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Chun Hua Catherine Dong: “My body is a material for my art”

Pau Waelder

Chun Hua Catherine Dong, Meet Me Halfway – part 1, 2021

A performance and conceptual artist whose work spans different media, Chun Hua Catherine Dong successfully navigates the space between an artistic practice characterized by the physical, bodily presence of the artist in the same space and time as her audience, and another one based on the mediation of digital technologies and a distributed and almost immaterial existence. Dong has taken her performance artworks worldwide, combining action with documentation in the form of photographs and videos that often become artworks on their own. She is also exploring the creative possibilities of VR, AR, and Artificial Intelligence in a series of artworks that are still deeply rooted in her research on gender, memory, identity, body, and presence.

Dong has exhibited their works at The International Digital Art Biennial Montreal (BIAN),  The International Biennial of Digital Arts of the Île-de-France (Némo), MOMENTA | Biennale de l’image, Kaunas Biennial, The Musée d’Art Contemporain du Val-de-Marne in France, Quebec City Biennial, Foundation PHI for Contemporary Art, Canadian Cultural Centre Paris, Museo de la Cancillería in Mexico City, The Rooms Museum, Canadian Museum of Immigration at Pier 21, DongGong Museum of Photograph in South Korea, He Xiangning Art Museum in Shenzhen, Hubei Museum of Fine Art in Wuhan, The Aine Art Museum in Tornio, Bury Art Museum in Manchester, Art Museum at University of Toronto, Varley Art Gallery of Markham, Art Gallery of Hamilton, among others. She is represented by  Galerie Charlot in Paris.

The artist recently presented the artcast Meet Me Halfway, which collects four videos from her multi-channel VR video installation that explores the perception of time and space in virtual reality and the inability to return to the present from searching the inner world.

Experience Chun Hua Catherine Dong’s immersive VR spaces in Meet Me Halfway

Open artcast
Chun Hua Catherine Dong, The Lost Twelve Years (2015)

As a Chinese-born, Montreal-based artist, the issues of identity, culture, belonging, and distance are present in your life and your work as well. In our globalized world, these issues can sometimes be overlooked, or else exoticized and clichéd, even demanding of an artist with a mixed cultural background to address them. Would you say that there is still a dominant Western perspective on multiculturalism, and if so, how do you address it in your work? 

This is a very interesting question. I can’t speak for others, but it’s natural for me to explore these topics. Living in a different cultural context often prompts questions about one’s identity.  If I lived in China, I would probably never feel the need to deal with these difficult issues. But I immigrated to Canada a long time ago. I need to reconnect with my roots because I feel that something that nurtured me has faded and been forgotten. It is important for me to renew it from time to time. I addressed this issue in my earlier performances. For example, in my performance The Lost Twelve Years (2015) I use a Chinese teapot to pour ink over my head and a squirt gun to shoot ink to my heart and head, which are actions that force me to remember who I am.  

“After living as a «living sculpture» for a long time, I came to the conclusion that it is wise to keep life and art separate.  Now, I state that «I use my body as my material in my artwork» rather than «my body is my artwork.»”

Your body is a key element in your work, both as “the body of the artist”, representing you as an individual and your personal experiences, and as “a female body,” addressing issues of the representation of women in a patriarchal society. When you conceive your performances, how do you weigh these two possibilities?

As a performance artist, my “body as an Asian woman” and my “body as an artwork” frequently change. When I first started doing performance, I considered performance as an attitude, and that “life is a performance, performance is life.” The two were inseparable; thus, my life was always in a performance/artwork mode, or “living sculpture” mode. But I realized that I was quite weary of being my own artwork. It is also harmful to one’s mental health and sanity because the concept “life is art and art is life” could mess up your life. After living as a “living sculpture” for a long time, I came to the conclusion that “Life can be a performance, but performance is not life—at least, not my entire life.”  It is wise to keep the two separate.  Later, I use the statement that “I use my body as my material in my artwork” rather than “my body is my artwork.”

Chun Hua Catherine Dong, Skin Deep (2014-2020). Photographs with Augmented Reality

In your work, we can find on the one hand a direct approach to the body, naked, as a canvas or an object, and on the other hand the body veiled by masks and disguises. What do you find more interesting about playing with the different levels of displaying and hiding the body, maybe also seducing or unsettling the viewer’s gaze?

