JOE RICHARDS 14/06/2025 JOE RICHARDS 14/06/2025

112. JIAQI LIAO: A SPACE BETWEEN BODY AND CLAY.

The artist contemplates a personal process of expression…

Jiaqi Liao, ‘Scratching’, Foam clay, Mannequin. March 2024. Image courtesy of the artist.

‘I was obsessed with playing with clay impulsively long before I committed to it as a material. I knew I had a connection when I first touched it. Over time, it became a foreboding presence. Years later, when I studied this obsession more deeply, I began to understand how it intertwined with my exploration of the subconscious and unconscious. The material is incredibly honest.’ J.L.

1. The first time I saw your work, I think was a sculpture which involved feathers - there was a sense of dormancy, and also I was interested in the feeling of life and death - a particular feeling of physically being close to an object which felt incredibly exotic - physically exotic…

I appreciate the words you chose to describe the feeling, which genuinely resonate with my reflection. The feather sculpture, titled Eyes Closed, Wind Roaring Through the Body, reflects on the perspective of time being suspended: the sound in stillness, the tension within the softest state, the violence of the deepest openness in the heart... Yes, and the life and death. I think of the sky burial ceremony on the plateau of Tibet when I was creating the work. How does a state of life transition into another form of being, one with an enormous capacity for compassion?

On a more micro level, our thoughts, conscious ideas, and unconscious gestures go through life and death every minute and second. The purpose of making the sculpture was also an automatic gesture to suspend and materialise those fleeting sensual moments in the body. Fashion is about the body. But the body is not only about the exterior—what about the internal?

As we become secure enough to step into the unfamiliarity of the unconscious, we may reach those existences that dwell in our bodies but that we've never seen. Like an old man sitting there whom you've never met in real life, but he smiles at you and says, “I have waited for you for so long.”

Thank you for the words physically exotic. The sculpture explores unfamiliar mental territory.

2. The series of images in which liquids seem to be whipped to a state where they become near solid are fascinating…

Moist clay has such an intimate interaction with skin; it captures shapes and movements. How wonderful! And we can almost sense the memory of those moments just by seeing how the clay casts them. It is an accurate imprint of the fingers’ touch. The material becomes our teacher — we learn so much of the unknown from it. When I’m touching clay, I’m learning my own movements and gestures.

3. Your use of materials feels very connected to metaphor - is this intentional?

The body is very honest. I was obsessed with playing with clay impulsively long before I committed to it as a material. I knew I had a connection when I first touched it. Over time, it became a foreboding presence. Years later, when I studied this obsession more deeply, I began to understand how it intertwined with my exploration of the subconscious and unconscious. The material is incredibly honest.

So, I’d say it’s intentional — and also not. I didn’t deliberately seek a metaphor, but certain connections began to emerge naturally. The softness of feathers, the vulnerability of our subconscious, the rawness of clay, and the intimacy of leather… perhaps there are many more hidden connections in the things that move us.

4. The works using mannequins and the human body are very intriguing…

Mannequins have a special intimacy with every dressmaker—they are the canvas of a body. Glorious moments begin from them. I want to keep my sculpting gestures engaged with this preliminary state. The clumsiness and rawness of clay create a fascinating contrast on a polished mannequin. I set aside wearability for a while, allowing fleeting sensual experiences to happen on the exterior of the body.

On real flesh, it evokes even more conversation. Moist clay allows hands to leave fingerprints on the skin. The shape and texture of human skin shift—but that’s the natural cycle of the flesh. The narrative of clay exaggerates this for us to see. And again, it is the clay teaching us — reminding us of sensations we’ve begun to ignore.

5. What are your signals for change?

To feel is to change. Every moment that tickles is a signal for change. And so is everything that no longer does.

JIAQI LIAO

With thanks to Zowie Broach and Royal College of Art Fashion MA programme.

JOE RICHARDS 08/06/2025 JOE RICHARDS 08/06/2025

111. HRAIR SARKISSIAN: A SPACE BETWEEN RESIDUE AND RESOURCE.

Finding My Blue Sky, Lisson Gallery - LONDON.

Hrair Sarkissian, Residue, 2019, Acylic. 193.5 × 113 × 6cm. Image by Junzhe Yang for M-A (A SPACE BETWEEN).

Hrair Sarkissian's 'Residue' stands as a roughly hewn plaque in what at first appears to be a piece of shrink-wrapped glass, its surface veined with a removable, protective cellophane - a surface, opalescent and shimmering in the sunlight. A surface surely protecting a precious ancient artefact, however, the work is fashioned from moulded acrylic and originates from 2019, momentarily fooling the viewer and provoking a fractured stream of consciousness to try to imagine what informed a work whose title suggests the remains of an event not in view but implied.

To seemingly wrap a surface is not new within the history of art, an act utilised by Christo, whose wrapping of objects and architectural forms fetishises space. Further back, the swathes of cloth wrapping bodies became a mainstay for Renaissance portraiture, and yet Residue implies the shrink-wrapped surface of a form less bodily and more ready-made, found on the shelves of a supermarket - a runkled texture which immediately implies cosmetic consumer culture. Continuing an obsessive conversation which fascinated art from Andy Warhol's production line of screen prints, to Jeff Koons' impressions of inflatables to Sun Yitian's photorealist portraits of mannequins.

Traces of previous periods can be sensed within Sarkissian's Residue, from the organic curvature of Art Nouveau and a minimalist Art Deco - the work depicts a naked young woman in profile, bobbed hair and choker jewellery link to 20th century Paris, and in turn relay back to reference of female slaves of the Ottoman seraglio era - a fashionable reference seen within European art in the 19th and 20th century. Famously referenced by René Lalique, whose interest in stylised mythological figures, hybridises art with design objects from perfume bottles to furniture. The influence of the subject's outstretched neck and pearlescent colour palette immediately connect to surrealist artists such as Dora Marr and Man Ray, who akin to Lalique, explored depictions of the body via ultra modern experimental means, embracing the developing technique of solarisation, a photographic treatment which reverses an image creating a halo-like effect, an effect which can result in both negative and positive qualities within the same image.

It seems near impossible not to make a comparison to Man Ray’s infamous portrait of Lee Miller made in 1930, which supposedly ended the artists' collaborative and romantic relationship due to Ray's reaction to Miller's insistence that the ownership of the image be shared and not controlled by Ray. Man Ray's resistance and response resulted in a painting of a still life of objects, including a gloved hand holding a razor blade beneath Miller's slashed neck. Sarkissian's provoking work continues Miller's fractured argument of ownership and positioning.

Akin to Ron Mueck's 'En Garde', a seven-foot-high installation of a pack of dogs intimidating and snarling, the audience knows that they are not real, however, the work performs a physical metaphor to consider and witness.

Could we also view Residue as a three-dimensional conversation prompt?- historically referred to as 'object dialogue', a work created for contemplating an unresolved series of questions, through discussion and interpretation. A provocative presence, more a residual comment on what is left in front, not what is left behind?

The works form a returning echo to that of Masaomi Yasunaga, also presented at Lisson Gallery, back in 2023. The Japanese artist's work appears as fragmented archaeological artefacts, seemingly ancient and yet made within the modern era. When viewed from a distance, Yasunaga's trove of vessels impresses and remind of characterful silhouettes which mimic the prowess of their original reference and yet through the artists hands, these ceramic-less vessels held together with stones, mosaic tiles and glaze alone testify to the fragility of time - a sense of the ancient and the impending all at once.

Sarkissian continues this visual conversation, the works irregular silhouette appears to be gouged, even chipped away from a previous surface, memories informed by the plinths on display within the collection of The British Museum or The Louvre - decorative works of plaster or stone historically extracted from their country of origin - permanently defacing the original site specific original, creating a fractured reframing - a boarder where an image becomes viewed out of context from its original purpose. For example, a frieze, now viewed as a singular section, often from sacred sites, as tombs and religious spaces. Physically heavy, now metaphorically weighted with further meaning of possible imminent replacement...As global conversations continue to increase to return these elements to their original locations, whereby these jig-saw like pieces would fit back within the spaces from which they were originally taken, forever to be scarred with the trauma lines of extraction.

Sarkissian's Residue further explores this notion, the hacked portrait of an unknown subject appears severed, provoking the viewer to wonder what the rest of the freeze may have looked like, why is the subject turned in profile? Presented not fixed to a wall, but viewed on a plinth and so offering the onlooker multiple angles to choose from, further contributing to a perplexing sense of benign confusion.

By proposing a work which is in a permanent state of being wrapped - fascinates - prompting an idea of a continuing state of potential and in so doing changes the sense of ownership. From the vacuum-packed product whose airtight wrapper normally denotes timescale with best-before-date on organic products... Sarkissian's Residue implies a new status, a new state of optimism, that box fresh equates to resale potential, just be careful not to break the surface.

“I try to engage the viewer into a more profound reading of what lies behind the surface, thereby re-evaluating larger historical or social narratives.” Hrair Sarkissian.

Hrair Sarkissian Lisson Gallery, Finding My Blue Sky, Curated by Dr. Omar Kholeif, 67 Lisson Street, Until 26 July 2025.

Photographed by Junzhe Yang.

With thanks to Louise Hayward and Lisson Gallery, London.

JOE RICHARDS 31/05/2025 JOE RICHARDS 31/05/2025

110: TEGA AKPOKONA: A SPACE BETWEEN DETERMINATION AND SPONTANEITY.

As with his paintings, where brushwork breaks through layers of detail caught between states, so too does an artist in motion, discovering and witnessing their own signals of change. Tega Akpokona contemplates the evolution of his own voice.

Tega Akpokona, ‘Maquette sketch and shadow installation 2, paper and tape binders,2024. Image courtesy of the artist.

‘I’m convinced that language itself is born from a peculiar human need to understand, and to be thoroughly understood…

…I was using my work as a unit for understanding the language of ‘masses’ and the concept of “mass character” - an observed phenomenon within African people that dictates a predisposition to spontaneously respond in mass mobilization; where the mass identity takes prominence over individual determination.’ T.A.

The first time I saw and was aware of your work, I think was seeing some studies for paintings that you had made on tiles and I was immediately captivated - and then I remember seeing your maquettes via zoom for figurative paintings - again I felt that this was a new language…

I remember quite well the genuineness that I could sense from your non-verbal response and the simplicity in the depth of your feedback as being an important marker for me, especially at the early stage of the programme, unpacking new information and concepts to develop a better understanding of my work. At the time I was using my work as a unit for understanding the language of ‘masses’ and the concept of “mass character”- an observed phenomenon within African people that dictates a predisposition to spontaneously respond in mass mobilization; where the mass identity takes prominence over individual determination.

I drew references from archives of historical and contemporary political happenings where this peculiar character has been exhibited, highlighting the recent series of political protests and riots that happened in Lagos, which spread across Nigeria in a ripple effect. I wanted my work to provide the audience with a sense of being led by hand through the chaos, and to engage empathetically with the subject matter. To effectively achieve this I felt the urge to explore the potential for painting in an expanded context and present a more immersive experience. It was while engaging in a task of experimenting and quick making with sketch models using discarded material and paper that the ideas emerged to restage scenes of the riots and candle light processions on a more intimate scale. This new direction would provide a fresh lens for me to view my prospective painting compositions from new dimensions. I’m convinced that language itself is born from a peculiar human need to understand, and to be thoroughly understood.

Tega Akpokona, ‘Study (in reverence for life)’, Ink and gouache on paper. 2024. Adjacent page: Alma Stritt, ‘haven’t been home for a while.’ 05.05.24. M-A (A SPACE BETWEEN) issue 4, published May 2025. Still Life image: Harry Nathan.

Within the new M-A (A SPACE BETWEEN) there are three artists who are depicting Lagos, Joy Julius, Daniel Obasi and yourself, all in very different ways and yet there is a physicality in the use of movement which is shared. Can you contemplate why you wanted to depict movement within your work?

An interesting aspect of living and making art in Lagos (one of the most densely populated and socially vibrant coastal cities on the continent) for me is that I subconsciously develop a peculiar adjustability to the constant movement (physically and metaphorically), while navigating societal factors that restrict movement. The feeling of tension and sense of urgency is near palpable, and this inevitably informs the decision-making process and conceptual framework of my work, especially when I depict socio-political themes. I understand from an African frame of reference that momentum and rhythm is an essential universal language, so when I make work, I’m conscious that the audience are innately drawn to interpreting the language of movement, just as importantly as finding resonance with the subject matter of the work. This priority for depicting movement and the ephemeral nature of time has informed the way I have developed my visual language and how I engage with materiality - from the use of gestural brushwork and directional mark making with the intent of guiding the eyes through the topography of the surface, to experimenting with painting on floor tiles (that I sourced from waste residues from building sites around the city, in response to the drastic move to modernize the city of Lagos). Developing a visual language to interpret and find resolve to the subject of movement is an essential part of my practice.

I remember a brief conversation we shared regarding the etchings of Goya, Which artists fascinate you?

