Alexandra Crouwers: “I want to preserve things that cannot be preserved”

Interview by Pau Waelder & Roxanne Vardi

Alexandra Crouwers is a visual artist working in the digital realm, and currently a doctoral artistic researcher in animation at KU Leuven/LUCA School of Arts, Brussels. She lives and works in Antwerp, Belgium. Her works can be described as collages, assemblages or dioramas. Crouwers’ animation and images are constructed with 3D software and post production, and bring attention to the balance between landscape and architecture, silence and sound, materiality and immateriality, technology and a broad sense of art history.

Diorama. The Plot: a day/night sequence, (2021) is featured in our recent artcast Anticlimactic, a selection of works from the eco-friendly NFT art community a\terHEN. The video work, based on a photogrammetric model of three tree stumps now called ‘The Plot,’ is part of Crouwers’ investigation of ways to deal with eco-anxiety and ecological grief.

Before discussing your artwork The Plot, can you tell us about the appeal of the unreal, and what brought you to research the concept of the diorama, which has become intertwined in your artistic practice?

I only realized that a lot of my work was, in fact, part of this whole concept of the diorama around five or six years ago. The field of special effects and visual illusions, and this sort of idea of simulated nature, simulated scenes, simulated wilderness has been lingering in my work for quite a long time. I think it’s also a part of where I grew up, in the Dutch countryside in the south. Since then I have been living in cities for most of my life. But as they say, you can take the girl out of the countryside, but you cannot take the countryside out of the girl. I noticed that I often start working by building a view, which I am lacking in the city. So there is a kind of innate longing for landscapes that are not there. This is connected to the idea of escapism; to escape from where you are at. The word nature has become very problematic: what we refer to as nature is quickly deteriorating in all kinds of senses. To me, simulating this idea of wilderness is like a twisted sense of digital nature, of purpose preservation. It is a way to deal with the idea of loss. Those are the things that connect to the idea of the diorama as a way to preserve something. The diorama is twofold: It’s the visual illusion that transports you (the immersion of a scene) and it’s the habitat.

In a sense, I have a very desperate practice as I want to preserve things that cannot be preserved. I want to go back in time to prehistory and the origins of image making. Decorated caves, such as the very beautifully preserved Dordogne, are also immersive spaces. It’s a multimedia installation that uses light and sound where a lot of the paintings almost seem to move with the surface. Thus, there is this idea of visual illusions also being a part of our whole history with image and the experience of image. Transporting pieces of my grandfather’s forest or plot to the digital X, Y, and Z axis by using photogrammetric models is, in a sense, a ritualistic way of transporting something from one realm to another. But visually, it’s very interesting, because from a distance, I am carrying out a sort of healing as a performative action, which I am interested in further exploring. The idea that technology is something very rational is absolutely not true. It’s like the illusion that people are rational or that they grow up. They never do. So I read and own some fantastic literature on that, specifically about the relationship between technology and for instance, spiritualism, like radio waves for example. These things are also connected into this fantasy science fiction world, which gives us really a lot of freedom to stretch a practice.

“The word nature has become very problematic: what we refer to as nature is quickly deteriorating in all kinds of senses. In a sense, I have a very desperate practice as I want to preserve things that cannot be preserved.”

You discussed the connection with prehistoric culture which gave us the first multimedia environment. In works such as The White Hide, (2012), Last Voices, (2017), and Millenial.spike, (2018) one can clearly see your interest in Neolithic culture. You also worked on two emoji proposals which are fantastic. Can you elaborate on how you work around those references and what they mean to you?

I think that there are some practical reasons for this. For instance, if you want to say something about the way that our brains work you have to go back into history, because otherwise you would not understand it. Going back into this, we realize that we are all one. The fact that those hand stencil cave paintings are found all over the globe is just amazing. It’s so fantastic that I really don’t understand why the emoji proposal was declined by the Unicode Consortium. The hand stencil is the first emoji, really. I think that one of the most amazing things that we have is this ability for making up stuff. The wider field of the arts is the habitat for making stuff up. The whole idea of fiction being the base of everything we do really is just quite amazing. On a cinematic level, I have always been incredibly influenced by science fiction films and the slowness of Stanley Kubrick. I learned all this 3d software by myself, and very quickly was simulating what big studios were doing. I have moved away from that a bit because it’s very time consuming, and also not always feasible. I like the fact that the visual language of the digital image has also exploded, and one can more or less use so many more types of digital imagery such as, for instance, the photogrammetric models.