This is a very interesting question. Yes, there were naked bodies in my early performance work. For me, the body is a blank canvas, and any type of clothing or even makeup can give “identity” to it. Perhaps viewers perceive me as vulnerable when they see me naked, but I don’t feel that way. Being naked doesn’t challenge me but rather challenges the viewers. The power of the naked body in performance art lies in its rawness, it’s a pure form of art. Anyway, who isn’t born naked?

“For me, the body is a blank canvas: any type of clothing or even makeup can give “identity” to it. Being naked doesn’t challenge me but rather challenges the viewers.”

In the digital world, physical distance, the presence of the human body, and even identity tend to be blurred or seemingly erased. For instance, your work Meet Me Halfway is strikingly different from your performance work in both aesthetics and the presence of the body, yet you have incorporated your body in the form of camera movements. How do you navigate the differences between an immaterial digital environment and the materiality of your performances?

Meet Me Halfway (2021) was created during the pandemic. According to reports, many Asian people were attacked in public places during the pandemic. I was afraid of going out. If I had to go out, I wore a big hat and mask to cover myself because I didn’t want to be recognized. This situation subconsciously influenced my work Meet Me Halfway, which is why my body is absent in this work but just camera movements.  I became interested in VR during the pandemic as well because I discovered that VR can help me to escape from reality. VR space is less political, at least, you won’t get physically attacked. You can build your own virtual world in VR and visit it from time to time whenever you want. It is interesting that you mentioned immateriality in the digital environment. Actually, performance art is often regarded as an immaterial practice as well. Because of its immaterial nature, it is very easy for me to shift my practice from performance art to digital art.

Chun Hua Catherine Dong, Mulan (2022)

Following with the previous question, Mulan addresses gender identity through a folk heroine placed in an underwater landscape. What seems at first a scene of pure fantasy contains numerous symbolisms. How would say that a viewer immersed in this VR space can connect with the message you want to convey? 

Gender is an important component of my work. Mulan (2022) was inspired by Beijing Opera. You are right. “Mulan” depicts a pure fantasy scene because Beijing Opera is my fantasy. I used to dream of wearing the Beijing Opera costume and performing on stage when I was little. But Beijing Opera is a form of high art, not many people have a chance to access it. For me, art provides a space for asking questions and discovering; I’d be very happy to see that people have questions when they experience Mulan, such as, “Why Mulan? Why are there two Mulan? What outfit does Mulan wear? What are the names of the sea creatures surrounding Mulan?” If people ask questions, they will find answers.  Sometimes I realize that I am more interested in how viewers feel and think about my work rather than telling them what my work is about. Viewers’ different interpretations enrich and expand the artwork itself.

“I am more interested in how viewers feel and think about my work rather than telling them what my work is about. Viewers’ different interpretations enrich and expand the artwork itself.”

The mise en scène is an important element in a performance, which in your work translates to carefully set up photographs, installations, and VR environments. What is the role of space in your work across the many different media you use?

Mise en scene is a stage. Most of my works are staged. In performance, “mise en scene” can be in any place, including public, private, virtual, or imaginary spaces. Camera frame is a type of stage too because activities must occur within the frame in order for the camera to capture them. If we apply this concept to traditional art, a plinth is a stage for sculptures, and a wall serves as a stage for two-dimensional artworks.

Chun Hua Catherine Dong, Meet Me Halfway (2021). Four-channel VR video installation. Exhibition view at Foundation Phi.

You have stated that you initially wanted to become a painter, but found that performance was more expressive. Yet there is a painterly quality to much of your work, particularly in photography and digital art, besides the use of paint in some of your performances. Which would you say is your approach to painting nowadays? 

Yes, I wanted to be a painter before. But painting has its own limitations because you work in a two-dimensional space, and you must sometimes wait for it to dry before applying another layer. Performance is an expressive medium, I never wanted to go back to painting after I fell in love with performance. My work does have painterly quality, I guess it is because of my painting background. Regarding how I approach painting nowadays, I think it is VR drawing/ painting. It doesn’t limit you in a 2D space like traditional painting, but rather you work in a 3D space. When you draw a line in VR, it is a 3D line, and you can zoom in and out to see your drawing/painting in 3D perspective, which fascinates me.

“I approach painting through VR. It doesn’t limit you in a 2D space like traditional painting, but rather you work in a 3D space. When you draw a line in VR, it is a 3D line, and you can zoom in and out to see your drawing/painting in 3D perspective, which fascinates me.”