Yes I recall comparing the honesty in storytelling and the absence of care for consequence in Goya’s later work as likened to a ‘confession from a dying witness’. His incredibly delicate technique and the level of dedication to truth and the depth to which he was willing to reveal his vision will always make Goya a revered reference point for artists working today in a time of intense systemic censorship. I’m reassured by the timeless impact of Goya’s oeuvre that the relentless pursuit of truth is the ultimate purpose and contribution of the artist. I’m inspired by Goya’s dedication to drawing. In the same light, Kathe Kollwitz is an artist whose work I hold in high reverence for mastery of technique; I’m fascinated by her ability to convey the tenderness of human emotions using lines. I’m particularly drawn to and fascinated by artists who found a way to develop a mastery of their technique that precisely communicates their vision of the world as they have experienced it, especially amidst turbulent times.

I think of your use of ochre, can you contemplate why you return to yellow within your painting?

On first contemplation, I can identify that spending my formative years within the tropical parts of Nigeria played a significant role in shaping my perception and appreciation for earth tones. The consistency of an all-year summer climate illuminating the hue of the natural environment certainly heightened my capacity to perceive warmth. A distinct and prominent feature of the sub-Saharan environment is the abundance of sandy soil, with its nuances of ochre tones. My interaction with this natural material would represent my earliest and essential imprint in the process of developing a relationship with colour and an organic bias for a colour range as I grew familiar with paint pigment. I’m also greatly inspired by the significance of ochre-based pigments in the history of painting and image making. From the way it was transformed in Egyptian iconography to depict the radiance of the skin, to its essential feature in the iconic works of master artists like Rembrandt. For me the use of ochre represents a very primal and familiar sombre visual language for telling human stories that resonates on an intrinsic level.

You are due to continue your studies in London later this year. What attracts you to this city?

The city of London has always been of fascination for me because of its unique significance to art history, vast museum infrastructure and a delicately balanced confluence of cultures. I feel instinctively optimistic about my upcoming learning experience alongside an inexhaustible array of talented individuals. I’m keen to engage my sensitivity to movement with the environment and community.

What are your signals for change?

The feeling of unease and dissatisfaction with the status quo is an ultimate signal for change, and I believe that identifying and responding to the urgency of these signs can serve as a dependable compass for the creative working today.

Tega Akpokona is a contributing artist to Issue 4 of M-A (A SPACE BETWEEN), available from maaspacebetween.com along with 18 stockists including The Serpentine bookshop, Magalleria, Jeu de Paume and Dover Street Market.

TEGA AKPOKONA

JOE RICHARDS 24/05/2025 JOE RICHARDS 24/05/2025

109. SUN YITIAN: A SPACE BETWEEN TRANSCIENCE AND TIMELESSNESS.

The depictions of objects within Sun Yitian’s paintings are not as they first appear… Placid figurines stare glacially while inflatables, taught to bursting, gently float within images saturated with a palette familiar from pop art - and yet digital bright with an exhausted melancholy of knowing, replacing any trace of innocence - If only these paintings could speak… The artist discusses personal influences and cultural significance.

Abridged Interview

Sun Yitian, Castle, 67 x 67 cm, Acrylic on canvas 2023.
Courtesy of Sun Yitian's Studio, BANK/MABSOCIETY and ESTHER SCHIPPER, Berlin/Paris/Seoul.

‘In the classical era, the life span of an object was longer than that of a human being, but in the modern era, the life span of an object is becoming shorter and shorter. I am fond of these fleeting objects produced on the assembly line, which were my childhood playmates and the imprint of my generation.’ S.Y.

There are many depictions of dolls within your work, why are you drawn back to this context?

您的作品中有许多关于玩偶的描绘，为什么您会被这种背景所吸引？

我出生在90年代的中国，那时候我们实行的是计划生育的政策，因此我的同代人大部分都是独生子女，家里并没有其他的兄弟姐妹可以一起玩耍。而90年代的中国也因为改革开放政策经济在不断地腾飞。我的家乡温州就是一个以制造业而闻名的城市。因此，我小时候经常会去朋友家里的工厂里面玩，而工厂里的流水线上有很多外地来的工人，他们没日没夜地干着活，工厂的陈列室里摆满了流水线上生产出来的玩具，眼镜，打火机，他们远销世界各地。作为独生子女，我经常一个人在家里和玩偶一起度过了很多父母不在家的时光。上大学的时候，机缘巧合地去了一次义乌，我惊讶于那些林林总总，充满时代感的造型、材质、配色和触感的小商品，便开始了我的“人造物”系列创作。古典时代，物的寿命比人要长，而进入现代，物的生命愈发短暂。我留恋这些流水线上生产出来的稍纵即逝的物品，它们是我童年的玩伴，也是这个时代的印记。

I was born in China in the 1990s, when during the nation’s family planning policy, so most of my generation were only children, without siblings to play with. In the 1990s, China's economy was taking off because of the reform and opening-up policy. My hometown, Wenzhou, is a city known for its manufacturing industry. Therefore, in my childhood, I would often play with my friend in her family's factory, and there were a lot of workers from out of town on the assembly line in the factory, who worked day and night. I used to see in the factory showroom many small goods produced on assembly lines, such as toys, glasses, lighters, which were later exported all over the world. As an only child, I spent a lot of time alone with dolls when my parents were not at home. When I was in college, I went to Yiwu by chance and was amazed by the variety of shapes, materials, colors, and tactile sensations of those small commodities, and then I began my series of creations of man-made objects. In the classical era, the life span of an object was longer than that of a human being, but in the modern era, the life span of an object is becoming shorter and shorter. I am fond of these fleeting objects produced on the assembly line, which were my childhood playmates and the imprint of my generation.

Your work has an extraordinary quality of immediate realism, which almost appears to be digital and yet these works are the opposite, they are painted by hand - this contradiction is fascinating, what do you feel the methods of your process contextually imply?

您的作品具有一种非凡的直接写实主义特质，几乎可以说是数字化的，然而这些作品却恰恰相反，它们是手工绘制的--这种矛盾令人着迷，您觉得您的创作方法在语境中意味着什么？

由于显示频幕的尺寸和显示效果，我的画在手机里看是像照片一样的写实，并且数字感很强。但是看我作品的实物，其实是存留了很多绘画的痕迹的，肌理，笔触，颜色的堆叠，我会把绘画的路径留一个小口给观众窥探。我希望用一种古典的方式去塑造一种当代的图像，而并不是用一种波普的方式去再现当下的图景。就像我更热衷于17世纪荷兰的静物画，在意画面的结构，颜色，以及物的隐喻。

Due to the size of the screen and the display effect, my paintings look like photo realistic in the phone and have a strong sense of digital effect. But when you look at my works in person, there are actually many traces of painting, texture, brush strokes, colour stacking, and I always leave a small window of the painting process for the viewer to peek into. My aim is to shape a contemporary image in a classical way, rather than reproducing the current image in a pop way. Just as I am more passionate about 17th century Dutch still life paintings, I care about the structure of the image, the colors, and the metaphors of the objects.

I find the emotion of your work to be fascinating, the high-octane palette and the lustrous surfaces and yet there seems to be so much melancholy - do you feel this? And if so can you express how you define emotion within your work?

我发现你作品中的情感非常迷人，高调的色调和光亮的表面，但似乎又有很多忧郁--你有这种感觉吗？如果是这样，您能表达一下您是如何在作品中定义情感的吗？

早期创作，我需要绝对的客观，我不希望带入任何个人的情感和叙事，这才能保持一种真正中立的状态。我其实希望将观看绘画的干扰因素都去除掉，只剩下一个非常冷静客观、甚至显得“沉默”的画面。

在去年巴黎的个展里，我突然对画面中的叙事性感兴趣，于是我在展览里用好几组画来串联起叙事线索。也就是说，我不希望叙事性在我单张的绘画中过多地呈现，因为有了叙事就很难避免情感的外露。如何在绘画中有节制地表达，是我目前阶段感兴趣的话题。

In my early works, absolute objectivity was a must; I didn't want to bring in any personal emotions or narratives in order to maintain a truly neutral expression. In fact, I wanted to exclude all distractions from viewing the painting and maintain a very calm, objective, even "silent" image.

In my solo exhibition in Paris last year, I showed my interest in narrative in painting in recent years. I used several groups of paintings in the exhibition to connect the narrative threads. In other words, I don't want to present too much narrative in a single painting, because with narrative it is difficult to avoid the exposure of emotion. How to express emotions in paintings in a restrained way is a topic I am interested in at this stage.

The act of painting, historically and still today seems to imply permanence, and yet your subject matter seems to return to references of the ephemeral, this contradiction is fascinating...

绘画行为，无论是在历史上还是在今天，似乎都意味着永恒，而你的主题似乎又回到了短暂的参照物上，这种矛盾令人着迷......

在古典时代，人在自然中降生与成长，而时至今日，我们在人造物的包围中醒来。物（Object）的扩张和膨胀让物的寿命变得愈发短暂，物总是处在一种不断升级/更新换代中。这是自18-19世纪初工业革命以来，生产力不断提高所带来的物的过剩。它是一种无法避免的趋势。而往往短暂的事物才令人着迷。用绘画的永恒去抵抗物的短暂。

Whereas in classical times people were born and raised in nature, today we wake up surrounded by artefacts. The expansion of objects has shortened their lifespan, and they are constantly being upgraded and renewed. This is the surplus of objects brought about by the increasing productivity since the Industrial Revolution of the 18th and early 19th centuries. It is an inevitable trend. The transience of things is fascinating. What fascinates me is the resistance of the transience of things with the timelessness of painting.

The full interview with Sun Yitian is published within issue 4 of M-A (A SPACE BETWEEN).

**Sun Yitian, A Tender Panther, Cropped - cover of M-A (A SPACE BETWEEN) Issue 4. Still life image: Harry Nathan.**
**Orignial work: 150 cm × 150 cm, Acrylic on canvas 2017. Courtesy of Sun Yitian's Studio, BANK/MABSOCIETY and ESTHER SCHIPPER, Berlin/Paris/Seoul.**

**Sun Yitian’s ‘Tender Panther’ on the cover of M-A (A SPACE BETWEEN) Issue 4 - sold at Dover Street Market, Haymarket London, 15 May 2025.**

Sun Yitian is a contributing artist to the 4th issue of M-A (A SPACE BETWEEN) available now.

Sun Yitian, Romantic Room - Ester Schipper, Berlin. Until 31 May, 2025.

Thank you Haihai at studio Sun Yitian, Ester Schipper and Zhonghua Sui.

JOE RICHARDS 05/05/2025 JOE RICHARDS 05/05/2025

108. DO HO SUH - A SPACE BETWEEN OCCUPANCY AND OPACITY.

Walk The House, Tate Modern - LONDON.

Do Ho Suh, *Staircase,* 2016. Gelatine tissue and thread embedded in paper, 355 × 229 cm. © Do Ho Suh, courtesy Lehmann Maupin Gallery, New York, London and Seoul and Victoria Miro. Private Collection.

To enter a house that Do Ho Suh built or rather stitched, papered or drew, is to return to a time which exists in all of us, a time often long forgotten - a time which does not tick forward, rather it moves as clouds drift, a bruise develops or a crayon glides on the promise that there is always another sheet of paper.

A time which is returned to in a flash, within the subconscious layers of a dream, triggering a memory only to be forgotten on waking.

Empty rooms are viewed as if for the first and last time simultaneously, reminding of the beginning or end of a period of occupancy. Fire extinguishers and telephones rest translucently in their domestic positions, these replicas crisply defy reality. Familiar and yet as a shed snake skin, moulted to transience - imply a state change - a reminder that nothing lasts forever.

And so to the opacity of his organza choices - choosing predominantly materials which defuse light as so to appear metaphorically cloudy, veiled or in dilution from a concentrate - within a period of evolution or ceremonial processing. Sensed within the sheer layers which form a protective membrane to a world outside these tender walls, tinted as a windscreen's shield which dims a reality. These spaces appear as temporal time capsules - amorphous as bodily sacs - the original home, within which every being grows, fragile as a protective skin before the labour of birth. Where colours are neon against the brightest whites of clinical lights. Are we guests within these homes of time, or are we, in fact, the cells that construct them and the landscapes and elements that allow for their existence?

Within these translucent layers, which at times are positioned over one another, forming colour combinations, indicating possible overlaps of experience, indefinable when viewed or lived from within and yet more condensed when seen from afar. As with life, when, so often, the future is indeterminate and yet the past can seem more specific - more linear. As to touch the rings of a severed tree, imagining the storms and summers of growth which permeate to pattern indelibly. To see the defined stratum within sedimentary rock - beautiful and yet created under extreme pressure and conditions over millennia.

A staircase severed from the ceiling to fall silently, as lightly as a shadow, as heavy as a broken heart.

The clatter of this personal demolition - speechless as to crumble to rubble - changing states from ergonomic to sediment in one momentary motion - watching in a state of shock, where the senses are heightened to see within bleeding disbelief, unable to hear the cacophony of change of such unthinkable permanence.

