Interviews, Issue 10

Alicja Kwade

Tools for Unknowing

Words BRYONY DAWSON

Photography FRANZ GRÜNEWALD

Tensions between the desire for absolute knowledge and the slippery contingency of perception underpin the work of Alicja Kwade. Through large-scale installations and sculptures that appear to defy gravity and perceptual logic, she interrogates the systems by which we claim to form an objective understanding of the world. Polished stone spheres are stacked precariously on garden chairs or scattered like a constellation of planets; mirrors project illusory spaces and unexpected doubles; clock hands drift like dandelion seeds. In conversation, we discussed the role of chance and accident in the genesis of new works, the pleasure of discovering connections in retrospect, and Kwade’s own relationship to time’s flow.

BRYONY DAWSON I wanted to start by asking you about how new ideas arise, and what it looks like when a project is in its very beginning stages. Where do you go when you’re looking for new ideas and new inspiration?

ALICJA KWADE This could be a very theoretical, philosophical question. Where do ideas start, in general? I don’t think there’s a sharp line between one idea and another idea. Basically, it’s not ideas, it’s more like a continuous flow of thoughts. But yes, I read a bit — I research, I try to find information about topics I’m interested in, different things. That might include social aspects, historical aspects, physics, many, many different components. I usually learn from earlier works, or I discover something while working on something else. It’s always as if one project is giving birth to another. To put it more simply, inspiration comes from researching topics I’m not educated in.

BD I was fascinated by your series of drawings, CC-IN BETWEEN (2020). While many of your sculptures and installations involve very precise, polished feats of engineering and technology, these drawings feel much more vulnerable, but also playful. The influence of chance and accident remains visible. Can you talk a little about your relationship to drawing, and the role of chance and accident in your creative process?

AK Yes, of course. I think there’s sometimes a misunderstanding that, just because my sculptures look very planned and perfect, they’re clean and perfect from the beginning. At some point, I decided to work more in outdoor and public settings because I truly believe it’s important, which requires certain materials, a larger team, and engineering. You have to be very precise to make it happen, and you have to be very clear about what you’re communicating. Of course, there is still a lot of chaos and accidental decisions, but it’s in my head about formal decisions and what I want, and it’s technical challenges, and I need to get it sorted ahead of other companies getting involved. Communication needs to be clear to avoid confusion and reach what you want when working with others. Actually, that’s what I do: I filter out threads from pure chaos. I try to give a clear face, a clear line. But this is more of a mental process than a materialized thing. The drawings were made completely by myself during the COVID lockdowns. In the beginning, all of my employees were very scared and stayed out of the studio. But for me, working is… It’s wrong to say “pleasure,” but it’s something I need to do every day under all circumstances. I love to do it, but it’s not just loving. It’s something that’s part of my life, which I need as much as breathing. So I decided to do one of these timed drawings each day until the lockdown ended. I wanted to try to map my feelings of the day. And those COVID days were very strange. Sometimes, time felt super stretched, and then it could feel very squeezed, and there were these panic attacks for everyone. I tried to visualise that for myself with those drawings, almost like a diary. And there was a lot of chance and coincidence, so it was super fun. I was just pouring all the acids and stuff that I have in the studio, which we normally use for patinas or whatever. I was basically using what I had in the reach of my hands; it might be stuff from my bag, like makeup and lipstick, but it could also be acids and salts and paint from the studio. That’s why the drawings are very free. They don’t involve any preparation, renderings, or engineering, and all that.

BD Your work engages with philosophical ideas of time and change, often referring to scales and systems that dwarf everyday human experience, such as geological shifts or planetary cycles spanning many millennia. But I’d like to ask about human emotion in relation to time. Few things influence our feelings and sense of perspective more than time and change, and coming to terms with these forces can be one of life’s greatest challenges. In your work, however, emotional expression often feels reserved. I’m wondering how you relate to time on a personal and emotional level. Has that relationship shifted over the course of your practice?

AK I mean, everything is kind of personal, of course, because I’m doing it. There’s no clear separation between my work and my personal emotions. But I think there’s so much emotion in this world, and it’s kind of a mess. I’m not very interested in my own emotions, to be honest. Even if they’re leading me and they’re doing things to me, I try to see emotion as an all-over problem of humanity. What we aim for, what we’re afraid of, what we desire, why we create problems… It’s because of certain emotions. I try to observe that as a phenomenon of the human being, but I don’t want to point to any specific emotions in my work. Otherwise, it would be as if I were pretending to know how it is for others, but I don’t know, because I only know myself.

Personally, I always feel as if I don’t have enough time. I work on so many things simultaneously. I couldn’t concentrate if I worked on one thing at a time; I think it’s impossible. I always need to have a thousand things in my mind, and somehow I make it work.

BD I’d like to hear more about the exhibition you presented alongside works by Agnes Martin at Pace Gallery in Los Angeles in 2024. How did it feel to see your practice placed in dialogue with Martin’s?

AK It was a beautiful surprise. Of course, I knew Martin’s work, but I’m not an expert. I felt it was an honour, but I had no idea why I was being honoured with this show — I couldn’t see any obvious connections at first. Then it became a real pleasure. I was able to learn a lot about her, and also about how my own work is seen. It was through Arne Glimcher, who curated the show and who had been a very close and trusted friend of Agnes Martin for many years. He began to talk about the importance of the line in her work, and the horizontal plane, which also appears a lot in my work — how the line frames the landscape, or how the frames are framing the line. I felt really blessed to come to see that, because somehow I hadn’t recognized it in my own work before. I also began to see Martin’s work differently. Until I started talking with Arne, I saw Agnes Martin as a very abstract, conceptual artist. But through our conversations, I learned so much about the landscape, the land, the distance — all of those elements that were so important to her work. It was completely unexpected.

BD Have there been other recent works or exhibitions that feel like a turning point, or a step into unfamiliar territory for you?

AK It’s hard to say. It’s something I can’t observe at the moment. I can only see it backwards. There might be, but I don’t know about it yet, because, on one hand, I do many, many certain things in the meantime. On the other hand, I never change the topics in my work so much. One leads to another, another, another. There’s rarely something about which I would say, “Okay, that’s standing out, that’s a very different thing.” Sometimes I can see it in hindsight, though. I can look back and see the moment when I was able to formulate something which then became important later, but I can’t see it in the present.