stick. A long red monochrome hangs on the wall and two women meditate with their hands folded in front of that work, as if worshipping it. To the right is a television screen that surpasses the work in size. Sounds of birds and bells jingling in the wind. A full and rich life can play out on a small piece of land. 'Being one with the work and with everything else.' That's what her work testifies to. 'I want to do more with less. Seeing how much you can get out of one colour.'
I have never seen Lies Kraal's work in real life and a small coloured square on the screen does not do it justice. Lies Kraal has been making abstract works her entire life, but there is little information available about her. Online, there is a short film in which she explains her work in her studio, a studio with a paradisiacal garden full of flowers, stones and tomato plants. Kraal strives for the simplest possible, minimal life in which every part is equally important. A match is lit and with the flame, she lights an incense stick. A long red monochrome hangs on the wall and two women meditate with their hands folded in front of that work, as if worshipping it. To the right is a television screen that surpasses the work in size. Sounds of birds and bells jingling in the wind. A full and rich life can play out on a small piece of land. 'Being one with the work and with everything else.' That's what her work testifies to. 'I want to do more with less. Seeing how much you can get out of one colour.'
1 Éléments multimédias ᛫ 27 Oeuvres disponibles
6 Spectacles ᛫ 1 Points forts ᛫ 0 Recommandations
Maria Pask, Ellen de Bruijne Projects
'Let my heart enjoy your goodness.' Maria Pask seeks a healing and spiritual effect from her drawings and finds spirituality in faith. The drawings interpret images revealed by God, which are then translated through brushstrokes into something useful and beautiful. One of her examples is Emma Kunz: 'Yes, Emma Kunz. It's not so much a superficial aesthetic connection, even though I can relate to the repetition and vortexes, but it's more that I connect to her way of working, her life and her goals with her work. She wanted to make a document of her research and I see my work as a way to give me answers to life and to spiritual and philosophical questions (conundrums), or to put down on paper images/visions that I would describe as God given (channelling). She also used her drawings to help her patients. I am my own patient (!) trying to help my mental state with the patterns that help me understand behaviours/things happening in life, etc.'
'Let my heart enjoy your goodness.' Maria Pask seeks a healing and spiritual effect from her drawings and finds spirituality in faith. The drawings interpret images revealed by God, which are then translated through brushstrokes into something useful and beautiful. One of her examples is Emma Kunz: 'Yes, Emma Kunz. It's not so much a superficial aesthetic connection, even though I can relate to the repetition and vortexes, but it's more that I connect to her way of working, her life and her goals with her work. She wanted to make a document of her research and I see my work as a way to give me answers to life and to spiritual and philosophical questions (conundrums), or to put down on paper images/visions that I would describe as God given (channelling). She also used her drawings to help her patients. I am my own patient (!) trying to help my mental state with the patterns that help me understand behaviours/things happening in life, etc.'
1 Éléments multimédias ᛫ 6 Oeuvres disponibles
1 Spectacles ᛫ 0 Points forts ᛫ 0 Recommandations
Melanie Bonajo, Bradwolff & Partners / AKINCI
Immediately after graduating from art school, Melanie Bonajo wrote a 'Letter to the cosmos' that can best be described as an artist’s letter of credence. She also made a booklet with virtually transparent photos of a forest intended as an explanation of how we humans descend from plants. 'A central element in my work is the view that reality is based on a lie and that we must constantly test it,' she said in an interview in Metropolis M.
These two women remind me of two witches, with large round hats and blades of grass tied in front of their faces as if they were growing out of them. Modern witches seeking magic in nature. They also remind me of plague masks with their elongated bird-like noses. In the film Economy of Love, Bonajo shows sex workers who are proud of their profession and assert it as a powerful statement in our male-dominated society. Plague masks can be seen in the context of Economy of Love as protection that we need within the illusion of safety in human interaction and intimacy. So that same vulnerability that we as humans need is not without risk, as help from some sort of magic is virtually indispensable.
Immediately after graduating from art school, Melanie Bonajo wrote a 'Letter to the cosmos' that can best be described as an artist’s letter of credence. She also made a booklet with virtually transparent photos of a forest intended as an explanation of how we humans descend from plants. 'A central element in my work is the view that reality is based on a lie and that we must constantly test it,' she said in an interview in Metropolis M.
These two women remind me of two witches, with large round hats and blades of grass tied in front of their faces as if they were growing out of them. Modern witches seeking magic in nature. They also remind me of plague masks with their elongated bird-like noses. In the film Economy of Love, Bonajo shows sex workers who are proud of their profession and assert it as a powerful statement in our male-dominated society. Plague masks can be seen in the context of Economy of Love as protection that we need within the illusion of safety in human interaction and intimacy. So that same vulnerability that we as humans need is not without risk, as help from some sort of magic is virtually indispensable.
0 Éléments multimédias ᛫ 26 Oeuvres disponibles
6 Spectacles ᛫ 0 Points forts ᛫ 0 Recommandations
Dodi Espinosa, Galerie Fleur en Wouter
According to Espinosa, healing old wounds requires turning inward, going through the pain and gradually letting go of the past. Espinosa likes to use the term ‘shamanistic surgery’ for this process. He believes in the healing power of art, in the shamanic potential of art in healing wounds. That conviction forms the foundation of his practice, in which he uses himself as a test subject or example in order to create a universal work. This attitude requires utter honesty and great courage in entering the depths of darkness and being confronted with those things we would rather avoid. Espinosa's art aims to erase the stigma surrounding such dark things. His art believes in darkness as a means to arrive at light and living free. 'There is beauty in the darkest moments of life,' says Espinosa.
According to Espinosa, healing old wounds requires turning inward, going through the pain and gradually letting go of the past. Espinosa likes to use the term ‘shamanistic surgery’ for this process. He believes in the healing power of art, in the shamanic potential of art in healing wounds. That conviction forms the foundation of his practice, in which he uses himself as a test subject or example in order to create a universal work. This attitude requires utter honesty and great courage in entering the depths of darkness and being confronted with those things we would rather avoid. Espinosa's art aims to erase the stigma surrounding such dark things. His art believes in darkness as a means to arrive at light and living free. 'There is beauty in the darkest moments of life,' says Espinosa.
0 Éléments multimédias ᛫ 11 Oeuvres disponibles
2 Spectacles ᛫ 0 Points forts ᛫ 0 Recommandations
Rob Johannesma, gallery andriesse~eyck
Perhaps spirituality is as simple as focused living. In that case, I would love a work by Rob Johannesma to look at endlessly and intently. His exhibition at andriesse~eyck gallery, entitled Nine Elegies, consists of a Dutch palindrome (nine) and anagram (elegy: buttercup yellow). But elegy also refers to an 'in memoriam', lament or dirge. The soft layers of tempera are matte and powdery, depicting a landscape, cosmos or detailed view of a piece of land if you look closely. A view. The paintings are described as ‘meditations on painting in its most elementary form, colour and paint’. But I can lose myself in them, and find truth.
Perhaps spirituality is as simple as focused living. In that case, I would love a work by Rob Johannesma to look at endlessly and intently. His exhibition at andriesse~eyck gallery, entitled Nine Elegies, consists of a Dutch palindrome (nine) and anagram (elegy: buttercup yellow). But elegy also refers to an 'in memoriam', lament or dirge. The soft layers of tempera are matte and powdery, depicting a landscape, cosmos or detailed view of a piece of land if you look closely. A view. The paintings are described as ‘meditations on painting in its most elementary form, colour and paint’. But I can lose myself in them, and find truth.