In your recent work Out of the Blue, you address your childhood and feature a teddy bear character that has been present in your work over the last three years. Can you tell us more about this character? You frequently use 3D printing techniques to create sculptures, why have you chosen this technique over more traditional forms of modeling and sculpting?

The teddy bear is a symbol of childhood.  With its eyes closed, the bear refuses to look at the world, rather prefers to dream. In my digital art practice, I began with AR and VR, and then 3D printing. It is very natural for me to use 3D printing to make sculptures because 3D printing is a type of digital fabrication. 3D printing is also a practical choice. Traditional sculpture requires a large studio space and special tools, which I don’t have. On the other hand, 3D printing doesn’t require much space; simply having a table or a desk at home is sufficient. Traditionally, 3D printing has been used to make molds or prototypes for further work. However, I embrace its rawness. I use 3D printing as the raw material for my finished artwork, with no additional touches such as sanding or painting. The unpolished raw nature of 3D printing fascinates me because it captures the essence of the technological and digital process, demystifying how artwork is made.

Chun Hua Catherine Don. Solo Exhibition: At the Edge of Two Worlds. TRUCK Contemporary Art, 2022

You have recently started experimenting with AI, first in the photographic series For You I Will Be an Island, and lately creating animations of what appear to be underwater creatures. Can you tell me about your experience with this technology? Which are your objectives when using AI programs? How does working with these programs differ from your VR and 3D animations?

I like AI. For me, AI is more than simply a tool; it’s like having an assistant. I understand that people have concerns about AI. I completely respect that. However, as an artist with limited resources and financial assistance, AI helps me save time and money when creating artwork.  For example, in For You I Will Be an Island (2023) I printed 23 pieces of 2.5 m x 2.5 m AI generated graphics; I can’t imagine how I would do this without AI. I could paint 23 pieces of 2.5 m × 2.5 m paintings, but how long would it take? Or I could use photographs, but where would I find such locations to photograph? I probably can find them if I have the financial freedom to travel around the world to look for them, but how long would it take?  Now AI is able to create animation and 3D objects, although it is not there yet, it is still very exciting. Animation and 3D modeling are often very time consuming and costly. If I have a budget, of course, I prefer to work with creative people, but if I don’t, AI is a good way to go.

Chun Hua Catherine Dong, For You I Will Be An Island (2023)

As we are starting the year (in the Gregorian calendar, and soon the Chinese New Year), it begs the question: what are you currently working on, and which projects do you have in store for the coming months?

Thanks! I am very excited that the Chinese New Year is coming soon. This is the year to celebrate the dragon. I am currently working on a public art project with 35 video displays at Place des Arts in Montreal. I am also working on an upcoming solo exhibition at Galerie Charlot in Paris in April. And I will participate in Montreal’s International Digital Art Biennial (BIAN) in May.

“If I have a budget, of course, I prefer to work with creative people, but if I don’t, AI is a good way to go.”

Niio in 2023: Great art has no boundaries

Niio Editorial

This has been an exciting year, in which we faced challenging situations but also achieved great partnerships, made enormous progress in the development of our platform and apps, supported the work of amazing artists and galleries, and brought video and digital art to a rapidly expanding audience. Our hardworking, multitalented, international team is now celebrating the holidays with their families and looking forward to an even more active 2024. We believe that great art has no boundaries, and we work to make it possible for anyone to access quality artworks on any screen, adding to the efforts that so many art professionals do to integrate art into people’s everyday experience.

In this article, we present to you a quick look at what 2023 has been at Niio, with our heartfelt thank you to all the artists, galleries, collectors, curators, and art lovers who share and enjoy art with us.

Renz Renderz, After the Afterparty, 2022

Artcasts: the distributed exhibition

Through our curated virtual exhibitions we have been able to bring art to the screens of art lovers, collectors, galleries, and art institutions internationally, with unparalleled ease and flexibility. This year, we are proud to have launched 42 artcasts featuring the work of outstanding artists, as well as collaborations with galleries, art centers, and universities.

Here are some of our favorite artcasts this year, but you can find many more by browsing the Discover area in our app.

PHANTASMAVERSE

Niio proudly hosted a collaboration with artists and NYU professors Carla Gannis and Snow Yunxue Fu consisting of a group artcast featuring recent works by artists and NYU students Ren Ciarrocchi, Jessica Dai, Marina Roos Guthmann, James Lee, Tinrey Wang, Yuaqing She & June Bee, Shentong Yu, and Jerry Zhao. 