The gossamer drawings which present a luminous state of surrender - fascinate for their vulnerability - created as if by chance - caught moments - portraits of the familiar re positioned as deflated remains - evidential and flailed - Not with the humiliation of Oldenburg - or the bravado of Koons - but the anti ego of a pressed flower within the pages of a diary, kept in solemn remembrance. These ephemal fleetings bear witness to a state of realisation - the artists preserved reflections embedded lifesize as to overwhelm still further - raw and fibrous in their loud silence.

**Do Ho Suh, Perfect Home, 2024 (Detail). Photography by Jeon Taeg Su. Courtesy of the artist. © Do Ho Suh.**

Do Ho Suh Walk The House - Tate Modern: 1st May - 19 October 2025.

With thanks to Perry Stewart and Dr. Kyung Hwa Shon.

JOE RICHARDS 26/04/2025 JOE RICHARDS 26/04/2025

107. ASHUTOSH MITTAL: A SPACE BETWEEN DISTANCE AND DEVOTION.

PREVIEW: M-A (A SPACE BETWEEN) ISSUE 4 RELEASED MAY 2025.

Ashutosh Mittal, ‘A Brief Conversation’ (section) 0.05 Micron pen on paper, 2022-2023. Started in Khurja, completed in London. M-A (A SPACE BETWEEN) issue 4, still life image: Harry Nathan.

‘Historically, India has undergone enormous changes as a result of invaders and colonisers who attempted everything to destabilise our country’s foundation, but we managed to maintain our ideals resolutely. And craft, weaving, and architecture are some of the best instances of how our ancestors managed to preserve this knowledge, which today’s generation enjoys without even realising and appreciating. And I believe it’s my duty to honour this knowledge.’ A.M.

The first work I remember seeing by you was a surprise, it still surprises me when I think about it - you said you had been working on a large drawing and you unrolled a huge scroll of paper which was near completely covered in thousands and thousands of tiny lines, I could not believe this. Please, can you introduce this work?

This is the second frame from my continuing project, Sounds of Brij. My work is an expression of time and energy, rooted in ancient Indian sites and their surroundings. Brij is a region in India that is historically, religiously, and spiritually significant. I’ve been drawn to this region since childhood as it offers a glimpse of old India’s beauty. Despite the fact that the space was destroyed by invaders, this work follows the spirit of these spaces by mapping architecture, rituals, sounds, people, and everything concrete and intangible that one might perceive being in that space.

Ashutosh Mittal, ‘A Brief Conversation’ (section) 0.05 Micron pen on paper, 2022-2023. Started in Khurja, completed in London.

Looking at your drawings, even for a moment, the sense of atmosphere is very specific - they seem to envelope the viewer and also there is a sense of flying overhead of a landscape somehow…

There is an element of sacredness when I engage with my practice. I attempt to follow the same rules as one would if he/she/they visit a temple. This is because I envision my works as living bodies, bearing the same energy that I felt in the holy sites I visited. During documentation, I aim to capture one site several times a day to observe how the environment changes with the changing natural light. As a result, one will notice differences in the spacing between two lines, as well as the intersection of numerous hues, and how they elicit diverse emotions. I regard my work as the creation of diverse environments, and I strive to capture the energy of the holy spaces. As a result, the work takes on a landscape-like quality.

Within the new issue of M-A, I conclude the issue around the sense of the granular, almost as a pixel and yet made by human hand… more cellular - I was finding some highly specific examples of how artists are using mark making which feels micro and also macro - to be viewed from a distance - can you contemplate on the idea of zooming in and out, on the idea of viewing work physically from different angles and what that means to you

*There is a sense of granularity in my work, which stems from the way Indian embroideries are done. If one would observe Indian embroideries, they would sense the same granular effect, nearly like pixels when zoomed in — I use the embroidery approach in my practice, the only difference is the material. An embroider uses a needle and thread (traditional medium), whereas I use a 0.05 micron pen (non-traditional medium).

I’m constantly fascinated by the concept of distance — our experience of walking on earth differs from our experience of seeing it from space. Walking on earth would seem like a never-ending journey, whereas from space it appears to be a little ball. I’m fascinated by the idea of how distance may alter our perception of a certain thing. I strive to incorporate this element into my work — from a distance, my work appears to be some form of gradation, but as you go closer, you will sense the vastness inside the frame. My work will seem different each time you rotate it. The vibrations will alter because the lines produce an intensity that, when rotated, causes the epicentre of gravity inside the drawing to change altogether.

As an Indian person, I know you are aware of how your own culture is changing fast and yet you are very interested in the ancient, the craft, the hand, can you explore why this is?

Indeed, there is a stream of changes going on right now, but deep down, we still adhere to our conventions and traditions. Historically, India has undergone enormous changes as a result of invaders and colonisers who attempted everything to destabilise our country’s foundation, but we managed to maintain our ideals resolutely. And craft, weaving, and architecture are some of the best instances of how our ancestors managed to preserve this knowledge, which today’s generation enjoys without even realising and appreciating. And I believe it’s my duty to honour this knowledge. That is why documenting, archiving and trying to preserve what's available and extending my research through new mediums and interventions are important steps in the process.

What are your signals for change?

I firmly believe my art practice is my devotion to the divine and whenever I consider change, I am reminded of Sadhguru's words:- “True devotion means becoming the hand of the Divine. Whatever comes your way, you will know how to transform it into something beautiful.” Mindful changes are necessary, but I am not scared to go back if they jeopardise my underlying ideals and devotion.

ASHUTOSH MITTAL

Ashutosh Mittal is a contributing artist to issue 4 of M-A (A SPACE BETWEEN). Released in May 2025, London.

JOE RICHARDS 20/04/2025 JOE RICHARDS 20/04/2025

106. SAM JAMIESON: A SPACE BETWEEN SUNSET AND SUNRISE.

Lilli Chambers & Lou Pennington, photographed by Samuel Jamieson, London 2021. Published within M-A (A SPACE BETWEEN) issue 1 © 2021. Still Life image: Harry Nathan.

‘I have to remind myself that change is inevitable and I try to listen to my gut to know when to move with the change and when to challenge it.’ S.J.

I remember the first work I saw which you had made - a film of you dancing at dawn, please can you introduce that work and how it informed your practice?

I created that piece at a time when I was trying to distill the core elements of what my practice is and the way in which I approach design. I was trying to capture feeling over product. It was a film of me dancing at sunrise in the heath. I was trying to approach themes of sexuality and nightlife; the feelings it embodies, as well as the contradictions which inform the sublime within it. Things being stripped back and warm but also cold in the morning dew. The ecstasy of music but also the quietness of an internal experience with oneself. Those moments of tension and contradiction as well as harmony are places that I continue to look towards within my practice.

The physicality of space is something you explored and returned to a lot within your work, a particular atmosphere which feels somehow to surround you… can you contemplate what that space means to you and where does it exist?

For me the space is totally informed by bodies. A lot of my fascination around this subject comes from my community and the interventions that they apply to a space in order to give power and meaning. I'm excited by how space can be changed and reimagined.

The images you made for the first issue of M-A were incredibly intimate, they remain charged with emotion which again feels very specific to you and a specific time and yet they also could be from so many different times… do you feel that you connect to a particular feeling and a particular question while working with image?

Honesty is the main thing. I think the moments that feel the most authentic in life are those that feel both delicate and rough. Trying to understand that quality is really exciting and frustrating but I think when it is achieved, it creates the images that I appreciate most from other artists.

Your work with denim is also highly specific and yet is evolving... What is it about denim that interests you?

Its ability to hold history, both visually through the memory of the indigo dye - starting flat and then becoming its own personality, but also its historical context within counterculture. I like how there feels like there's an element of letting go within the washing process and allowing accidents to occur, and I love the way in which it sometimes feels dismissed as common or mundane when put up against other materials, but the value comes from the way in which someone lives in it.

What are your signals for change?

I often think of 'Parables of the Sower' by Octavia E. Butler when it comes to change. In it her protagonist writes:

"All that you touch

You Change.

All that you Change

Changes you.

The only lasting truth

is Change.

God is Change."

I have to remind myself that change is inevitable and I try to listen to my gut to know when to move with the change and when to challenge it.

SAM JAMIESON

JOE RICHARDS 12/04/2025 JOE RICHARDS 12/04/2025

105. ABI JOY SAMUEL: A SPACE BETWEEN VISIBILITY AND INVISIBILITY.

PREVIEW: M-A (A SPACE BETWEEN) ISSUE 4 RELEASED MAY 2025.

Abi Joy Samuel, ‘Abandoned Shirt/Intergenerational Trauma’, 26 May 2024.

‘My work speaks to those who are silenced. It doesn’t just document these objects; it creates a space where they are forced into view, where they stand in contrast to their usual silence, much like the silence I often feel when trying to navigate these complex layers of identity and history’ A.J.S.

The first time we discussed your work, I think was in a tutorial and I saw the photographs which are in the next issue of M-A and I was amazed at how ancient they appeared, like statues but in fact were of a shirt tied to a lamppost?

I think I’m trying to hold time still.

When I was ten, I went to an exhibition at the Science Museum about the Titanic. They’d pulled thousands of artefacts from the wreck—preserved through the 4km fall to the seabed. I remember a jar of olives—still sealed, still green. A bottle of wine. A pair of shoes. A comb. I remember staring at it and somehow feeling the long hair of a woman running through its teeth. All of it underwater for a hundred years. I didn’t understand how that was possible, but I remember the feeling. Like time could fold in on itself.

That stayed with me—the idea that the past isn’t gone. It’s just... somewhere else. Waiting.

I remember feeling the same way when I saw images of Auschwitz for the first time—the thousands of shoes and clothes. The trauma of Jewish history is frozen in my body. I believe a lot of things are frozen in my body. I suspect I carry my mother’s trauma too.

I was a happy child. But when I started making art, sometimes what came out was very dark. I think what I’m trying to say is: intergenerational trauma can feel like something is frozen in time. That can be painful, but also—at times—sublime.

My experience is incredibly specific. I have siblings who share similar histories, but mine feels singular—something I carry alone. And because it happened before I had language, it can be hard to name or talk about.

So the work becomes full of small things that find me on the streets. There’s a kind of child-like simplicity to this ready-made approach. A shirt tied to a post. A mark on a wall. Someone else might walk past and not notice. But for me, they’re full of meaning. It’s like I’m noticing myself. The shirt becomes a ghost, its folds set by time. It reminds me of the timeless quality of 18th-century sculptures of veiled women—that illusion of softness carved into stone. Time, suspended. It becomes sacred.

I don’t stage much. I notice. I wait. I frame.

There’s always a tension between disappearance and presence. I’m drawn to things that might be gone tomorrow. That feel like they belong to someone else — or to everyone. I photograph them not just to keep them, but to ask what they mean. To me. To whoever is looking.

Maybe it’s less about freezing time and more about staying with it. Sitting inside the pause. Letting things hum—like a lullaby. Like singing myself to sleep.

Your practice became entrenched with discovering what was in plain sight and yet these artifacts often felt as if you alone could see them...

There is, for me, something distinctly Jewish about the objects I find and photograph. Being Jewish often carries a particular kind of invisibility, a quiet, persistent exclusion that only Jews can truly understand. Rachel Shabi captures this beautifully in Off-White: The Truth About Antisemitism, where she explains how “the dormancy itself is part of the cyclical nature of antisemitism—that things are fine, until, all of a sudden, they aren’t.” (The term 'dormancy' refers to the way antisemitism is often treated as something inactive or hidden, only to surface violently and unexpectedly when societal conditions shift.)

In many ways, my work responds to this dormancy—the tension between visibility and invisibility. It’s simple: I take what is invisible and make it hyper-visible. The tension in my work mirrors the Jewish experience, particularly during those rare, fleeting moments in history when Jews find some measure of success or acceptance—only to be thrust back into the spotlight of whatever issue is most pressing at the time.

I feel this invisibility and sudden hyper-visibility not only in my own life but also in the broader Jewish experience. Even within progressive circles, we are often othered, as David Baddiel writes in Jews Don’t Count: "A sacred circle is drawn around those whom the progressive modern left are prepared to go into battle for, and it seems as if the Jews aren’t in it.” On the other hand, we are also excluded by the right, treated as a minority. As one of my Jewish artist peers puts it, we are “politically homeless.” Discussing antisemitism within the context of Israel and political unrest often feels like it gets dismissed as "missing the point," but for many of us, the experience is incredibly visceral.

My work speaks to those who are silenced. It doesn’t just document these objects; it creates a space where they are forced into view, where they stand in contrast to their usual silence, much like the silence I often feel when trying to navigate these complex layers of identity and history.

I am fascinated at your command of different media, you focused alot on sculpture and yet I realised later that you have a background in drawing, what media do you contemplate most within?

Yes, I draw a lot, and it’s been a common thread throughout all of my creative endeavours. I completed my A Levels in photography, art, textiles, and psychology, then went on to do an art foundation at Central Saint Martins, followed by a degree in fashion design at the University of Westminster. After fashion school, I continued my fine art journey by attending the Royal Drawing School, where I studied anatomy and oil painting under various teachers.

Recently, sculpture—particularly working with ready-mades—has become an exciting intersection between my love of fashion, my interest in the human form as a vessel of expression, and my fine art practice. But drawing, especially on large-scale canvases, is what I focused on before attending the Royal College of Art in 2024, and I still find myself contemplating it regularly. In fact, I draw every day, and I have a storage container filled with sketchbooks in my garden. It’s a practice I deeply enjoy.