Alexandra Crouwers. The White Hide, (2012).

Diving a bit deeper into The Plot, you said that it relates to your family history. At first glance, the work brings up notions of nature and the idea of eco anxiety. By reading this aspect of your family history one realizes that it is more personal, sentimental and experiential than might appear at first.

I am not entirely sure if that was the meaning. In hindsight I have been suffering from eco anxiety for 20 years. When I graduated from art school, we had to write a paper and I wrote a nonlinear story. It was written in separate sheets of paper, so the reader could decide in which order to read them. Everything that I am doing now is in there. It is, in essence, a science fiction piece. There are even aliens mentioned in there. But there is also a deep concern already about the temperature rising. Back then, people were already saying things like ‘oh, this is an unusually warm January’ or ‘oh, spring is coming’. But, I was already really very worried. In the paper that I wrote, I already questioned why people are so happy about this. In hindsight, I am not entirely sure where that exactly came from. I had been reading about it at the time, and I always watched a lot of disaster movies. Just as a sideline, there is research that proves that people who watch a lot of horror and disaster movies are much better equipped to deal with things like a pandemic. So, maybe it was because of all the disaster movies that I had been seeing as a child growing up near the German border. This eco anxiety completely predates even the idea of this forest being a part of my work. The first time I saw it after it was cleared I realized that it wasn’t even a forest, but a small monoculture plantation. Even though my whole family still refers to it as the little forest.

There is a sentimental reason that my mom has it now, and a very sentimental reason that my grandfather bought it in the first place. In the 1950s and 60s my grandfather was a farmer, and his family was forced to trade lands to make bigger plots. Moreover, the state was building a highway. Because my grandfather lost so much land that was originally built from family bits and pieces and patches here and there, which was the custom before the 1950s, he wanted to buy something back that actually related to his family history.

Alexandra Crouwers. Last Voices, (2017).

So by making this diorama you are in a way recovering the family plot. I was wondering whether these three trunks were left there or whether this is something that you asked for?

When I came there I saw the devastation, but there were these very tall birch trees and some pine trees still standing. Because the forest used to be so dense they just grew really tall and thin. Every time there is a storm more trees just blow over, which makes it even more dramatic. I don’t know if the forester had an aesthetic motivation to do that. But they were just there like a perfect monument. Moreover, the distance between the tree trunks gives them their own personality, and especially the tallest one, which is very much in decay at the moment. Usually, when I create my works I use the computer. I take an idea, and put it in a computer, but in this case, the plot actually dictates the work. In a dynamic sense, you need not interfere but just look at it.

You once wrote that a diorama usually has a distinct educational purpose as it tries to show us something that we otherwise would not be able to see. Even though we know that climate change is worsening we retreat to digital spaces as escapism. How much of that educational quality or bringing into sight is there in working with the dioramas?

As I am doing my PhD in art, it’s art and not science. The models are also used, for instance, in archaeological sites as documentation. It’s just that they happen to be very artistic or that I make them artistic. So it is in that sense documentation, but then I turn it into art. So they are educational when I talk about them. I regularly get invited to talk to students about ecology and activism and art and how to connect the art and the digital. So in that sense they also function as illustrations of how these things all come together.

In your work there is also a connection with the Romantic idea of the landscape and the ruin. Was this a conscious decision?

It’s interesting because the landscape in the Romantic era was meant to be so impressive that one would feel very small. In that sense, the romantic landscape works really well as a reference to the sublime. That also helps communicate the landscape, which itself is already a complex concept, because it is actually a cultural construct. I barely like to situate humans in my work. There is already too much centered on us. What we need is to experience the outside.

Alexandra Crouwers. Millenial.spike, (2018).

Given that this work was originally presented at a\terHEN, could you further elaborate on what drove you to exhibit your work on this platform and on your experience with NFTs in general?

When the NFT entered my field of view, I didn’t really know much more than most people who were reading a newspaper. So I think I only consciously registered the idea when Beeple’s Everydays: The First 5000 Days was sold. I was also not really sure what it had to do with my work. But at the time, I was giving a class to students in Brussels titled Digital Dimensions, and I thought to myself ‘well, this is a digital dimension, this is quite new’. So I started reading about it, and I read for about two weeks straight. Around the same time I also reunited with Kelly Richardson. We have become each other’s mirrors to bounce ideas off each other. I was also very happy to have found a place without all the clutter around it. There is a gap in people’s knowledge of the digital arts which can be a bit frustrating and that is something that NFTs might help to explain.