In addition to the artcast, we published interviews with the curators and the artists in our Editorial section.

See the artcast

“The Niio platform helps speed up the curation process and reach a wider audience that is different from a physical show curation.”

Snow Yunxue Fu

MACHINE CINEMA

A collaboration between Niio and Mèdol Centre de les Arts Contemporànies in Tarragona has brought digital art to the public space in the Mediterranean city. A curated selection of digital artworks by our Senior Curator Pau Waelder has been presented weekly on a screen at Plaça del Fòrum, featuring the work of Serafín Álvarez, Mark Amerika, Gregory Chatonsky, Alix Desaubliaux, Frederik De Wilde, Mihai Grecu, Jonathan Monaghan and Yusuke Shigeta.

See the artcast

DISØRDINARY BƏAUTY

A very special project we have been developing this year is a collaboration with the artist Domenico Barra on his exploration of beauty in art and the use of glitch as a means of creative expression. We conceived this project as an artist-in-residence format, in which Barra has configured an artcast as a work-in-progress and regularly published new artworks, alongside documentation and preliminary sketches. The project is ongoing and involves a conversation between the artist and our Senior Curator as a series of articles in our Editorial section.

See the artcast
Chun Hua Catherine Dong. Meet Me Halfway – part 1, 2021

Artists: unbridled talent

Supporting artists is one of the reasons why Niio exists. We created this platform to empower artists allowing them to keep and manage their portfolio, easily and securely sharing their work with art lovers, collectors, galleries, and institutions. We are also actively suggesting their work to our Art in Public program clients, showcasing their latest creations on our Curated Art program, and getting to know them better through conversations that we publish in our Editorial section. This year, we’ve launched more than 30 solo artcasts and a dozen group shows, as well as highlighted 47 selected artworks in our Artwork of the Week showcase on social media. In addition to this, we’ve published 30 interviews with the artists in our curated program, as part of our commitment to let our audience know the creators behind the art.

These are some of the artists we’ve showcased this year. We’d love to include them all here, but you can find them in our Discovery area.

LAURA COLMENARES GUERRA

Over the last two decades, the Brussels-based Colombian artist has carried out a consistent body of work in the form of interactive audiovisual installations and live performances. Since 2018, Laura is engaged in a series of artworks exploring the environmental impact of neo-liberal extractivist practices in the Amazon basin. 

See artcast | Read interview

JONATHAN MONAGHAN

An award-winning artist whose work is characterized by otherworldly narratives, Jonathan Monaghan introduces in his animations, prints, and sculptures a critical view of our contemporary society that aims at consumerism and our growing dependence on digital technology.

See artcast | Read interview

CHUN HUA CATHERINE DONG

Dong’s artistic practice is based in performance art, photography, video, VR, AR, and 3D printing within the contemporary context of global feminism. Dong’s work deals mainly with cultural intersections created by globalization and asks what it means to be a citizen of the world today.

See artcast

ANTOINE SCHMITT

Paris-based artist Antoine Schmitt describes himself as a “heir of kinetic art and cybernetic art,” aptly indicating the two main aspects of his work: the interest in all processes of movement, and the use of computers to create generative and interactive artworks.

See artcast | Read interview

YUSUKE SHIGETA

Japanese videographer Yusuke Shigeta (1981) has developed a body of work consisting of screen-based and multimedia installations for art exhibitions and museum shows. A Graduate from the Tokyo Graduate School of Film and New Media, he works in animation and has recently become involved in the NFT market, where he finds an additional channel of distribution for his work.

See artcast | Read interview

Ronen Tanchum’s AI Streamers installed at the Mondrian Seoul Itaewon hotel. Photo courtesy of Mondrian.

Public showcases: in the white cube and beyond

Collaborating with prominent contemporary art galleries and partnering with high-end business and hospitality properties is a crucial aspect of our mission to bring quality video and digital art to the best spaces and integrate art into people’s everyday life. We are proud to have developed strong ties with leading digital art galleries bitforms (New York), Galerie Charlot (Paris), and DAM Projects (Berlin), as well as with many other professional art galleries, and to provide curated art selections to some of the most prestigious brands and properties, such as Conrad Hotels & Resorts, The Mondrian Hotel Seoul Itaewon, PENN 11 New York, and many others.