I would categorise my paintings and drawings as figurative expressionism—contemplations of my body in relation to socio-political changes, identity, and my evolving experience as a woman with a constantly shifting sense of sexuality. They exist in the tension between figuration and abstraction, using multiple layers of charcoal, pastel, and oil paint. The marks on the page—violent and vulnerable—reflect my personal relationship with self-expression through my body, often using personal film footage as my reference. I only work from moving images, never static ones, because life isn’t static, and it’s in the blurred, inconclusive images that I find my authenticity.

I am always open to my medium evolving. Perhaps it’s my way of refusing to remain static, as that would trap me in the illusion that somehow I’ve “arrived.” I’m deeply inspired by David Bowie, who was gifted with the ability to continually reinvent himself, both in his music and his public persona. He was a shape-shifter, a chameleon constantly changing and evolving. This idea of metamorphosis frequently appears in my drawings, and it speaks to the essence of the human experience: fluid and unpredictable. This is the power of reinvention—it allows me to remain open, curious, and, above all, true to myself. I know that if I were to become confined by gallery contracts or public image, it would stifle me. My art—and my identity—thrives on embracing change and evolution, staying as fluid as the experiences I want to express.

What do you feel your work as a whole represents?

Visible, unseen,

Resilience in fleeting form,

Body and power speak.

What are your signals for change?

Speak less, listen more.

ABI JOY SAMUEL

Abi Joy Samuel is a contributing artist to the 4th issue of M-A (A SPACE BETWEEN) published May 2025.

JOE RICHARDS 05/04/2025 JOE RICHARDS 05/04/2025

104. GIUSEPPE PENONE: A SPACE BETWEEN OPEN AND CLOSE.

Thoughts in the Roots - SERPENTINE - LONDON.

Giuseppe Penone,‘A occhi chiusi (With Eyes Closed), 2009. Acrylic, glass microspheres, acacia thorns on canvas and white Carrara marble 150 × 510 × 8cm. Photographed by Junzhe Yang for M-A (A SPACE BETWEEN).

‘Skin, like the eye, is a boundary element, the end point capable of dividing and separating us from what surrounds us… It is the point that allows me, still and afterall, to recognise myself.’ G.P.

To think as a millimetre - as a hive - as a frequency - as to blur into focus as a bow pulled to release -

as a tiny fin to slice the air - as to swell as a shoal - to swathe a sky as a swarm - sudden to move - fleeting to last. And to turn in a flash, to spill over and overwhelm - as freckled plague, a rash that risks to engulf.

As a body takes form - to draw and to drain, to protect and to catch - to dissipate, as starlings move as one, and as a landmass appears as a herd from above. As ants scatter in unison - as crop circles interfere nature, signalling - momentous from beyond - futile to resist.

As a map of a city grows - sped to watch in retrospect - as in exhale - as to undulate time - and to imagine such armadas defending docks, sepia as a painted map, russet as Vandyke drops - ink a parchment page - scraping a terrain- a surface of learning - a dedication to note.

And then to realise that these are the thorns of countless, long decayed in petal. A harvest of natural weapons evolved to protect and yet - repurposed by nimble fingers to amass as a holy camouflage of fur.

A crown of thorns lain as vertical carpet, as a tufting of spears, too tender to touch - snagging memories as fibres caught in remembrance.

This bed of nails, this field of rust - as iron filings repelled from a magnetism to hold - once virile of shine - mechanise to prevent now oxidised to dry - brittle, tawny as to fade - as an almost invisible - dusty as powder - porous as pointillist - with closed eyes to remember this passage of time - pertinent as to punctum - drawn back within an instant.

As a sapling slips to dapple - outstretched to glow - to pierce eyes of porcelain - to be held as an arrow darts to tether a forest’s supple charge, to overgrow and overthrow a human want.

Giuseppe Penone, Thoughts in the Roots, SERPENTINE - Until 7 September 2025.

JOE RICHARDS 29/03/2025 JOE RICHARDS 29/03/2025

103. ALMA STRITT: A SPACE BETWEEN ATTEMPT AND ATTEMPTING.

PREVIEW: M-A (A SPACE BETWEEN) ISSUE 4 - RELEASED SPRING 2025.

'… my work, I would say is underpinned by this playful relationship with futility and trying to preserve the already gone.' A.S.

*Alma Stritt, ‘The central Line is experiencing difficulties (I) 05.05.24.’ Image courtesy of the artist. From a series published in M-A (A SPACE BETWEEN) issue 4.*

The first time I remember seeing your work was a poem written in black biro pressed into gloss carmine red paper - like a miniature folded map - and then I think of scans of maize silk - the effect was that the threads were hovering in space... your processing of atmosphere is very pronounced…

I am definitely always in the mind of collecting, urgently trying to preserve an escaping moment (or atmosphere?) so that it can be returned to in some sense - knowing also this is not possible - at least not to an extent that I would find satisfying. Gathering (items) to suspend the passing of time, feels futile in its intent but still worth attempting, and most of my work I would say is underpinned by this playful relationship with futility and trying to preserve the already gone. It might also have something to do with sensory excess, and trying to come to terms with the dissatisfaction that it feels impossible to absorb a distinct atmosphere completely, I think I hope that collecting relics allows me to extend and re-examine time. I like to see my work as evidence in the aftermath of something which is still hanging in the air, residue of an event which once had an epicentre, heavily inspired by artists such as Sophie Calle and her Hotel Room series initiated in 1981. For reference - in her photographs, (later published in 2021 as ‘The Hotel’) she shared her experience as a hotel maid through serialised photographs of hotel rooms in disarray (with detailed forensic notes). She was fired from her job for her 'intrusions,' but her compilation of mundane observations remains completely extraordinary, and I return to them often. I also class some of my work as 'evidence collection' and a subsequent retracing of events. I look to resolve these projects as similar accumulative bodies of work which have a value much greater than the sum of their parts, imperfectly preserving something firmly tied to reality but also starting to move towards fiction.

*Alma Stritt, scanned maize silk, 2024. Made in collaboration with Madeleine Lacroix, Mariana Giedelmann, Tom Caley, Sohum Sharma and Nikhil Raut Suri.*

Your work using stickers is fascinating - I am very interested in the way your work using this medium engages with physical and emotional spaces...

I view the sticker works as images ‘escaping’ or resisting presentation formalities in physical and emotional spaces, also forcing me to share the spaces I move through with my printed images and re-examine them frequently. I think I began to, perhaps unfairly, view frames and glass panels as restrictions placed on images. How this reconciles with my wish to archive images, and preserve is an ongoing conflict in my work. From exploring Aby Warburg’s image panels (Mnemosyne Atlas), I adopted the practice of compulsively attaching images to physical surfaces into my own work for (in Warburg's words) 'interrogation' purposes in particular forcing images onto shared surfaces to initiate non-verbal image dialogue. Something seems to happen when images cohabit a physical space, and stickers are a great tool to practice this in shared public spaces. Stickers in public spaces are also exposed to temporal forces such as physical decay. When I think about stickers I think of what this means for the life of images, and how it represents the act of physical publishing, and the agency that is lost by the artist once images have been ’given life’. Some of my favourite sticker experiments are the ones in which I have been forced to return to my own images in public spaces and take in their defacement [see below]. The stickers are an attempt to resolve the unclear relationship between image and object.

Your use of bookbinding as a form of communication seems to be within evolution, a medium that you have been exploring for some time... what is it about making books that draws you back?

I view the books I have accumulated, and also make, as portable co-habitants with whom I share my physical space - their material presence, whether on a shelf, floor or as a doorstop feels important to me. When stored, they are covert, and can always be returned to - patient, and generous in this way. Maybe in some ways they are also alluringly efficient – compact (which has become important to my work, in referencing the feeling of being domestically relocated), and perhaps remaining prepared to be uprooted at short notice. It always struck me that when we moved [home] books were heavy, but the simplest to transport and find a place for in a new room. Books/catalogues are distributable, unassuming, unpretentious and ordinary. Everyone owns books and has space for books, and through binding it becomes possible to create objects from images. This is increasingly relevant to my work and my own understanding of my personal belongings. I am often wondering if I treat my images as 2-dimensional visual memory prompts or material objects. This is something I am continuing to explore.

As an image maker your use of photography is also very specific, the images within the next issue of M-A are all very idiosyncratic as they seem to all capture very precise moments in time that cannot be recaptured, in essence, they remind me of early photography in the sense that they seem to capture moments of magic, like phantoms or fairies...

All the images I take I would class as vernacular. I think again - on their own - none is particularly extraordinary, but as a group my images communicate a feeling of dissociation, perhaps that is the reason for their otherworldly feeling. As many are taken in haste, inevitably they capture fleeting moments, however imperfectly and in variable resolution. I continue to live with the unsettling feeling of being detached from my own memories around this time and trying to find my way back to them, or forward without them. Engaging in vernacular, observational photography feels grounding.

What are your signals for change?

I have been thinking about this for some time – referencing back to the reason I am drawn to portable work/books, seismic changes in my experience have often been sudden and uprooting. When I think back to the largest changes in my life, I did not, and perhaps could not, have see them coming. When I have determinedly tried to anticipate seismic change it has remained suspended in a fantasy world, which I then struggle to recognise, process and make tangible, when it doesn’t materialise. I am beginning to understand a lot of my work is coming to terms with expressing and valuing the loss of changes I had anticipated which never had the chance to exist, and where I can place that. Since beginning my practice, I have probably become a lot more resilient. I believe I am beginning to have to make peace with observing the signs of slow change. I sense I notice this when I enter a very familiar space and everything is as it always has been, but I feel quietly and privately different.

Alma Stritt

Alma Stritt is a contributing artist to the 4th issue of M-A (A SPACE BETWEEN) published Spring 2025.

JOE RICHARDS 22/03/2025 JOE RICHARDS 22/03/2025

102. LEIGH BOWERY: A SPACE BETWEEN FLESH AND SOUL.

Leigh Bowery! Tate Modern - LONDON.

*Lucian Freud, Leigh Bowery 1991,* Oil on canvas 20 1/10 × 16 1/10 in | 51 × 40.9 cm *(c) The Lucian Freud Archive. All Rights Reserved 2024.*

"If you label me, you negate me," Leigh Bowery. 1993

Leigh Bowery! Tate Modern - until 31 August 2025.

JOE RICHARDS 16/03/2025 JOE RICHARDS 16/03/2025

101. TIRZAH GARWOOD: A SPACE BETWEEN MOMENT AND MOVEMENT.

Tirzah Garwood: Beyond Ravilious, Dulwich Picture Gallery - LONDON.

*Tirzah Garwood, Horses and Trains, 1944, oil on canvas.*

M-A: In the toppled toys, redwood-sized poppies and intrepid cats - which sculk kingdoms of adventure - a space between reality needing fantasy. Garwood's collection testifies to remind, that despite it all, we need to utilise our dream worlds, if we stand a chance to live and not just survive.

The work of Tirzah Garwood lingers long after being seen for the first time.

The artist's playful use of mixed media creates an undulation of rhythms which collectively sustain a pensive atmosphere - a language which becomes clearer and louder throughout Garwood’s lifetime. From tentative engravings depicting the micro worlds of domesticated free-moving dolls, scratched in girlhood to a final painting of a self, seen as a statue within a surrealist starlit landscape.

The many rows of paintings, woodcuts, models, embroideries and marbled papers which cover the walls of Dulwich Picture Gallery have an overwhelming sense of attempt. Not in the sense that the works presented do not testify to resolution. There are extraordinary examples of a defined style of various media which are condensed and significant for pushing against the context of the times within which they were made.

A retrospective of pieces are presented more as thoughts than historical decorative works. The traditions of the prettified passive gentlewoman are actively dismantled in a scintillating series of disruptive dedications to self. Any pre-conceived suggestion that the artist should be seen as just the partner to a famous man are thoroughly broken down, resulting in a presentation which burns with foresight for listening to an internal voice which is quietly questioning and earnest in intention.

Scenes are often viewed as impossible to an adult eye whose vision is weighted by a reality grounded in fear - for Garwood, whose view point seems more that of a child than a grown up - is framed within fantasies of talismen and portals, conjuring calm in the play of discovery. In the toppled toys, redwood-sized poppies and intrepid cats which sculk kingdoms of adventure - a space between reality needing fantasy. Garwood's collection testifies to remind, that despite it all, we need to utilise our dream worlds, if we stand a chance to live and not just survive.

Engraved depictions of domesticity scaled to the size of a doll's house window, invite an audience to peer in, akin to the lace-trimmed windows of the picturesque streets of Dulwich, where this exhibition is located. Their dimly lit interiors full of mystery, amidst the impression of the blissful only to impress the stress of high-maintenance. A cast of characters sleep and stretch, swim and sit - deep in thought - Tirza's eye examines these atmospheres with the focus of an insect - waiting - studying - contemplating the nothingness of life’s motions as both monotomy and monumental.