Mihai Grecu: Exploring Alternate Realities

Interviewed by Roxanne Vardi & Pau Waelder

NEO PYONGYANG I, 2021 a video work by Mihai Grecu is featured in our recent artcast Anticlimactic, a selection of works from the eco-friendly NFT art community a\terHEN. Born in Romania during Nicolae Ceaușescu’s last decade of dictatorship, Grecu’s works deal with investigations of catastrophes, both political and environmental, and the exploration of mysterious and subconscious beginnings through new technologies. Grecu’s visual and poetic trips mix several techniques and may be seen as propositions for a new dream oriented technology.


In your films and VR animations you create dream-like worlds that are simulated with precise realism, how do you balance the interplay between fantasy and reality and what does it bring to the narratives you intend to create?

I have always seen my art as glimpses of alternate realities, so realistic simulations are very important to me. The illusion must be perfect, the whole weight of the metaphor relies on the intertwinement between the real and the simulated.

Your work has developed from an attention to the behavior of materials and substances, introducing surreal visual effects, to an interest in building a narrative that speaks of climate disasters, the futility of war, and the insanity of the powerful. What drove you to address these subjects? How does using computer animation techniques help you speak about them?

I am specialized in representing chaotic phenomena such as smoke, dust, particles, using 3d digital simulations. I always thought of these simulations as the canvases for a new painting. They are part of my artistic language. I use them to create a digital moving canvas full of complex visual metaphors. Some are more politically oriented, others more poetical. My background drove me to work on these images: I grew up during the last years of Ceausescu’s dictatorship in Romania, when his personality cult was reaching its extremes.

Mihai Grecu, The Reflection of Power (2015)

The infamous photoshopped image of a missile launch test distributed by the Iranian government back in 2008 showed how image editing technologies had become central to political and media discourses, both increasingly sophisticated but also accessible to almost everyone. Nowadays, we tend to doubt all images while also trusting them as proof of a fact. How does your work on political allegories play with the perception of images as fakes?

Some of my works are centered around the concept of “post-truth”. The interest in post-truth comes from the idea of rewriting history, especially because we live in a world where post-reality has become at least as important as reality. We live in a world where fake news influence people at least as much as “real” news, so the question is: if there are more people who are ready to accept a false fact as “reality” than people who are willing to check the information from scientific sources, does that make the “fake” as “real” as a certified fact? New media makes it even easier, thanks to new technical achievements, like “neural networks” or thanks to collective human work, like “russian facebook trolls.”

My idea is that “post truth” is not an artist statement already by default, but it’s a media in itself, and I am willing to use this media in creating artworks. In the history of “happening”, performance art or documentary filmmaking, there are examples carrying already the “germs” of this post truth that we are living right now, the difference is that nowadays it has become so big that it’s taking over a big part of society and it’s not directly related to artistic creation. 

Coming back to the first idea, I’m interested in post truth because I think it has become easier to manipulate and rewrite history: maybe in 50 years some of this “fake news” that we have now will become historical facts.

For me, the fake news and post-truth somehow blend with the concepts of propaganda and one-sided history that have reached their climax in totalitarian regimes (like stalinism, or North Korea), just that now it has become global and multi-facetted. It is the perfect time to include these techniques into artworks.

How does the immersive quality of VR films such as Saturnism help you tell a story? What would you point out as the main appeal of using VR in your work?  

Goya’s “Saturn Devouring His Son” is another image that has been haunting me for a long time. This particular work comes from my wish to make a virtual reality recreation of an “old masters” painting, so naturally I chose “Saturn”. I spent several months face to face with its reproduction. I tried to go beyond every layer of it and imagine what is going on in this space of the painting. Even if it looks like a very different work from what I usually do, I think it’s connected to my other projects on the conceptual side. Nevertheless I wanted to use the Virtual Reality medium as it should be used: as a direct environment to the viewer’s perception: I wanted it to be a raw and unsettling physical experience.

NEO PYONGYANG I is an excerpt from the film The Reflection of Power. Can you tell us a bit more about this project, and specifically what captured your interest in the North Korean regime? How do you conceive the idea of a flood, as opposed to other possible environmental catastrophes?   