Below are some highlights of a very busy year with wonderful collaborations and promising partnerships. You can find more about our activities on our LinkedIn and Instagram accounts.

Rob Anders presents Niio at the Talking Galleries Symposium 2023. Photo: Cesc Maymó

TALKING GALLERIES

Niio’s co-founder and CEO Rob Anders was invited to the Talking Galleries Symposium in Barcelona this year. The prestigious gathering of the most prominent contemporary art galleries celebrated a special edition dedicated to digital art and featured talks by outstanding guests Steven Sacks, founder of bitforms, Valerie Hasson-Benillouche, founder of Galerie Charlot, Wolf Lieser, founder of DAM Projects, and David Gryn, founder of DAATA. Our Senior Curator Pau Waelder helped shape the symposium’s program and moderated several talks.

REFIK ANADOL PRESENTED BY BITFORMS AT ART SG

Niio collaborated with bitforms in the gallery’s presentation of the latest artworks by Refik Anadol at the Art SG contemporary art fair in Singapore. The collaboration, following a model that we are recurrently adopting with galleries, consisted in extending the presentation of the artworks at the art fair with a limited-time artcast and the publication of an extensive article about Anadol’s work in our Editorial section.

Two artworks by Eelco Brand are showcased at the reception of the Conrad New York Midtown Hotel.

CONRAD NEW YORK MIDTOWN HOTEL

Initiating a partnership with Conrad Hotels & Resorts, a curated selection of artworks provided by Niio is being displayed at the reception and guest room’s screens of the Conrad New York Midtown Hotel. This stylish luxury hotel offers guests and unparalleled experience in the city which is now enhanced by the presence of selected artworks by acclaimed artists Eelco Brand, Daniel Canogar, and Antoine Schmitt.

Articles: a space for reflection

The section you are now reading contributes to the backbone of Niio’s activities by providing a space of documentation, reflection, and exchange with artists, gallerists, and art professionals, as well as a source of information and discussion around key themes of contemporary art. This year, the way AI is shaping artistic creativity, as well as the role of art institutions in creating a more sustainable art world were some of the main issues we addressed.

Read some of our most commented articles this year and find many more by browsing our Editorial section.

📝 What Is The Role Of Art Museums In The Anthropocene?
A reflection on sustainable exhibition practices in art museums with the contributions of experts Karin Vicente and Diane Drubay.

📝 Is There Gender Equality In The Digital Art World?
We asked ten outstading artists about their views on gender equality and visibility of women artists in the digital art world.

📝 It Was Never About Replacing The Artist: AI And Post-Creativity
Excerpt from the book The Meaning of Creativity in the Age of AI that focuses on the role of computers in artistic projects, from early algorithmic drawings to current AI artworks.

📝 Digital Art, Time, Painting, Sculpture And Consciousness
Essay by guest author Thomas Lisle, an artist with 30 years of experience in digital media who is exploring how painting transitions into a time based medium.

This is just a glimpse of what Niio has been in 2023. We look forward to doing much more in 2024, and we’d love to share our journey with you!

Thomas C. Chung: a departure from childhood innocence

Pau Waelder

Chinese-Australian artist Thomas C. Chung has embarked on a lifelong artistic research that he is developing in well-structured phases, each one characterized by an exploration of different techniques and approaches to human experience. He earned his Bachelor of Fine Arts from the University of New South Wales’ College of Fine Arts in 2004 and has had a noteworthy international artistic presence in recent years. Chung has been a representative for Australia in several prominent international exhibitions, such as the 2nd Land Art Biennial in Mongolia, the 4th Ghetto Biennale in Haiti, and the 9th Shiryaevo Biennale in Russia. Currently, he is exploring the realms of psychotherapy as a means to deepen his artistic inquiry. 

The artist presents on Niio three pivotal works from his ongoing second phase, in which he leaves behind a narrative focused on childhood innocence and enters the adult world with a series of more sober, meditative artworks. The landscapes that form the collection “As Far As I Could See…” introduce a deeper reflection on the human condition, not without a hint to the magic and surreal aspects of children’s imagination. 