It is within the marbled papers that Garwood seems most free - as the slackened gaze of ripples repeat a water's surface - to reflect a reality into abstraction and to be hypnotized by such seductive, natural rhythms. Evoking the sensation of sinking fingers into such fluidity from a boat’s edge or to view a landscape as a zoetrope tillage of ploughed fields from a train window. Garwoods' marbled patterns pigment a surface's edge - a skin of another world beneath, are we looking in or staring up?

*Tirzah Garwood, marbled papers,* *1934 - 41.*

An impression relative to the Florentine and Turkish tradition of decorative papers - and yet a percussion of notes appears in front of our eyes - as alternative sheet music for instruments understood by the folkloric and mythical. Chance marks undulate and dance, created by Tirzas's curious, playful summons - allowing for patterns which at first appear to be akin to the end papers of antique books and yet they seem to spring to life before our eyes. The jarring yet hypnotic colour combination of loosely swirled inks akin to the warp and weft floats in a woven cloth - nubbly with fibrous - raw and raucous as streams of thoughts somehow coexist as a chorus of the subconscious - inter woven as ancestral tartans. For the Garwood checks are presented in a palette of feather plumbed soil shades, in the blushes of emotions in the greys of memories remind of Rorschach ink blots.

The side effect, possibly to not being acknowledged within her lifetime as her famed husband Eric Ravilious, allowed Garwood time and space to develop quietly as a voice which does not mimic but muster progress from the often salvaged materials and symbolism of a life lived amongst children. A vocabulary of references repeat as a language develops, from the childhood playthings denoting age, to a natural landscape reframed - to re-evaluate - enabling the viewer to perform the role of fantasy narrator within the miniature stage sets presented. All this comedy masks a tangible sense of tragedy - Garwood's menagerie of depicted placid animals - all of whom just miss the eyeline of the viewer, seem silenced - a secret shared with the artist.

Works created out of the private necessity to communicate allow for an extraordinary sense of self-possession within the exhibited materials. There are occasions where works become more than their media - and it is within these that Tirzah Gardwood’s voice can be heard.

*Tirzah Garwood, Erksine Returning at Dawn, 1950, oil on canvas.*

Tirzah Garwood: Beyond Ravilious, Dulwich Picture Gallery - LONDON. Until 26 May, 2025.

Special Thanks: Eibhlin Kissack.

JOE RICHARDS 08/03/2025 JOE RICHARDS 08/03/2025

100. JOE RICHARDS: A SPACE BETWEEN…

To celebrate the 100th contemplation of M-A (A SPACE BETWEEN), a series of questions are proposed by members of the M-A community to editor and founder Joe Richards.

M-A (A SPACE BETWEEN) in MagCulture London. Cover image: Joe Richards photographed by Orlando Osinowo.

AZIAH LUSALA: I’d love to hear more about what inspired you to start M-A (A SPACE BETWEEN).

M-A was started for two reasons, firstly as a need to create a space for emergent talent to be seen in a very specific curated context that I didn't see existing in magazine publishing. Secondly, to provide an opportunity for myself to step up into the role of an art director.

Part of my work and responsibility is in education, I meet students in tutorials where I see new work and sometimes you will see an alignment of self - of when natural talent meets a moment of opportunity and it is very rare and very special to witness live - it is when a creative person is birthed in a way. It is both exhilarating to see but also sometimes very sad because so often that work is never seen again, so I decided in one of those rare sightings to do something about it.

I was also tired of seeing brilliant talent being patronised by art media so I decided to create a platform, originally with Manon Duhamel and now with Hejing Fang and Zhonghua Sui, which would be a place of respect and a place of extreme beauty, because I believe talent is talent - it is from a higher place and should be treated as such. M-A is named after the Japanese state of pause and contemplation, which I hope reflects that intention.

*Aziah Lusala, Black Jesus, 2023, Oil on Canvas, 100cm x 100cm. London. Private Collection. Black Jesus was presented in the exhibition* ***‘From The One To The Many’*** *in September 2024, at Saatchi Gallery, London.*

The publication is a chronicle of discovery. Every image chosen is because it makes my heart beat faster - every image was made by the artist because it is a reaction to a feeling that could not be expressed in any other media. And so each issue is very visceral - it changes you, it guides you, and that is what M-A offers. Within each issue, there is work made by both emergent and established artists, this combination allows for a juxtaposition of connection, which further charges each issue.

*Yoko Ono, Installation view of Apple 1966 from Yoko Ono One Woman Show, 1960-1971,MoMA, NYC, 2015. Photo © Thomas Griesel.*

Additionally, I know you curated a show that I was part of — and do you see yourself doing more of that in the future?

Yes

XIANGYIN TOM GU: How do you manage to encompass, in many times, complicated sources of inputs from different artists and writers, in presenting M-A (A SPACE BETWEEN) and what do you envision this platform to become in the future?

I manage though my subconscious on the most part, using my intuition as much as I can to guide the choices I make. I have come to realise that once you collect pieces of work made through expressions of an individual’s search for truth - then a soul emerges from all the works together, similarly in curation. This collective energy guides the direction of the edit. In many ways I am not really managing this direction, I am following it.

*‘Entangled Past’ by Xiangyin Tom Gu 2022.*

CHIEDU OKONTA: Your questions are very intuitive. They are guided towards not only receiving the answer you want in the clearest and most honest form but also aiding the artist in digging deeper into understanding their work, practice, and even themselves. Is it a part of your thought process to include a means to assist the artist in articulating their practice through the questions?

I want to know the answers firstly because I am fascinated in the work of the artist. Some editors, I hear say that they ask questions for their audience, and I ask questions for myself, but yes sometimes I ask questions for you to hear yourself because there is often more revelation of reason in that. Part of my intention for M-A (A SPACE BETWEEN) is to do what the best educators I work with do, they create a space to think in and to hear yourself back - and so that is what I hope the interviews do - to create a space to hear yourself back - and to be more precise with that thought. A lot of the questions I ask return to a point Carrie Mae Weems makes about paying attention to the work - because the work will tell you what you are up to, and this is what I am most interested in.

Carrie Mae Weems - Untitled (Woman and Daughter with Make Up) from Kitchen Table Series, 1990 © Carrie Mae Weems. Courtesy of the artist, Jack Shainman Gallery, New York / Galerie Barbara Thumm, Berlin. Thank you Barbican. Image published within M-A (A SPACE BETWEEN) issue 3. Still life image: Harry Nathan.

DANIEL McCABE: Do you ever visit a show or exhibition and think, ‘I really have nothing to say about this’?

Most of the time, in fact I have become more attracted to work which challenges me to think harder, I feel the most exciting work will not let you in easily, it challenges you to step up and think. This is when you know, also when work is ahead of the time you are in, even if it was made a long time ago, it challenges you to consider your position.

Magalleria Bath, window display of M-A (A SPACE BETWEEN) issue 2.

Ideally I enter the work knowing as little as possible - Looking back through the 99 contemplations, the turning point in technique was probably a piece I wrote about Dan Flavin - a show at David Zwirner gallery and I entered the space not really knowing about the artist other than seeing the work occasionally, but that show was all encompassing, I left the gallery a different person to the one who entered and art can do that - my task is to document the change, the discovery, it is not to review the work, but to contemplate it. I learnt this in the writing of the Flavin piece - I just surrendered to it - I listened to it - it totally changed my method and since then I repeat this way of recording.

*Dan Flavin, coloured fluorescent light -* ***David Zwirner*** *- 24 Grafton Street, LONDON.Above image: Anna Arca. Courtesy David Zwimer.*

I realise now that my aim is to connect to the soul of the maker of the piece - it is very meditative in that way - I think this is probably why the platform moves people so much because they mirror this - and the viewer needs it, they want to feel more - and they want a space to do that.

*Ekua McMorris, untitled, image courtesy of the artist.*

EKUA McMORRIS: You often reference women of influence, from Toni Morrison, Oprah Winfrey, Carrie Mae Weems, can you say something about how you have been inspired by these women and how they have shaped your thinking, making?

I feel it goes back to my own mother of course, and I am probably sensing her in the wisdom and grace of others also, looking back I have always sought guidance and inspiration from woman, my teachers at school, in my friendships, and in the music of Sade, Lauren Hill, Mary J. Blige and when I started to read, yes Toni Morrison, Maya Angelou and when we were blessed to hear Carrie Mae Weems speak, these women change you with their contribution, they instruct you to react to cultivate change and I practice this. In terms of shaping my thinking, I see my voice, my place as having more value now in terms of enabling change, this must on some unconscious level be in direct response to your question. And you Ekua, you have taught me to trust more in that instinct.

*Eva Vermendel, ‘Wave’, Margate, 2017. Image courtesy of the artist.*

EVA VERMENDEL: If you could choose one piece of art from the Courtauld Gallery, which one would it be, why and where would you put it?

'Antibes' by Claude Monet - That painting is extraordinary - the revelatory ability he had to depict emotion within nature is... very challenging to translate in a language which is not Monet. Monet is a radical conceptual contributor in that sense - to depict the moment after a rain storm, the warm air of the ocean - and of course it is him, he is these elements and when we view them we also become them... A work as a window - inhaling the sea air as if not seen for a long time, and we return to remember, it has a bodily pull - a physical embrace. I hang it permanently within my imagination and retreat to it as much as possible, especially in these times.

*Daniel Obasi, image courtesy of the artist.*

DANIEL OBASI: Journey through time and correct a mistake past, present or future.

I would correct the times when the human condition overrides the instinct to do the right thing.

Mistakes are not always mistakes but decisions masked as mistakes by those who do know better - and so I contemplate that moment of choice - which arrives as a pause of thought, if there is one, which actually I think there often is, take an extra moment to consider your response ahead of action.

*Lee Miller, Giza 1937. Image courtesy of the Lee Miller archives. Published within* *M-A (A SPACE BETWEEN) issue 2. Still life image: Harry Nathan.*

ALMA STRITT: What does it mean to hold an image?

There is a palpable point in editing M-A when the images will form a consciousness of their own, and they hold you - the viewer - this shift is extraordinary and a highly addictive point of discovery for me within the process. They take hold of you because you see your reflection back, you relive parts of your life and you have distance to be objective and read the messages which are audible only to you and this is why I love and live through this - because it is a direct line to humanity and to the state of the culture, and artists have been blessed with that ability to tap a much higher vibration, I trust in this.

*MAXSHO, No Dey Squeeze Face (Dont Worry), 2023. June 2024.*

MAXSHO: When you dream, where do you go? Could you describe Joe’s sanctuary where he meets with his soul?

I levitate, I breathe in clean air and I fly, not so much in a Fellini way but in a Chagall sort of way, and sometimes I play games which make me laugh alot as I am invisible so no one can see me... it is very liberating to fly and be invisible. It is funny actually as this is often the response people make to M-A (A SPACE BETWEEN) about fresh air, maybe I am manifesting that.

*Callum Helcke, Photographed by* *Arnan Wang* *April 2023.*

CALLUM HELCKE: If you could pick one person, who might you wish could read these contemplations, and, how do you think they would respond? Still here or passed, well-known or close to home.

It is for the stranger who didn't realise they were estranged - it is for Peter Pan who belives in the window always ajar - in many ways it is the publication I wish I had when I needed deeper inspiration and the publication I realise I need now because it mirrors who I want to be and who I am - I have been making versions of M-A for 30 years, this is how I make sense of the world, when I first showed these books they became useful to others and so M-A became what it is out of need - not really out of choice... M-A (A SPACE BETWEEN) is a service in that sense, to show what is next - its objective is to inspire radical thoughts and to create a space to contemplate the future... so it is for all of us.

Cy Twombly, Window Screen, Lexington, VA, 1997. Dry-print on cardboard. 17 × 11 inches. © Fondazione Nicola Del Roscio. Image published within M-A (A SPACE BETWEEN) issue 3, still life image: Harry Nathan.
Thank you to all featured artists, galleries and press departments for your support and contribution.
To read all 100 contemplations and interviews, visit M-A (A SPACE BETWEEN)

JOE RICHARDS 02/03/2025 JOE RICHARDS 02/03/2025

99. PAULE VÉZELAY: A SPACE BETWEEN MARJORIE AND PAULE.

Paule Vézelay: Living Lines, Royal West of England Academy - BRISTOL.

**Paule Vézelay, Paysage (Landscape) 1946, Oil on canvas. Private collection, courtesy England & Co, London.**

The faded curtains of Paule Vézelay are drawn closed, their function is prevention and yet occasional beams of sun damage remind that in the end, nature will always overrule human intention. The printed cloth is patterned with ‘Parade’ from 1956 - a design the artist created, inspired by French medieval banners denoting the identities of different regions. The symbolic motifs evoke heraldry - the repeated forms reimagine institutional structures - suggest systems with new rules, an endless mass of chess pieces stand in dispersed rows, heraldic crests appear rearranged - original elements extracted to form an identity for its mysterious maker - an identity in review.

Paris was depicted within Marjorie Watson-Williams’ game plan long before they renamed themselves Vézelay - the nonchalant, aristocratic title heralding immediate acceptance, and yet as an artist - Paule's contribution is not sensed within artifact as her fellow surrealists - but in aura and an ability to capture air.