The NFT piece is not technically an excerpt: format and speed of the image are different from the film. The first “media ” images that I was in contact with consisted basically of 99 percent Ceausecu. Furthermore, he was hanging out with his “friends”, for example Mobutu or Gaddafi. Another state leader who had an important role in my memories of the time was Kim Il Sung, the contemporary Kim’s grandfather. After most of this stalinst type of propaganda personality cult imagery disappeared and was erased with the fall of the Soviet Union and the end of the Cold War, I found myself attentively following what’s happening in North Korea, and getting more and more astonished that it keeps going on. It is like a “conceptual island” of the past that I remember from my early childhood, therefore I have a fascination for the Kim dynasty’s propaganda imagery and self-imagery. These aesthetics related to stalinist type propaganda are just a continuation of my previous works, as I want to create something like a complex universe with multiple pieces that are interconnected.

“we live in a world where post-reality has become at least as important as reality.”

How would you describe your experience in the NFT space and why did you choose to exhibit your work on alterHEN?

I decided to do NFTs because of my experience as a digital creator: I have realized that it’s a unique opportunity for creators to distribute and get rewarded for their art. I have extensive experience with festivals, art galleries, curators etc, and I know that for digital creators it was extremely difficult to sell and to show their work, and even if that happened, there would have been several intermediary parties which would take their own share in a more or less fair way. With NFTs, the creator is confronted directly to their audience and collectors, that’s why I decided to join in.

alterHEN is a collective initiative from many Tezos artists, started by Patrick Tresset and Diane Drubay. As part of this initiative, I want to say that alterHEN is working hard on bringing more and more people from the “traditional” art world into Tezos cryptoart, by inviting museums, collectors, artists etc. Big thanks to alterHEN for creating this! Besides these great initiatives, all the artists from the collective are amazing and each and one of them has their unique style!



Diane Drubay: Reconnecting with Nature

Interviewed by Roxanne Vardi & Pau Waelder

As Video Artist and Photographer, Diane Drubay investigates transcendental and psychoactive experiences exposed in representations of nature that expand the idea of the sublime. Drubay’s works draw attention to the climate emergency, extended realities, and community engagement. Ignis II, created in 2021, is featured in our recent artcast Anticlimactic, a selection of works from the eco-friendly NFT art community a\terHEN, in which four artists create a series of landscapes that depict the pressing reality and possible futures of our planet.

Explore Anticlimactic, a selection of NFT artworks from a\terHEN about climate change.

Your work is characterized by a very specific aesthetic in which the documentation of natural landscapes and atmospheric phenomena progressively give way to stylized, almost abstract compositions dominated by color fields and geometric shapes. What drove this progression and was it a conscious decision to evolve your work in this direction?

For years I have been using what I capture in nature, especially landscapes where the sun plays a central role in an emotional narrative. Whether through colors, geometric shapes or visual compositions, each scene is an emotion in progress or in motion. For example, the circle has harmonizing and soothing qualities, and the ocean, which can look like a gently moving rectangle, calls for benevolent transformation. Combining different colors creates a strong emotional story that is totally subconscious.

In each of my series, I use natural elements to write sensory stories that resonate through different emotions. This is also why I quickly moved on to video art, and now to gif. Each piece is a chapter in a book accompanying the viewer through a transcendental transformation.

Diane Drubay, Animae, (2018).


The concept of the Sublime is naturally present in your work; do you purposely introduce this notion as a deeper reading of what could superficially be understood as a soothing and contemplative scene?

The Sublime is indeed at the heart of my art. I am still as overwhelmed by the romantic artworks of the early 19th century, as by the spectacle that Nature offers us. Being able to embrace emotions and sensations, swaying between Ecstasy and Agony, is such a transformative experience.

Just as the Romantics appeared after the Enlightenment, I am part of this new movement of modern romantics committed to the environment and better futures. It is by valuing and reconnecting with Nature that we can respect it more and hope for a more harmonious future.

“For years I have been using what I capture in nature, especially landscapes where the sun plays a central role in an emotional narrative… It is by valuing and reconnecting with Nature that we can respect it more and hope for a more harmonious future.”

Some of your works have a painterly quality, in that sense, how much weight do you put on the artwork as a visual composition that stands on its own as such?

The composition is entirely part of the narration. You don’t tell the same story if each element is placed differently, or have another tonality. It could seem easy to (re)compose landscapes but it takes me such a long time to be able to express the right emotion.

