26 september 2023, Wouter van den Eijkel
The studio of... Frans Klerkx
Frans Klerkx had drawn and painted his entire life, but the death of his wife prompted him to start working abstractly and sculpturally. At the age of 65, he became what he had always dreamed of becoming since childhood: a sculptor. Over the past 26 years, he has been making 'foldings', paper models with only the basic geometric shapes of a triangle, square and circle. A number of these, together with work by Alexandra Roozen and Ine Vermee, can now be seen at Coppejans Gallery in Antwerp.
Klerkx’s studio is located in Milsbeek and he personally lives and works according to the principles of Zen Buddhism, which he understands as a search for one's own being and the essence of things. “Isn't making autonomous art exactly the same thing?”
Where is your studio and what does it look like?
My studio is in Milsbeek, a few kilometres from my hometown of Gennep (North Limburg). It used to be the studio of a good friend of mine, the sculptor Wim Klabbers. When he died, his wife asked if I would like to take over his studio. Wim worked with iron and copper – his studio was originally a forge – which was noticeable in, among other things, the heavily smoked walls, which are now white again. The studio has beautiful high walls and a large window with French doors overlooking a spacious garden where my steel sculptures are now located.
What is a typical day in your studio?
My day starts early at around 7 am with a cold shower and light breakfast with coffee, followed by 25 minutes of meditation. All day long, there are images in my head that ask for – or rather demand – execution. Kandinsky referred to this as 'the inner urge'. I spend most of my day designing new images, updating my diary (which I have kept for over 40 years), reading, socialising and walking.
Frans Klerkx, FK_210619, 2019, COPPEJANS GALLERY
A number of abstract, folded works of yours are currently on display at Coppejans Gallery in Antwerp. You started making these three-dimensional works quite late in your career, before which you created paintings and drawings. What brought about this change?
I have literally drawn and painted my entire life. In the 80s, I made the transition from figurative to non-figurative. The death of my wife Adje in 1997 at the age of 62, when I was 65, prompted a radical change in my work. I had set myself the task of designing a grave for both of us and in this way, could put my first love, sculpture, into practice. That was the start of my artistic career as a sculptor.
Each image starts with an A4 sheet of paper that I then start folding. In the case of the grave, I folded both long sides in such a way that a burial mound was created. I then cut a human figure out of the paper, which I positioned at a lower level. The geometry and fold are the essential elements of my work. The fold is functional insofar as the image derives its autonomy from it. I like to have my paper models made on a large scale – preferably in Corten steel. With the grave, I had the human figure covered in copper. As a posthumous gift from my wife, I discovered the beauty and countless possibilities of the fold and thus my sculpting technique, which actually consists of a three-dimensional application of the flat surface by utilising the cut and fold.
Do you still make figurative work or is that history?
That is now history. For centuries, figurative images like frogs and cranes have been folded in Japan using the origami technique. My images are also folded from paper, but are purely abstract and the result of a personal search for a unique form language.
Can you briefly explain how you work?
All of my 'foldings' feature the basic shapes of geometry: triangle, quadrilateral and circle. A white sheet of paper, scissors or a knife, a pencil and a ruler are my working materials. I use as much of the initial form chosen as possible, so I remove as little as possible and add nothing.
Frans Klerkx, 'vouwsel', COPPEJANS GALLERY
The paper works that are now on display can also be produced in large format, such as the six-metre-high, three-element sculpture Landmark Gennep West in your hometown of Gennep. Do you prefer the paper models or Corten steel version or do you not have a preference??
I have a slight preference for the Corten steel versions because they can also be used as independent images. My paper models have the advantage that they can be made in various sizes and materials, both indoors and outdoors. Many designs lend themselves well to monumental implementation and Corten steel is my preferred material. This rust-coloured, dead, ancient matter contrasts beautifully with living and ever changing nature.
I understood that you live according to the rules of Zen Buddhism. Are there similarities between these rules of life and making art?
Zen – Ch'an in Chinese – is closely related to naturalistic Taoism and fits in well with the Japanese ideal of beauty from the 12th and 13th centuries, which focused on style elements such as direct simplicity and spiritual freedom. There are indeed many similarities between Zen precepts and making art. To name a few:
• For a Zen Buddhist, The Life of the Mind (Title of book by Hannah Arendt) is essential. Doesn't the same apply to the artist who has to reconcile matter and spirit?
• Discipline plays a major role in Zen Buddhism. Can the artist do without it? In my opinion, a Zen man/woman does not have to be 'egoless', but must have 'less ego'.
• In his/her artistry it is not he or she, but the work of art that should play the leading role.
• In the Zen lifestyle one searches for one's own being and the essence of things. Isn't that exactly the same when making autonomous art?
• Finally, together with philosophers and spiritual leaders, artists play a very important role as representatives of 'The Life of the Spirit', in society that knows materialism and consumerism.
One of the principles of Zen Buddhism is self-realisation. In terms of your own work, have you succeeded?
Carl Jung once said, “The privilege of a lifetime is to become who you truly are.” By living to be as old as I am – I am now 91 – I have had the privilege of realising the dream of my youth, namely to become a sculptor. I cannot help but feel that I have become who I truly am.
If given carte blanche, which of your paper works would you immediately have executed in steel and where would you like to place the work?
I would choose the statue Cercle et Carré (031116), which I would place in the spacious park on the edge of my native village of Mill (North Brabant) that connects the village with Aldendriel Castle. I have fond memories of that castle with the moat, where I skated as a child. When I was 11 years old, my father took me to that castle, where the only sculptor in our village, the erudite artist Manus Evers, lived and worked. The castle was dilapidated at the time and Manus occupied the only room that remained somewhat dry when it rained. I was deeply impressed by the stacks of books – mostly art books – photos, paintings and countless other objects that made the spacious room feel small. In the courtyard were 14 large limestone blocks that were to be transformed by Manus into the 14 stations of the Way of the Cross. I don't remember anything about the conversation. By the way, I couldn't say a word because I was so deeply under the impression of what I was seeing there. When I got home that evening, I knew for sure: I wanted to become a sculptor. For me, the sculpture Cercle et Carré reflects all those feelings of gratitude and wonder in a non-figurative way.
Frans Klerkx, Cercle et Carré, 2016, COPPEJANS GALLERY