A Parisian born in Bristol - manifested through chalken smudges communicating left bank atmospheres - a Tour Eiffel beam sensed within the hushed cinema of a Bristolian hippodrome - For Paule Vézelay knew that Paris exists not in the logical but in the illogical, in the atmosphere of light and in the magic of nothingness. Long before she relocated to the centre of Paris' avant-garde - Vézelay knew - to be is to become, a journey is more important than the destination.

In 'The Sunbathers', the artist captures the undulating forms of the naked and soothed in a dappled depiction of intimacy, so specific that the canvas could be read as notes for a musician to perform. A visual fluency is at times particularly pronounced, demonstrating the many attempts to translate the internal to the external.

There are signs of patronage within the proofs presented - in the scribbled notes from mentors whose own searching lights inspired followers to become inevitably influenced by their brilliance. Within the works on display, many share a visual tone of materials applied in the idiom of others, and yet who can prove whose defined such methods first, and does that race or measure matter? For Vézelay to capture the air, the L'Air du Temps becomes paramount in a search for self.

**Letter to Paule Vézelay from Henri Matisse, 1936.**

The returning motif of jigsaw pieces creates intriguing episodes to contemplate - segments which occasionally glide through works, sometimes leaving scorched shadows suggesting traumatic past events informing a present - still in motion. This sense of time and missing elements of information allow for further confusion - as a ground has grown over preventing an order of play from forming a whole - forever to not fit as they once did. In 'Strange landscape' these familiar pieces return again, this time to stand on end as a figure awaiting their next movement - a dancer on pointe - agile and alert, exhausted from waiting for instruction.

A further visual depiction of puzzle pieces - now rotund without irregular edges appear more as sacks filled with helium to gently move on their own accord, as balloons, buoyant and gentle - their formless wholes no longer silhouettes against an opposite to fill, their apparent function no longer to be toyed with but to float alone into nothingness.

In 'Paysage, painted in 1946, a flurry of organic ephemera appear strewn across a surface. The viewer watches a scene of disarray, as our eyes rest on each piece of a jigsaw which was never intended to fit to form a whole, we realise that this still-life is levitating above a ground which casts no shadow, a life stilled. Such scattered seeds formed by nature, pre-spring unfurlings, tender freckled shells and foraged saplings, embryonic moments of hope, weightless and whispering, gasping in the sunlight as if new to an earth still in its dormancy. As the sun rises to burn a horizon rouge - ‘red sky at dawn - a shepherd's warning. And so for Vézelay, whose flock of shadowless unfurlings symbolise a life snapped short, as a cruel storm severs a wartime generation from their chance to mature and flourish to see the day ahead.

**Paule Vézelay, ‘Parade’, Furnishing Fabric, Printed cotton curtain with a double-lobed abstract shape in brown and white on a black ground. 1956-1957.**

Paule Vézelay: Living Lines, Royal West of England Academy, Bristol. Until 27 April 2025.

JOE RICHARDS 22/02/2025 JOE RICHARDS 22/02/2025

98. RON MUECK: A SPACE BETWEEN IMPLICATION AND APPLICATION.

‘En Garde’, Thaddaeus Ropac - LONDON. Photographed by Junzhe Yang

Ron Mueck, En Garde, 2023. Mixed media. 285 × 480 × 530 cm. Thaddeaus Ropac London. Image: Junzhe Yang for M-A (A SPACE BETWEEN).

An impression of a moment sustained forever. An impossible depiction of a split second where a tryptic of statues, a pack of killers - form a singular spectacle of terror which is made visually louder due to a scale that dwarfs the viewer. Freezing our immediate response and confusing our instincts.

Immediately these hormone-free beings create a chemical reaction in the humans who view them. The heart races and adrenaline surges to what we see. Is this the end? And then a split second later we know it is all an illusion. Ron Mueck has tricked us again.

As with any near escape, the moments after become more, our footsteps lighter, the air fresher. We have survived. Leaving from where we came, through that doorway from which we entered, we return to our lives somehow changed by what we have witnessed or what we think we have witnessed and yet bury the experience within the many other near misses of surviving.

Mueck explores a territory which many have trespassed before him, from Louise Bourgeois's multiple Mamon sculptures which tower cathedral-like above our heads. Even Michaelangos' David, whose giant foreshortened body stands imposing and impossible. All tell part of their stories and testify to terrify as they loom high above us, casting their shadows on the untold narratives they suggest. Of battling Goliath and of the unthinkable hatching of giant arachnid eggs... The furthering of a future of unknowns is all the more unnerving than the forms of those depicted. For the imagination is the fertile ground of such nightmares to be sustained. And as Muecks' pack of ferocious guard dogs - permanently en guard suggest - the real fear is in the implication not the application.

Is this what fear looks like? Skin not of the fathomable but of the mechanical? A surface familiar as if fallen to softly form a fur as satin which glides as a landscape viewed from afar. An application to form an essence - silent and without patination ——- as a machine created for a singular purpose - a life as a weapon. These forms fascinate - seemingly rendered as a flat silhouette and yet subtle variation invites the eye to absorb these god-like depictions - Reminiscent of an imagined Cerberus, the three-headed dog who guarded the one-way gates of Hades - allowing the dead to enter but not to leave. Mueck’s pack of poised Dobermanns similarly appear to have no mercy as they study the single doorway of their gallery corner. Their blank eyes are reminiscent of ancient statues whose irises - now blind from wear - their carved sockets permanently painted open - never to close, forever on alert.

The artist keeps the audience unaware of their motivations - leaving few clues to follow, gallery instructions inform of traditional etiquette to not touch, and a didactic text reads 'mixed media'. Both statements contribute to the viewers' state of confusion - Are we too part of this media? Along with the room, the doorway, even the watchful assistant? - We are all watching each other. And yet the work itself, its six eyeballs - blank and rendered blind in the same material that coats its body, suggests a shadow, a scenery - to be viewed from afar. As a folly on a horizon suggesting dominance of territory. And so 'En Guard' manipulates within the experience of viewing. A proposition to react by making a choice - a reduction of options to fight or flee, and both seem futile when your opponents overwhelm to such impossible proportions. And yet the open doorway provides a glimmer of hope.

Within the installations' heightened momentary state, there is also a gentility - even a vulnerability. Within the gracious poise of the animals depicted, within the curvature of anatomies rendered perfect in realisation as if formed by a divine force. No sense of human hand is implied through production, and yet the satin luster of these bodies invites caress. Within the human response to this frozen atmosphere, where viewers tip-toe into this gallery stage as to not disturb the giants ahead. To tentatively circle the work is to enter another space - as to trespass into the work itself, as to view the stage from behind the curtain, and see the created world as scenery and the faces of the audience as fools. Are we now to become the fourth player within this spectacle, to mirror what we believe to be true? To stand with these poised killers? Are we also to stare into that empty doorway expectant of the impending?

The palpable sense of momentum to experience an event - materialised not as we witness but as we imagine? - Are we in fact viewing a proposition? Where props stand in place of realities? Fashioned to frighten, created to control... Why have we chosen to be entertained by such terrors?

Ron Mueck, En Garde Thaddeaus Ropac London - Until 2 April 2025.

Special thanks Junzhe Yang.

JOE RICHARDS 15/02/2025 JOE RICHARDS 15/02/2025

97. SAM JOSEPH: A SPACE BETWEEN VALUE AND LIGHT.

‘For me, the act of bringing light into discarded spaces became a metaphor for this healing process, both reclaiming spaces and reclaiming parts of myself.’ S.J.

Please can you introduce your practice?

My practice as a multidisciplinary artist and designer with a visual impairment, centres on exploring physical spaces and their capacity to convey stories, emotions, and societal narratives through fine art and design methodologies. Through multidisciplinary approaches, spanning film, printmaking, photography and spatial design, I personify spaces by embedding them with histories and experiences, particularly focusing on themes of gender-based violence, value systems and systemic inequality. By working across media and curatorial practices, I aim to challenge the perception of overlooked, devalued spaces, transforming them into platforms for empowerment and critical dialogue through design, photography, print and film. Imagery created by experimenting, including scale, uses a specific location as a backdrop and initial starting point to any project, which forms the foundation of my ongoing projects.

Your commitment to developing ideas is fascinating... how do you process your instincts within your practice?

Instincts are integral to my creative process, serving as both an emotional and intellectual compass when engaging with spaces and thematic concerns. I often begin with an immediate, visceral reaction to elements such as light, materiality, or the overall ambiance of a space, particularly those considered marginalised or neglected. This intuitive response catalyses further exploration, which is subsequently informed by systematic research, technical experimentation, and collaborative efforts.

My approach is inherently multidisciplinary, involving a deconstruction of ideas through various methods, including the integration of personal narratives, focused research on subjects such as gender-based violence, the built environment, design methodologies, and emerging technologies. By examining concepts from a diverse range of perspectives, I aim to rigorously analyse and refine my ideas, ensuring that they resonate within both artistic and broader societal contexts. This process allows for a comprehensive and nuanced development of ideas that emerge from, and are informed by, initial instinctual responses.

The sense of time within your work is very specific, echoing history and always with a feeling of momentum. Please can you expand upon how you engage with time within your work?

Yes, time is an important factor in my work, explored through its layers, past, present, and future. I engage with time by responding to spaces that hold historical echoes while also embodying a sense of transformation or anticipation. These spaces often evoke a visceral, cinematic quality that I capture through photography, marking the starting point of my creative process. Photography becomes a way for me to capture that moment where the past converges with the present, inviting reflection on what was, what is, and what could be.

This engagement with time is often translated into my narratives or projects that explore societal issues. For example, in my speculative design for a transitional home for women escaping domestic abuse, I considered the temporal transition between trauma and healing, designing a space that reflects both the weight of the past and the possibility of renewal. Similarly, my upcoming short film (IN)VISIBLE uses a partially developed architectural space to explore societal instability, where the unfinished structure reflects the fragility of the present and the potential for future change.

Technically, I address time through iterative processes that challenge permanence. My photolithographic book soon to be exhibited at Southwark Park Galleries this year, for instance, features a curated neglected space with objects of no value that fade with each reproduction, emphasising the ephemerality of memory and materiality. Inspired by Hito Steyerl’s, poor image, this work juxtaposes degradation and precision to reflect the passage of time.
Ultimately, time within my work becomes a tool to provoke reflection on collective responsibility, connecting history and the present to inspire future action.

Within your work, there are many areas of cross-over, of a palpable change in state as materials morph... 

The concept of morphing and melding in my work represents a transformation, one that is as much about materials and processes as it is about the societal contexts I aim to challenge. This change in state, reflects a shift from visible to invisible, from marginalisation to empowerment. For instance, in Why Did(n't) You Leave? I reimagined an existing site of an industrial factory, a symbol of labour and cold efficiency, as a sanctuary for survivors of domestic abuse. Here, I combined personal narratives with technical experimentation and collaborative processes to transform the space into a platform for healing and empowerment.
This idea of transformation extends to my project (In)Visible, where I consciously explored the theme of gender-based violence and value systems through multiple mediums, including film, photography, printmaking, and spatial design. I worked to challenge conventional distinctions between materiality and meaning. By blurring these boundaries, I sought to draw attention to both the invisibility of systemic values, injustices and the resilience of those affected.
For me, this state of transformation also represents a personal challenge: to push the limits of my practice by experimenting with new skills, media, and concepts. (In)Visible became an opportunity to explore not only innovative methodologies but also the potential of art to question our built environment, entrenched societal norms to inspire change. Ultimately, this melding of material and societal critique allows me to create work that engages with broader issues of equity and justice, challenging both myself and my audience to envision new possibilities and narratives.

The first time we met we spoke about light and the metaphorical need to illuminate as seen in your work... how do you use light in your practice?

Light, as both a physical and metaphorical element, plays an important role in my practice as both artist and designer. Inspired by Tonino Griffero’s reflections on light as a transformative force and Gernot Boehme’s exploration of light’s role in creating atmospheres, I see light as an active participant in shaping spaces and narratives. Light is intrinsic to how I connect with spaces, often serving as the initial point of emotional resonance through my photographic and print practice. I am drawn to how natural light interacts with undervalued or discarded environments, transforming them into cinematic frames that hold beauty and narrative depth.

This is also evident in my use of architectural daylighting, an aspect of my art and design practice where natural light inspires well-being and emphasises the stories embedded within spaces. Beyond its physical presence, light serves as a metaphor for awareness and revelation, illuminating critical issues such as gender-based violence and empowering marginalised voices. Through light, I aim to create spaces that are seen and felt, inspiring emotional connection and societal reflection.

In our original discussion, when you first asked me why I wish to bring light within dark spaces, the question made me stop in my tracks. For nearly two weeks, I sat with it, reflecting deeply. Initially, I had believed this was purely an emotive and instinctual response, but when you asked why, I couldn’t answer at the time. What I discovered through this self-analysis was that my desire to capture, illuminate, or bring light into spaces was deeply personal. It was rooted in my processing of trauma of sexual violence at school and then domestic abuse through my marriage.