Addressing climate change and the possible outcomes of our exploitation of natural resources can be a difficult and uncomfortable task. How do you think art can tackle this subject and possibly induce, if not action, at least reflection?

We need to reconnect with what surrounds us on a daily basis in order to better understand and respect it. Having grown up in the middle of nature but having lived in the city for the last 20 years, the only element that has allowed me to feel connected to the grandeur and sublime of nature is the sun. I, therefore, assumed that if everyone could reconnect with the sun in a subconscious and transcendental way, a new relationship between humans and nature could be sparked.

“Having grown up in the middle of nature but having lived in the city for the last 20 years, the only element that has allowed me to feel connected to the grandeur and sublime of nature is the sun.”

Scientific concepts play an important role in your work. How do you conceive of the relationship between art and science in your practice? Do you think that art can help in understanding scientific research, or should it be a way to build, as Roger Malina once stated, “a better science”?

No one can predict the future, but we can feel what a certain future story tells us. I use scientific stories to develop my emotional journeys so that emotion can be used as a lever for reflection. I am a huge fan of science-fiction from the 70s and the 80s, but I realized that only fact-based social science fiction literature created a lasting impact on me. Being able to base your art on science also provides a next step for the viewer after discovering the art, it is a door towards knowledge, and hopefully action.


How would you describe your experience in the NFT space? What drove you to become one of the founders of alterHEN?

I have been active in the NFT world for a year now and it has considerably changed my artistic practice. Hic et nunc appeared in March 2021, with all its values of disruption, openness, inclusion and commitment to the environment. Before that, I had already started to explore immersive works and 3D worlds to add a new narrative layer to my landscapes. But arriving in this community pushed me to explore even more and experiment with new formats. Since then, I have produced animated 3D objects and gifs and now find it hard to go back to 2D seeing how much the story is amplified. alterHEN was created very naturally. We followed our desire, without the pressure of time or ambitions. We wanted to experiment more, together. It is now a unique space where 20 artists invite other artists or cultural institutions to explore a new world.

Kelly Richardson: creating potential futures

Interview by Pau Waelder

Taking cues from 19th-century landscape painting, 20th-century cinema, and 21st-century planetary research, Kelly Richardson (b. 1972, Canada) crafts video installations and digital prints that offer imaginative glimpses of the future that prompt a careful consideration of the present. Her work HALO I (2021), part of a trilogy in which a pleasant summer moon becomes an unsettling reminder of the consequences of climate change, is featured in our recent artcast Anticlimactic, a selection of works from the eco-friendly NFT art community a\terHEN.

How can art address the climate emergency in a way that inspires, if not action, at least reflection?

It is not an easy subject, but it’s necessary to speak to it if we have any hope of addressing it. Until this point, on this precipice, we’ve allowed terrifying futures to be ushered in despite the predictions of so many. Perhaps we have allowed this in part because we couldn’t visualize or understand these futures from an experiential point of view. I try to offer this window of understanding through my work. I create potential futures for people to experience, to encourage reflection on current priorities and where those are leading us as a species. Hindsight is 20/20.

Art can help to connect the head and the heart. When emotions are triggered, change is possible. Most of us would react to ensure our survival if faced with an immediate threat. The response to climate change needs to mirror this. Reading a text for an exhibition that I’m in later this summer, curator Jessie Demers writes “artists and activists are both adept at [the] practice of observing the world, responding emotionally, forming a vision and expressing it through action, with no guaranteed outcome. This is how new worlds are built.” Great art allows us to see and understand the world differently. Through that shift in consciousness, hope lives.

You have described some of your works as “collapsed narratives in a singular landscape” that allow viewers to draw their own conclusions. How do you decide which elements to put forward, how to play with ambiguity?

I refer to this as “calculated ambiguity”. The works don’t offer a completely open narrative. Rather, they offer enough information that viewers can unpack and make sense of depending on their outlook. There are always multiple ways to read them. One reading or understanding of what you’re looking at might be quite terrifying in its implications, while other readings are less so. This is deliberate, to allow for viewers to personalize their experience with and understanding of the work to a point. 

When thinking through ideas, image construction, colors used (some of which act as indicators, the purple sky in Embers and the Giants, for instance), sound, etc… it’s always a juggling act of including enough information that leads interpretations towards this set of potential explanations. “How” I arrive at the right elements to juggle for each work is a little trickier to answer. Each work is a puzzle for me, in some sense. I consider every aspect of each work with regards to what it’s doing, or needs to do to support the narratives or push the overall feeling of it towards the unnerving end, or towards the beautiful.