Experience Thomas C. Chung’s dreamlike landscapes

Open artcast
Thomas C. Chung. “As Far As I Could See…” (I), 2023

In the following interview for Niio, Chung discusses the motivations behind his work and dives into his second-phase artworks, which have recently been exhibited at the Chinese European Art Center (Xiamen, China) in a solo show titled “The Sea That Stands Before Me…”

Your work has evolved over the last decades following a “lifelong narrative” determined by different phases. The first phase was characterized by crochet sculptures, installations, and an overall playful aesthetic, while the second-phase works present a very different approach. It may even be hard to recognize the work of the same artist in these two phases. How have you dealt with this transition, and what has been the response to it?

I’ll be the first to say I was nervous about the different phases I had conceived – I figured it might be too hard for others to accept, especially with the small but loyal following I had built. Over time, I understood that as long as the work was fascinating to myself & others, it didn’t matter what shape or form it took as long as the creativity was there. I clarified this by using new techniques each decade, approaching the chapters within my Art by splitting them into various methods that correlated with the story I wanted to tell. The 1st phase was all handmade, tactile, labor-intensive & filled with food motifs as avenues for expressing a child’s obsessions & dreams. This 2nd phase speaks of the departure from childhood & the realization that life has to progress beyond our comfort zones so that we can understand the totality of our world. 

I had a lot of interests as a child & wanted to grow up to be so many things, one of which was as a children’s illustrator & author. But Art chose me instead, so here I am, creating a different type of story, saving that option for later. 

Thomas C. Chung’s solo exhibition at the Chinese European Art Center extends to Sedition and Niio with the presentation of a selection of artworks.

You have expressed that, in your work, you aim to see the world through the eyes of a child. How do you convey this idea without being perceived as childlike or superficial? Which is the underlying concept that grounds these artworks?

It aligns with how I interact with people these days in a direct yet open & gentle manner without overthinking the consequences. If others don’t appreciate it, I try not to let it matter. Everyone has their view or way of life. My artwork may have previously been seen as naive, which at times bothered me. I knew as a conceptual artist, my practice would be a lifetime’s work that would encompass the narratives of my inner child. The artwork titles are a hint to what it is they see & are presented to the audience as an observation of their journeys while exploring the world. To produce this lifelong story, it was always my vision to create a giant storybook-like body of work split into chapters, set within a contemporary art context, emphasizing the importance of patience, empathy & curiosity, where human beings have the ability to control what it is they feel or see.  

Thomas C. Chung. “It Was Like Seeing A Fallen Rainbow…” Exhibition view at Galerie pompom

Your video artworks are characterized by a slow tempo that suggests a relaxed observation. In our times of limited attention span and an overflow of media content, would you say that we need to take more time to observe our surroundings? In your opinion, does art create this space for observation or is it also caught in the spirit of fast-paced consumption?

That’s quite a complex one to answer. And that is a great question. I value the time I take to see the world unfiltered from electronic devices & media. Much of that is due to my not being attached to technology as early as others may have been. For example, the very first mobile phone I got was when I was 34 years old; I remember even thinking what a selfie of myself looks like. 

Until then, I spent a significant portion of my life turning up early to meet friends or acquaintances (if they were over an hour late, I would leave), keeping promises that I had kept & looking at the sky to tell the time. 

Art has always been a good reflection of our times, like a visual newspaper that begins & starts intriguing conversations before leaving it to others to visit, fulfill, react, or enjoy. The fast-paced consumption of our current world is an accurate indication of that, with the growth of digital art increasing among the masses.

Thomas C. Chung. “As Far As I Could See…” (II), 2023

You are studying to become a psychotherapist and draw inspiration from this knowledge to create your artworks. Do you intend your artworks to visualize or reflect upon states of mind, or do you wish them to become therapeutic objects, sparking certain emotions or thoughts that might have a healing quality?

This one made me think – thank you for that. My intention as an artist is to engage with everyone, but whether or not it connects with others is something I can’t control. Delving into the mental health field as a future psychotherapist, the purpose of whatever I create – however the audience receives it – there’s no right or wrong answer, just an open story. Food & landscapes have always intrigued me in this particular way. Some people love certain aspects or locations, while others dread it. Some people love a specific type of food but not others. No one person has the same reaction to different things & that’s what is so fascinating to me, to see life through the eyes of another human being.   

When I create, I have a particular concept & narrative for it, but ultimately, if the audience would like to enjoy it without any background or story, that is also up to them. Viewing Art, like watching any movie, reading a book, or tasting a special menu, is very subjective. 