In my research, Judith Herman’s seminal work Trauma and Recovery, the process of reclaiming agency and creating meaning is vital for survivors. She highlights that trauma often fractures one’s sense of time and self, making the act of rebuilding a cohesive narrative essential to healing. For me, the act of bringing light into discarded spaces became a metaphor for this healing process, both reclaiming spaces and reclaiming parts of myself. These spaces I turned to were an escape, a detachment from reality. The self-seen aestheticism in neglected, discarded places became my solace. I found beauty in these overlooked environments, resonating with their resilience.

Bessel van der Kolk, in The Body Keeps the Score, also resonates with me emphasising how trauma is stored not just in the mind but in the body. This notion of physical and emotional imprint resonates with how I engage with space and light, using them to create environments that allow for a sense of safety, transformation, and renewal. For me, these neglected spaces mirrored my own experiences of feeling undervalued and invisible, and my fight to present them as worthy, to bring light and value to them, paralleled my own struggle for self-worth and potential.

Sam Joseph

JOE RICHARDS 08/02/2025 JOE RICHARDS 08/02/2025

96. NOAH DAVIS: A SPACE BETWEEN REALITY AND MAGIC.

Noah Davis, The Barbican - LONDON.

Noah Davis, 40 Acres and a Unicorn, 2007 (c) The Estate of Noah Davis Courtesy The Estate of Noah Davis and David Zwirner.

'I'd rather fail at painting than be successful in anything else.' N.D.

A unicorn stands in blackness - illuminated as if from within, their lunar skin a lantern - lighting a way for its rider. A seated figure whose limbs amorphous - semi-wrapped within a cask of bandage. The figure seems familiar from a rose period Picasso? Or rather the original source for such artists who stole inspiration from sacred African artifacts. The figure - softly holds the reins of nothingness - as the mythical being's horn - sharply directs our attention to the sky above. The magical creature stands stately on what appears to be a section of a convex orb. Noah Davis was known to associate himself with Osiris, the Egyptian god of the afterlife. The god of the moon and lord of silence.

A posthumous presentation of paintings continues the traditions of storytelling - Davis's contribution washes over you as a storm which has been brewing in a distance, a storm which has been forming long before the artist's now famed status - an artist who has run a relay with a responsibility to respond and define.

Symbolism is particularly pronounced within the work of Davis, the influence of ancient Egypt noted for the repeated connection to Osiris, associated with the annual flooding of the Nile River. Water is everywhere within the works seen, within the splash-less turquoise pools - flatly rendered as green screens - allow for our own imagined projections - our own lived reflections and realities. Within the lagoons and lakes that backdrop painted collectives, within the humid hazes rendered to bleed as damp and unset, of tears which never dry, images which return us to the first times seen as the last. Again and again - the artist presents worlds within worlds, at times over-painted as a rhythm within a chorus, as a note hanging in space - to stretch as the overheard trumpet of John Coltrane, which lingers to meld into an atmosphere of prayer.

A body levitates between worlds - never to break the surface with a splash - for as Muybridge proved with horses - so too does Davis - that to jump is really to take flight - and as he intended to prove - there is magic within his reality.

'It's really all you have is this one image, we are not filmmakers, we are not making television, we are not on the radio… we are doing this one image, and how can we convey a whole story, a whole landscape of feelings and everything just with this one still image.' N.D.

Images glide as the photographs collected from buckets of abandoned identities found in Los Angeles flea markets.

'I was collecting as many photographs as I possibly could... trying to pick the ones that felt most like snap photography... (a slice of life. It's not necessarily high photography, but tells a story... My purpose for when I first started painting was to take these anonymous moments and make them permanent...
The reason I started painting was that I almost felt like those photographs, I felt that nobody knew who I was.' N.D.

These atmospheric depictions show scenes that possibly mirror the artist's own nuclear family dynamic, scenes of life and of the normalities of the everyday, where to be seen in states of undress are not rendered erotic but innocent and responsive to temperature and temperament.

Eyes meet camera lenses without pose or modern-day coy deceit, instead, placid faces look back, their sepia blurs printed softly - their slackened gaze seem collectively unaware of the cameras recording nature. Reminding of the historic fear of how a camera may rob a person of their soul - and yet with Davis’s emotive re-rendering, created images allow for the reverse - for the soul to be seen - even restored.

'I knew that I wanted to make something that was extremely normal, all this stuff about regular life, seemed artistic, and I wanted to bring it to life, I wanted black people to be normal, that was my whole thing, we are normal right?…
But I wanted to be more magical, I didn’t want to be so stuck in reality.' N.D.

Apparently, at the end of a life, the many memories lived are meant to flash before the eyes, walking through the galleries of Noah Davis - a parallel is felt - to be bathed in the lucid light of summers, the sofa siesta with sisters, to walk with shadows in streets - as states change - to become a portal - a hole torn within the scenery of changing acts - exposing the galaxies within.

To fall as to never meet the end - to sleep within a tender palette applied within a conversation of consciousnesses - watchful and rare. A self frequenting a land of illusions, rendered as mirages on the landscape of confession.

It is with idiosyncratic grace and privacy that Davis distills his magic - depictions of a life made for the eyes of the loved by the soul of the missed.

Noah Davis, Pueblo del Rio: Arabesque, 2014. Oil on Canvas, 121.9 × 182.9 cm. (c) The Estate of Noah Davis Courtesy The Estate of Noah Davis and David Zwirner. Image: M-A (A SPACE BETWEEN).

Noah Davis Barbican - until 11 May 2025.

Special thanks: Hannah Carr and Zoe Graham. David Zwirner Gallery. Dr Ekua McMorris, Dr Susannah Haslem, Alkesh Parmar, Nathan Francois, Dr Aleya James.

JOE RICHARDS 20/12/2024 JOE RICHARDS 20/12/2024

95. AZIAH LUSALA: A SPACE BETWEEN FAITH AND REALITY.

Aziah Lusala, Black Jesus, 2023, Oil on Canvas, 100cm x 100cm. London. Private Collection.

‘Ultimately, my work reminds me — and anyone who views it — that no matter how difficult or limiting life may seem, there’s always the potential to transform, to grow, and to create something that transcends the struggle. It’s a testament to perseverance, faith, and the power of self-belief.’ A.L.

I remember meeting you through your work - the first time was in a crit I think, where you presented a series of material tests using black acrylic plastics - I remember sensing that there was a depth to what you were doing and yet at first the impression was of a reflected surface... the contradiction was fascinating.

Entering university, I understood that what I was saying and creating wouldn’t immediately resonate with everyone.

I knew my perspectives might feel unfamiliar or even unapproachable, but I wanted to find a way to introduce myself and my practice in a way that could connect with others while staying true to its essence.

I still vividly remember something you said to me during that crit — it has stayed with me ever since. You told me, “You need to become the expert in your own practice.” At first, I didn’t know how to process that.

My initial reaction was, “If I’m the expert, why did I even come here?” But over time, I came to understand it differently. Being the expert didn’t mean I had all the answers — it meant I had a responsibility to bring others into the world of my practice.

I needed to become the teacher, guiding people to engage with the depth and complexity of my work and how it intertwines with my life.

The Black Jesus painting halts the viewer - the sorrow in the eyes is extraordinary - it is incredibly deep in terms of emotion and yet has been created with a method that feels as if the paint has been pushed and pulled down the surface - when it was shown in The Saatchi gallery earlier this year I kept returning to it - like a magnet...

The story behind Black Jesus is deeply personal and rooted in my upbringing. My father is a pastor, so faith was always a central part of my life. I spent much of my childhood in the church, but I also grew up in the streets, where community and loyalty to one another were everything.

We gave our all to our community—it was almost like an act of worship. But the activities we indulged in, the things we did to survive or feel connected, wouldn’t be seen as acceptable to others.

Black Jesus captures that tension. His sorrowful eyes reflect the weight of those contradictions—the struggle between sin and redemption, between faith and reality.

The method of painting — the way the paint feels like it’s been dragged, pushed, and pulled — is intentional. It mirrors the push and pull of those experiences, the turbulence and the beauty that coexist in that environment.

You are about to leave art school, how do you feel now and what have been your signals within that period of time that you will take forward?

As I prepare to leave the Royal College of Art, I feel pride, gratitude, and a sense of unfinished work. My time here has been transformative, pushing me to grow in ways I never imagined. While I’ve accomplished so much, my life remains complex, and getting to this point hasn’t been easy. Right now, my focus is on crossing this milestone while preparing for the next steps.

One of my next steps is traveling to Congo to reconnect with my roots.

My grandfather was a king in Basankusu, Congo, and as one of the last males in our lineage with a claim to that throne, I feel a deep responsibility to explore my heritage. This journey is about grounding myself in my identity and carrying that connection into my work and future.

When I return, I plan to complete my master’s and build on the foundation I’ve established at the RCA. The most important lessons I’ll take with me are self-belief and attention to detail — trusting my instincts and making intentional decisions about materials and research to add depth and meaning to my work.

Leaving the RCA isn’t an end but the start of something greater. I’m proud of what I’ve achieved — not just for myself, but for my daughter, my community, and as an example of what’s possible. I’m ready to carry these lessons and my legacy forward into the next chapter.

Time is an important element to your practice as an artist…

Time is central to both my life and my practice. The eight years I spent away from civilisation profoundly shaped my understanding of time — not as a limitation, but as a foundation for growth.

During that period, I rediscovered my passion for art, and this duality of constraint and transformation continues to inform my work.

In 2014, while incarcerated, I created ‘They Got the Key but I’m Still Free.’

At 19, I didn’t fully grasp its significance, but over time, its meaning has deepened.

It now feels like a prophecy, connecting my past struggles to my present growth and future possibilities.

Time gives my work context, allowing it to reflect a broader journey.

It acts as a thread linking past, present, and future, showing how every moment adds to a larger narrative of identity and transformation.

If you look at the work as a whole, what do you feel it tells you?

Each of my works is a chapter, and together they form a book — a story of my journey from incarceration to creation against all odds.

Each piece holds a fragment of my experiences, from moments of confinement and struggle to breakthroughs of clarity and freedom. If I look at my body of work as a whole, it tells a story of resilience, redemption, and self-discovery.

It’s a dialogue between the past and present: my early works carry the raw emotions of someone trying to make sense of their reality, while my recent pieces reflect a deeper understanding of myself and my place in the world.

Together, these works show how time and reflection can sculpt pain into meaning and a personal story into something inspirational.

But more than that, my work is a key — a way to inspire people who grew up in situations like mine. It’s about showing the path I’m trying to navigate to leave that life behind and how far I’ve come in doing so.

Ultimately, my work reminds me — and anyone who views it — that no matter how difficult or limiting life may seem, there’s always the potential to transform, to grow, and to create something that transcends the struggle. It’s a testament to perseverance, faith, and the power of self-belief.

‘Black Jesus’ was presented in the exhibition ‘From The One To The Many’ in September 2024, at Saatchi Gallery, London.

CAN I BE HONEST by Aziah Lusala.

JOE RICHARDS 14/12/2024 JOE RICHARDS 14/12/2024

94. ADAM KNIGHT: A SPACE BETWEEN SPATIAL AND TEMPORAL.

Jencksianagram, The Cosmic House - LONDON.

Adam Knight, Cosmic Viewer (Winter), Various Dimensions, Laminate card and convex lenses.

Please introduce Jencksianagram?

Jencksianagram is an exhibition at The Cosmic House in London. The House is a Grade 1 listed building designed by Maggie Keswick and Charles Jencks modified from a late-Georgian house. The Cosmic House remains one of the most notable examples of post-modern architecture in the UK. It is currently used as an archive, museum and exhibition space open to the public. Jencksianagram comprises a number of works: stereographic slides, a set of viewers, a small publication and sculpture. The title combines Jencksiana – which is Charles’ invented symbol used throughout The Cosmic House– with stereogram: two similar images mounted side-by-side. Since late 2023, I’ve been a regular visitor and researcher to the Architectural Library. The Library contains Charles’ vast architectural slide collection which he used and reused to illustrate his lectures and publications. I spent many months methodically viewing every one of the thousands of slides in the Slidescrapers. In doing so I identified near-duplicates in the archive and used them to assemble stereograms – a pair of almost identical two-dimensional images that when displayed side-by-side in a stereoscopic viewer, is optically perceived as a three-dimensional image.

Adam Knight, Cosmic Viewers (Summer and Winter) and Cosmic Slide, Photo: Thierry Bal.

The accompanying book which supports the exhibition, 'Hold all Holes', is beautiful, in production and also in text. Please can you expand upon the notion of 'a slackened gaze' within the context of the exhibition.