Kelly Richardson, Embers and Giants (2019). Installation view.

The aesthetics and ideals of Romanticism seem to inspire some of your work, in terms of the notion of beauty and the Sublime, as well as a sense of “beautiful tragedy.” Which role do beauty and tragedy play in your work?

Yes, it’s apocalyptic sublime for the 21st century, at the other end/side of large-scale unchecked industry, and the initial fears expressed by painters and poets in the late 18th and early 19th centuries about the potential fallout of the Industrial Revolution. I use beauty as a vehicle for the delivery of deep concerns about where we’re heading as a species. Beauty invites viewers to engage with otherwise very difficult subject. Tragedy in the work is located in the truth of what we’ve wrought, the conditions within which we now find ourselves, and the urgent call for us to collectively face it in order to address it. After decades of scientific warnings riddled with predictions of what life might be like in the future, our path hasn’t changed course. We’re already experiencing extreme weather events associated with climate change. The future is now and the window to act, to avoid the worst of what will come, is quickly closing.

“Art can help to connect the head and the heart. When emotions are triggered, change is possible.”

We find several layers of reality and fiction, of video footage and digital animation in your work. For instance, in The Great Destroyer you have not altered the original footage, while in Leviathan you add digital effects to the video, and then in Mariner 9 you create a fully digital landscape, with real elements reproduced in painstaking detail. What determines this relationship between reality and fiction? 

This is such a great question, mainly because I’m still working through it myself. With The Great Destroyer, footage of the forest itself was enough. Any extra visual intervention on my end seemed unnecessary. For Leviathan, the location itself is important historically regarding our relationship to fossil fuels and its many associated environmental catastrophes. Using actual footage of the site, then, points to this truth directly. Caddo Lake, where it was filmed, is the site for the first through water oil exploration in human history. Simultaneously, the cypress forest is so stunning that I could never do it justice – particularly at that time in terms of software capability – if I attempted to recreate it in 3D. The effects, in this case, necessarily shifted viewers’ focus from the stunning landscape to questioning what was happening in the water. 

In other cases, as you’ve mentioned, creating everything in 3D was needed. For instance, in Mariner 9 I wasn’t able to film on Mars, but I could set out to create a realistic experience of Mars in 3D using topographical data from the planet, which is what I set out to do. Making that work, I also rather enjoyed not having to play by elements outside of my control, such as weather or sun location. A blend of physical limitation, the realization that I could offer a realistic experience of Mars on this planet and the value of that, and on a practical level, having complete control over the landscape. How I approach each work then is largely determined by the idea itself and what I feel best serves it.

Kelly Richardson, Mariner 9 (2012). Installation view. Photo: Paola Bernardelli.

Further, much earlier in my practice, I spoke of this more than in recent years, but I’ve always been concerned with our understanding and by extension, our appreciation of the natural world in relation to constructed environments where truth is often difficult to locate. For decades, we’ve “understood” the world through screens which offer a complete disconnect from our relationship to the natural systems which sustain us. I have serious concerns that over time, we’re diluting our appreciation through this rupture, further amplifying generational amnesia when we desperately need to be moving in the opposite direction. The situation globally is now so dire and yet, I’m not sure how much of the public truly understands how grave it is. 

Quoting Lyn Richards in a recent review of my work, “Richardson courts irony by turning the same digital media that potently enables our detachment from the natural world into a powerful tool for examining the myth of endless growth driving humanity’s misguided labors toward a catastrophic future.” I deliberately communicate these concerns through the digital hoping to redirect the focus of our detached gaze towards the physical planet. 

I use beauty as a vehicle for the delivery of deep concerns about where we’re heading as a species.”

HALO is an updated version of one of your earlier works from 1998. Do you think that something has changed in the message behind this work, or the need to communicate it? Would you say that the tools you have now allowed you to create a more compelling image?

It’s a sequel to CAMP which was a work which presented a rather idyllic and clichéd summer moment in Canada: heat rising from a campfire, distorting a full moon overhead with the sound of popcorn popping on the fire. In just a couple of decades, it feels like everything has changed. Campfires are now banned during the summer in British Columbia, where I now live, due to extended droughts and the threat of wildfires. Last year we experienced our 3rd worst wildfire season on record, all 3 of which occurred in the last 5 years. 1,610 fires burned 868,203 hectares across the province. Within months, the fires were followed by unprecedented flooding.

