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Inka Essenhigh

Transforming Landscapes

Words PLUS MAGAZINE

As sunlight cascaded through the windows of Inka Essenhigh’s New York studio, bathing the space in a warm, golden glow, it felt like a moment suspended in time. Inside, the studio hummed with energy, much like her paintings, where nature flows with rhythm, and the lines between reality and imagination blur. In Essenhigh’s world, landscapes breathe, flowers unfurl in a rhythmic flow, and even the air seems imbued with its own quiet sentience.

Her latest body of work at Victoria Miro deepens this sense of transformation. Here, nature is not merely depicted but animated—its forms stretch, twist, and morph with an internal, enigmatic rhythm. While reminiscent of the botanical intricacies found in 17th-century still lifes, Essenhigh’s paintings move beyond illusion, seducing the eye with their detail and fluidity while their surreal distortions remind us that nothing is fixed, that life itself is in perpetual motion. Working in luminous enamel, she conjures an ecology at once intimate and unfamiliar, where the vegetal and the human, the tangible and the spectral, seamlessly intertwine. In these worlds, time is not linear, and reality does not hold still—it pulses, shifts, and beckons us to look closer.

PLUS MAGAZINE: Your paintings often blend reality and imagination, where floral figures and landscapes transform. How do you see this evolution in your exhibition at Victoria Miro?

INKA ESSENHIGH: That’s an interesting question. For me, painting needs to feel good—just like nature feels good. I see art as a way to transform how we experience the world. In my work, that transformation often comes through reconnecting with the beauty and energy of nature, which can be just as powerful in its own way.

P: Your work often navigates between the mystical and the biological. How do you negotiate that balance?

IE: Aren’t they the same thing?

P: They can be, but people tend to separate them—mysticism as something mysterious and unknown, biology as something rational and explained.

IE: I recently came across something fascinating—the Telepathy Tapes, which document how some nonverbal autistic children communicate. They describe consciousness as the first element, with everything else emerging from it. It’s the opposite of how most people think, where consciousness is something that evolves over time from the inanimate to the animate. I like this idea—that consciousness is primary, that everything carries its own mystery. It aligns with how I see painting: as an act of giving form to something that already exists but is beyond perception.

P: You live in New York, where nature isn’t exactly abundant. Has that influenced your work in any way? Or was there a formative moment that shaped your relationship with the natural world?

IE: Not at first. My husband’s family has a property in Maine, and we would visit for a couple of weeks each year. I tried painting landscapes but always hated it. Then, in 2007, we spent an entire summer there, and that’s when I realized how wrapped up I had been in New York. It took longer than a short visit to shake off that city mindset and understand just how much I needed nature. That summer changed everything, and my paintings began to reflect that shift.

P: It’s interesting to hear how your relationship with nature has evolved. What can the audience expect to see in this new body of work?

IE: All the works are new, continuing my exploration of landscapes and the natural world. There’s one cityscape, which is a bit of a departure—it harks back to a mural I did for The Drawing Center in 2017. The buildings in that piece come alive, some looking like statues, others appearing to move. But aside from that, the exhibition is largely filled with landscapes—anthropomorphized flowers, trees, and organic forms.

P: How do you typically begin a painting?

IE: I paint from my imagination. Sometimes, I have a loose vision—a landscape at sunset with lots of creatures in it. I don’t know exactly what it will look like, but I know the atmosphere I want to create. Light plays a huge role in setting that mood. I mix colors that resonate with that imagined space and start shaping forms. It’s a fluid process where the world materializes as I paint.

P: You’ve described working with enamel as liberating you from the weight of art history. How does that sense of freedom manifest in this show?

IE: It’s not so much my freedom but how the work is read. If I made these same paintings in oil, they would carry the weight of art history, placing them in a lineage that invites direct comparison. Enamel sidesteps that, allowing me to create something that feels separate from historical baggage. It also removes a certain resistance that people might have to sentimentality or mysticism in art. I’ve always been searching for a way to make those elements resonate without feeling burdened by preconceptions.

P: Your paintings seem to collapse time, where past, present, and future fold into each other. Do you consciously think about the time when you paint?

IE: I don’t control it, but I like to think that it’s there. Some forms feel like they come from another world as if I’m tapping into something archetypal. Plato had his idea of perfect forms—maybe I’m reaching for something like that.

P: How many works will be in this exhibition?

IE: Nine. Two are quite large—six by eight feet and six by seven feet. The rest are around 40 by 50 inches. My works used to be bigger, but over time, I realized they don’t always need to be. Smaller works can be just as powerful and more accessible for people to live with.

P: One last question, what’s your favorite flower?

IE: Peonies. I’m not sure why. They just make me happy.

Inka Essenhigh’s “The Greenhouse“ is on view at Victoria Miro, Gallery II, 16 Wharf Road, London N1 7RW from March 14 to April 17, 2025.