“I’ve purposefully given artworks a title that invites an audience in…much like an open door to a gathering or party.”

You have mentioned your role as storyteller. How do you guide the narrative, from the title of the artwork to its description and the story that unfolds in it?

I’ve purposefully given artworks – particularly new bodies of work – a title that invites an audience in…much like an open door to a gathering or party. I grew up in an environment where Art was rarely seen as a necessity, so I knew the task for an artist was to be as engaging as possible – if not with their personality, then at the least with their artworks. Often, the title reveals a lot to the viewer & this should always be considered. 

Once the artwork has been created & the title carefully selected (I have a list of names for potential artworks), it unfolds as an individual experience. Once invited, I leave the guests to wander around to enjoy the ambiance of it. 

Thomas C. Chung. “As Far As I Could See…” (III), 2023

You are exploring “emotional landscapes.” Coincidentally, this is a term used by the singer Björk in her song Jóga, in which she refers to being puzzled by emotions and undergoing a healing process. Is this how you understand your exploration? Or is it more of a distanced observation? 

Oh – how wonderful. Thank you for this observation. I’ve been a big fan of Björk for many years, especially when I was younger…yet I never put the terms together like you did. I love this connection. I know the words ’emotional landscapes’ popped into my artistic practice at a time when I noticed how viewing one place or space brought out differing reactions & sensations in others. A lot of this stems from my studying in psychotherapy, where no one situation is identical, although similar when answered by participants or clients. For some, this exploration could be seen as somewhat distanced yet intimate. The space in front of us isn’t necessarily a gauge for how close one feels towards something. 

“These artworks point to a departure from childhood innocence, but also to longing for the past in a way that color cannot achieve.”

The series of artworks you present on Niio address the ability to find hope during times of hardship, which is something that everyone can relate to. The aesthetics and elements in them point to a more sombre, even melancholic atmosphere. Would you say that these artworks represent a coming of age, leaving aside the innocence of childhood and confronting the hard truths of adult life?

This series with Niio is particular in its aesthetics & I chose a black-and-white palette to illustrate this story. I’ve always found the limiting of colors to be very intriguing. I love to watch vintage movies because they have a very special quality. Sometimes, it can feel melancholic, while at other times, it can feel deeply romantic. These artworks pointed to a departure from childhood innocence, that’s for sure, but it also alludes to the longing for the past in a way that color cannot achieve. I wanted to insert an intangible without stating something obvious so people could have their journey & time to think for themselves.

Kian Khiaban: building a space of peace and clarity

Pau Waelder

3D motion designer and visual artist Kian Khiaban has had an outstanding trajectory since he graduated from UCLA in 2015. Working early on with fellow artist Refik Anadol, he has closely collaborated with him in some of his studio’s most spectacular projects and is now part of the team at the world famous Sphere, a groundbreaking spherical screen with 580,000 sq feet of LEDs. Khiaban’s artistic work focuses on nature and abstraction, conceiving art as a way of addressing human emotions and engaging in healing processes.

The artist has recently presented a solo artcast featuring five artworks in which he creates fantastical landscapes that depict different emotions. In the following interview, he dives into what these imaginary spaces mean to him, as well as his creative process and his views on the current state of digital art. 

Dive into Kian Khiaban’s Emotional Landscapes

Open artcast
Kian Khiaban. Floater, 2021.

How did you get started in 3D animation? What interested you about this particular aspect of digital creativity?

I started doing 3D when I was thirteen. I got introduced to it through anime forums, actually. In the anime forums, every user would have their own design, which they called a signature, and they would teach people how to make their own signature. So through this I got introduced to Photoshop and 3D, and then when I went to university, I already had a whole portfolio of still images. They weren’t animations, they were just art. There I started to learn how to move the things that I had made. At UCLA I met Refik [Anadol], who was a grad student. He was using Cinema 4D, a professional 3D modeling, animation, simulation and rendering software. It was a good match between us, because we were both heavy C4D users, and then at some point Refik had an exhibition and I offered to help him, so we started collaborating and I worked my way up into his company and was part of its early establishment. This was around 2015, when I graduated.

“The way we worked [with Refik Anadol] is that he gave me a lot of freedom, maybe throwing an initial idea, and then I would go crazy with it.”

You have created numerous animations for the studio of Refik Anadol. Can you tell us about your creative process within this context? What have you contributed and what have you learned from this collaborative practice?