The color of the moon in HALO will be familiar to many living out here, as the smoke from these fires often creates vibrant, stunning pink, orange or red moons. The sun too reflects similar colors and can be stared at easily with the smoke offering a sufficient hazy filter. Summers now bring a mix of joy for its promised, remaining riches and genuine fear associated with what else they will bring. I now look out my windows towards a tree-covered mountain and think, “that’s a lot of fuel”.

The image and sound quality of CAMP certainly reflects the time that the work was produced, along with the capabilities of consumer video cameras at the time. It was also one of my earliest moving image works where the moment seemed more important to capture than its fidelity. Now that I’m able to control images with a certain level of precision, I’m equipped to create works that are increasingly freed of the limitations of technological capabilities (and their associated impact). I can create with a more painterly lens, in a sense, which has clear benefits on the quality and overall construction of the image.

Your work draws inspiration from science fiction to portray potential futures. Which subjects do you expect to address in your work? Which potential futures would you like to explore?

The situation we’re in and the futures we now face result from all crises, really. They are all connected. One drives another, and so on. For us to evolve as a species in order to usher in a different future, we need to address the connections between all of these crises and what drives us towards them.

How would you describe your experience in the NFT space? Why did you choose to exhibit your work on alterHEN?

I originally entered the NFT space in opposition to the harmful emissions associated with the energy use of PoW. 30 artists, many of which are digital art pioneers, contributed to The FEN, a coordinated NFT drop on hic et nunc (the first NFT platform on PoS), initiated by Joanie Lemercier and curator Juliette Bibasse to encourage artists and collectors within the space to switch to using a significantly less harmful platform and blockchain which uses a tiny fraction of the energy of PoW. On PoS, minting an NFT requires energy use equivalent to a social media post such as a Tweet, for instance. Over the last year, I’ve maintained advocating for this harm reduction and will continue to for as long as I am part of this space.

Both founders of a\terHEN, Diane Drubay and Patrick Tresset were part of The FEN so we connected there. Additionally, at the time that a\terHEN was conceived, there was a frenzied pace of production within the space where artists were minting several times a week. Between the pace and the associated hype, it felt like the ability to slow down to appreciate the work itself was nonexistent. a\terHEN set out to offer a space to slow down consumption, to give work the time it often needs to be fully appreciated. This really appealed to me both from a production point of view (as I tend to labor over my work) and an experiential one. I want my work to have impact and for that, it requires my time and that of those that consider it.

“For decades, we’ve “understood” the world through screens which offer a complete disconnect from our relationship to the natural systems which sustain us”

Through a\terHEN and other platforms which focus on the artworks, such as TEIA and Versum, I’ve connected with an inspiring community of artists and collectors, many of whom are new to me. It has allowed me to expand on the reach of my work in a significant way, with new audiences, which is invaluable when I concern myself with affecting the consciousness of people (particularly, as previously mentioned, within a screen based space). Additionally, for the first time in 25+ years making moving image works, I have been able to acquire works from 250+ artists who I’ve admired for many years along with artists who I was previously unaware of. It’s groundbreaking in that sense and it’s a joy to be a part of.

Kelly Richardson, HALO I, II, III  (2021). Installation view.

Studio Visit: Refik Anadol

We were thrilled to be invited to the Los Angeles studio of cutting edge media and data artist Refik Anadol. Located in the Silver Lake area on the east side of LA,  the studio is accessed from a small side door.  Step inside and you’re immediately enveloped by a sleek white space with 20ft ceilings, desks dotted with enormous computer screens, a brand new projector and great Mid-century modern furniture.

Of course it’s hard to miss the perfect, small scale model of Frank Gehry’s Disney Music Hall, one LA’s (if not the world’s) most iconic buildings.  Refik used the model to create one of his very first projects in LA.

If you’ve been to San Francisco recently, you would not have been able to miss the skyline altering Salesforce Tower whose lobby is defined by a 3-story tall, 2,500-square-foot digital canvas featuring a custom data art creation by Anadol.

Together with his collaborator Peggy Weil, Anadol created a large scale data piece for LA’s first public art biennial, Current: LA Water.

To learn more about Refik’s unique artwork check out this feature story, KCET: Big (Beautiful) Data: The Media Architecture of Refik Anadol.