Thank you. I’m always hesitant to include texts as work within exhibitions. I feel there can be an uneasy relationship between writing as poetic inquiry and my tendency to outline a method or rationale for the work. However the silence of the archive initiated a desire to speak aloud, whereupon I fastidiously recorded voice notes as I left the archive each week. These fragmented meditations helped structure ‘Hold All Holes’. The publication’s title is from a correspondence between the architect Terry Farrell and his clients Maggie and Charles early on in The Cosmic House’s construction. The phrase ‘Hold all Holes’ was capitalised and underlined, recommending a pause to construction work. For me this was an important spatial and temporal methodology. It helped me to think about ellipsis within the archive. Charles identifies the intrinsic quality of postmodern architecture as having double meaning. ‘To hold’ being both a command to wait and an act of support. Charles was fascinated by the power of metaphors in understanding architecture; he speaks eloquently about this in relation to Le Corbusier’s chapel in Ronchamp. Charles admired the ability of postmodern architecture to codify and play with different readings. In English, there is a similar metaphorical richness around vision and visuality; ‘tunnel vision’, ‘soft focus’, ‘blind-spot’ and so on. So going back to your citing of the term ‘Slackened Gaze’, I wanted to set up a very particular way of viewing the exhibition. The demand of stereoscopic viewing is to resist direct looking and to occupy a lucid state of gazing, a practice analogous to hearing rather than listening. Even though the Cosmic Viewers are an apparatus enabling specific viewing to take place, the experience is still reliant on the visitor optically completing the work. So this too becomes a kind of allegory for engaging with the work of art: to be aware of the conditions and structures enabling the experience.

Adam Knight, Cosmic Viewer - (Autumn) and Cosmic Slide.

Within this site specific exhibition, the sense of atmosphere is very pronounced. How have you expressed this within the curation of Jencksianagram?

I read a recent review of Tai Shani’s exhibition

‘The World to Me Was A Secret: Caesious, Zinnober, Celadon, and Virescent’ – also on show at The House – saying something to the effect that sites don’t get more specific than The Cosmic House. Having worked with sites and situations for the past fifteen years, I feel the practice benefits from having a relationship with a strong context that often the built world provides.

I deeply enjoy the process of bringing to bear my sensibilities and dispositions alongside existing frameworks and structures. There’s a lot of figuring out, being responsive and attentive to where certain interests may take you. I wrote my MA thesis on the importance of distancing the work from the place of production to the site of presentation. Although I no longer have such a dogmatic position, in a way I’ve understood my work through this dichotomy. This is more pronounced where archival objects remain inside the controlled environment of the archive. My visits would often coincide with guided tours of The Cosmic House. As visitors entered the Architectural Library I would be present at the desk researching. In this setting I had a strong sense that I was ‘performing research’, that is to say participating in the life of The House. I became more and more conscious of the Library as a multi-layered space. I’d have passing conversations with other researchers and ongoing discussions with Archivist and Collections Manager Anna McNally. All these activities got me closer to how I imagined the Library was used when Charles was alive - a place of debate, conversation and wonderment. The original intention for the Cosmic Viewers was to install them on the light-tables in the Architectural Library. The tables operate as windows looking down into the Summer Room. It's a clever piece of design where aspects of the room mediate between environments (similarly the undulating roof designed by Maggie originally followed the curvature of the hanging branches above). The decision to present the work in the room adjacent to the Library (Maggies Study) helps to retain certain atmospherics but without being reliant on the specifics of the Library. In the exhibition, the lightboxes play an important role in illuminating the stereograms. A key gesture was to use a warmer light in the boxes which felt more in keeping with the surroundings of the house, rather than the museological cool blue that I was working with in the Library.

Adam Knight, Cosmic Viewers (Spring and Autumn) and Cosmic Slide, Photo: Thierry Bal.

You mention the notion of boxes holding artifacts, which were not originally intended for that use as being a 'surrogate object'... I found this to be fascinating...

Charles' voice and approach is so strong and present throughout the house, the archive and related materials. In 1972 Charles Jencks and Nathan Silver wrote a manifesto on Adhocism. In it they advocate an approach towards the improvisational by using things to hand to solve design problems. The Architectural Library begins as an ambitious conceptual organisation for Charles’ collection, with each book case designed around a particular architectural style: baroque, classicism and so on. As the library expanded according to his needs and interests, these systems started to break down, or rather became corrupted - additional shelves and compartments were installed to accommodate the growing collection.

The ‘Slidescrapers’ are two 5-foot high towers that are dedicated to his image collection. Each metal drawer is tightly packed with varying configurations and contortions of slide boxes. I could see that some slides were housed in after dinner mint packaging. The boxes’ scale and dimensions neatly stack 35mm mounted slides. In one of our early meetings, Anna emphasised that the word archive has a double-meaning: archive as the both collection and the architecture it resides in. The Library, Slidescrapers and slide boxes exemplify this. What I found fascinating was that in places, different kinds of tape were used to reinforce and repair the boxes. The same tape was also used to crop visual details in the slides that Charles included in his teaching materials. Tape becomes a common motif of repair, maintenance and attention. The context of the exhibition arrives at the moment where institutional structures emerge around the archive, and the tensions between Charles’ idiosyncrasies and archival demands play out.

Adam Knight, Cosmic Viewer (Spring) and Cosmic Slide.

Within your research within this specific archive - have you discovered any unanswered questions within Charles Jencks life's work?

The Architectural Library constitutes a unique body of knowledge that challenges orthodox approaches to archiving and digitisation. I enjoy aspects of research that reveal things that would have otherwise been ignored or overlooked. There is an interplay between the formalities of the collection and playful elements of Charles’ identity. Early on in my research, I came across a torn article from a magazine. On one side was a review of an exhibition on East Asian ceramics at the Victoria & Albert Museum, and on the back an advertisement for Medite - manufacturer of Medium Density Fibreboard (used throughout The Cosmic House). Both pages would have interested Charles equally, but what do you focus on in this instance? Furthermore I’ve come to know Charles via anecdotes or through conversations with those who work at The Cosmic House. For instance, the challenge of deciphering his handwriting or how a recurring set of initials required decoding to understand their purpose. In response to the work, I was asked by Lily Jencks (daughter of Charles, The Keeper of Visions and Chairwoman) to what extent Charles was annotating his slides.

I recognise in that question I hold certain insights into the collection that others may not have, even those who were very close to him. I’ve been the only researcher to look through every slide in the Slidecrapers. The slide pairs in the exhibition would have been taken sequentially, allowing us to share his experiences of time between the two photographs. In this way, the work opens up a dialogue with Charles. My time as a researcher and subsequent producer of Jencksianagram resulted in my admission into the digital archive as a ‘named figure’ (alongside previous artists). In a minor way the project becomes part of the history of the House. The reciprocity of archive to artwork is very interesting to me, and hopefully is in keeping with the spirit of how Charles envisioned the way his work and The Cosmic House could be interpreted.

Adam Knight

The Cosmic House Jencks Foundation, 19 Lansdowne Walk, London, W11 3AH.

JOE RICHARDS 07/12/2024 JOE RICHARDS 07/12/2024

93. JIL SANDER: A SPACE BETWEEN COMPASS AND COURSE.

Jil Sander by Jil Sander - Prestel.

*Jil Sander photographed by Francesco Scavullo, 1980.*

Covered with a Warholian screenprint - off set to reveal the multiple layers of self. As screens or shadows suggest the many mirrors to Jil Sander's gaze - Part elusive Garbo, part pragmatic engineer.

- A gaze that stares out to an unseen horizon line, as to be lit by the luna haze of a Hiroshi Sugimoto seascape. Calm yet witness of a space between storms, to chart a course where a map remains closed, and the compass is self: Jil Sander by Jil Sander.

To trace a finger across these pages is to sense a pulse, a vein beneath the skin as a scored fold gives choice to adapt this chronicle of time, this surface of still - A book of feeling over instruction - where images are chosen by the beat of a heart - the pink matter over the need to be understood by the grey.

As in the architectural spaces depicted in print, so too does this object convey an intention of space. On opening the cover or door to a volume on a life lived through the appreciation of the sparsely furnished. The light-filled atriums of Sander’s stores - allowed for contemplations of identity to take flight and perch before purchase. So too do the minimally furnished pages in Irma Booms’ monograph on the German designer - blurs as plasma paused - more flat screen than full bleed. As borderless pages open - allowing the viewer to select combinations of colour, akin to the quiet act of physically contemplating Sander’s expansive collections - as client collaboration - in the 'We' over the 'I'.

Archival film footage - paused to remember amorphous - to focus - as edges soft as pastel impressions smudge gentle memories. Cropped in as evidence - to study the erogenous of a design through glimpses caught - of elbow, nape of neck, undulation of throat.

Softly printed portraits reminiscent of Gerhard Richter paintings form an emotive focus felt - clearer than the digital, richer for the saturation of hue - allowing the eye to glaze upon a past lived - An ode to silence - presented as art - where to fall in love stills the world from its crashing chaos - signals from the noise - within this printed atmosphere - all makes sense and equilibrium is achieved.

A kindness of colours pigment a ream of pages - which occasionally jolt for a warning shot of lapis, cobalt, ruby or gold. The body bare of faceted stones and yet is touched with an artist's palette, tender and private. As with Josef Albers, whose colour block paintings are sensed within the occasional wide borders of white, generous as a foulards edge, to a block of egg yolk yellow or vermillion.

Clothes cut as paper planes stitched in felted sheaths - hover on angular limbs - as Naum Gabo cuts expanses of metal - Sander selects poplin, leather or wool to fathom flatness to form.

Solarised images occasionally blink from pages as to signify the exactitude of a surface understood as blueprint - as garment - as plans become construction.

The sensual surprise of touch of an occasional page of printed plastic breaks the mass of porous papers - as the cellophanes of Peter Lindbergh's film strips - a processing in between moments caught - wet from a dark room before the solidity of permanence. As with her clothes, Sander knows that celluloid lasts longer than a season - and so these pages are further testament of a directorial knowledge of cinemas’ ageless lasting.

And so Sander protects her uniformed following with a knowing pragmatism that beckons to eras long passed - in the precision of cut and construction, reassuring the wearer with an instilled knowledge. There is a maternal manner in the way ideas are proposed - both on the body and off - in the no-nonsense approach to her work as a designer and in impeccable translation into book form - of gesture over instruction. An offering to those who speak through garments engineered to appear simple for the predilection of the complex. Cuffs hover knuckles - coats swathe shoulders, knees break through double-faced plackets with the rhythm of walking to beguile the viewer and empower the wearer.

The science of seduction, cooly invisible, even impenetrable to the most yet yielding and lucid to the few - whose loyalty is in realising the self.

'The designer is not one to shy away from such classic erotic cues as transparency and the color red. The cut, by contrast, is anything but provocative. Succinct in its approach, it gives the female body the freedom to go unconcealed without making itself vulnerable to expectations.' J.S.

**Jil Sander by Jil Sander** published by **Prestel**

Special Thanks Kate Luxton - Prestel.

The artist contemplates a personal process of expression…

Finding My Blue Sky, Lisson Gallery - LONDON.

​As with his paintings, where brushwork breaks through layers of detail caught between states, so too does an artist in motion, discovering and witnessing their own signals of change. Tega Akpokona contemplates the evolution of his own voice.

‘I’m convinced that language itself is born from a peculiar human need to understand, and to be thoroughly understood…

Abridged Interview

Walk The House, Tate Modern - LONDON.

PREVIEW: M-A (A SPACE BETWEEN) ISSUE 4 RELEASED MAY 2025.

‘I have to remind myself that change is inevitable and I try to listen to my gut to know when to move with the change and when to challenge it.’ S.J.

PREVIEW: M-A (A SPACE BETWEEN) ISSUE 4 RELEASED MAY 2025.

Thoughts in the Roots - SERPENTINE - LONDON.

‘Skin, like the eye, is a boundary element, the end point capable of dividing and separating us from what surrounds us… It is the point that allows me, still and afterall, to recognise myself.’ G.P.

PREVIEW: M-A (A SPACE BETWEEN) ISSUE 4 - RELEASED SPRING 2025.

'… my work, I would say is underpinned by this playful relationship with futility and trying to preserve the already gone.​' A.S.

Leigh Bowery! Tate Modern - LONDON.

Tirzah Garwood: Beyond Ravilious, Dulwich Picture Gallery - LONDON.

M-A: In the toppled toys, redwood-sized poppies and intrepid cats - which sculk kingdoms of adventure - a space between reality needing fantasy. Garwood's collection testifies to remind, that despite it all, we need to utilise our dream worlds, if we stand a chance to live and not just survive.

To celebrate the 100th contemplation of M-A (A SPACE BETWEEN), a series of questions are proposed by members of the M-A community to editor and founder Joe Richards.

Paule Vézelay: Living Lines, Royal West of England Academy - BRISTOL.

‘En Garde’, Thaddaeus Ropac - LONDON. Photographed by Junzhe Yang

‘For me, the act of bringing light into discarded spaces became a metaphor for this healing process, both reclaiming spaces and reclaiming parts of myself.’ S.J.

Noah Davis, The Barbican - LONDON.

'I'd rather fail at painting than be successful in anything else.' N.D.

Jencksianagram, The Cosmic House - LONDON.

Jil Sander by Jil Sander - Prestel.

As with his paintings, where brushwork breaks through layers of detail caught between states, so too does an artist in motion, discovering and witnessing their own signals of change. Tega Akpokona contemplates the evolution of his own voice.

'… my work, I would say is underpinned by this playful relationship with futility and trying to preserve the already gone.' A.S.