Working with Refik mainly consists in that he would come to me with an idea, especially a visual idea and would say: “this would be really great if you can make something like this.” I was very good at iterating, so I considered myself, especially at that time, a remixer. I created a lot of the visuals of the projects we were doing at his studio. For instance, we had a project called Infinity Room. Refik said he had the idea of a room with mirrors on the top and bottom. So I experimented a lot, I did the sound design for it, made some animations, and gave it a particular character. Then Refik added some visuals onto it. In some projects he would take the lead, while in others I did for particular things. But the main characteristic of the way we worked is that he gave me a lot of freedom, maybe throwing an initial idea of what he was looking for, and then I would go crazy with it. Sometimes the project would develop in a totally different direction, but always with this ongoing conversation between us.

Kian Khiaban. An Open Heart, 2021.

On the other hand, I have also learned a lot from my commercial work, where I am given a style frame and I work on that, building an entire animation, and remixing it. I’ve gained a lot of technical knowledge and benefited from working with a team, which is something I love because it brings me multiple perspectives that widen mine. I would say that I’ve been lucky because in these jobs the clients have trusted me and given me a lot of freedom, and even allowed me to have some of my personal themes in my work. What I learn in my commercial work I later on apply it to my personal work. Working on one of these projects for eight hours every day, you get to experiment so much, and so I often develop things that seem perfect for one of my pieces, and then of course my personal work also inspires what I do for different clients.

“I love working with a team because it brings me multiple perspectives that widen mine.”

Currently I work at the Sphere in Las Vegas, in R&D and building the animations, and this is a very challenging type of shape because it is seamless. And you know, 3d animators don’t design in a seamless way. In addition, the form has to be a spherical camera, so there are a lot of little things you have to adjust for. But to be honest, I’m good at coming up with a lot of ideas, and then making things a bit prettier with each iteration. That’s what I do.

3D motion design by Kian Khiaban at the Sphere, Las Vegas, 2023.

The animations you have created have been displayed in very large installations and on the facades of famous buildings. How do you work on them when considering such a large scale, and an interaction with architecture?

The process starts by making a 3D model or a miniature of the building, because you need to be able to feel what you’re doing. If we don’t have the possibility of building a miniature version of what we’re doing, we do a VR version, building the space in 3D and then applying the projection. That gives you a starting place to experiment. But besides that I like to first consider where the building is located, in what city, what kind of environment is there around the building, what form does the building represent, and so forth. Then I try to build on top of that, but it depends on the project.

For instance, in WDCH Dreams, at the Walt Disney Concert Hall in LA, there was the almost impossible task of mapping the shapes of Frank Gehry’s building, for which they had had developers working for years. We used 42 large scale projectors that were able to display 50K resolution images. We used the entire facade as a screen, applying the visuals I created to a 3D model in order to adapt to the undulating shapes.

Kian Khiaban. Long Walk, 2023.

Your personal work is often characterized by an interest in nature (real or imagined) and mesmerizing visual effects in which light has a critical role. What attracted you to creating these fantastic worlds and the lively activity that takes place in them?

I’ve always liked hiking a lot. When I was a kid, there was this one place I went to that brought a lot of peace in my mind. When you go into a natural setting by yourself, it becomes a way of finding yourself because you’re getting this new clarity and simplification. You can actually hear your own thoughts, and to me that is very relaxing. So I like nature because it has that healing quality of bringing clarity, lowering the volume and allowing a space for reflection.

As for the dream-like quality of my work, I believe it is related to who I am. I was a big daydreamer as a kid. I would play out scenarios a lot in my head, and I also spent many hours, year after year, in front of the computer. Playing video games and searching the Internet took me to a distant place, away from daily reality, and I think what I do now is a more sophisticated version of that. I’m building this space for myself to bring me peace and clarity, the same way when there was chaos around me, I could go to a video game and be taken into that fictional world.

“I like nature because it has that healing quality of bringing clarity, lowering the volume and allowing a space for reflection.”

In the artworks we now present on Niio, a common denominator is the depiction of emotions through digital landscapes. What do you find interesting about representing emotions in this way?

Maybe I should talk about why I always have a light in the center of each artwork. I don’t want to impose my intentions on the viewer’s interpretation of the artwork, but I think it is worth explaining this. The light represents the hope of getting out of a hard situation, the objective you try to follow to achieve that, and that makes you very focused. I feel that what has helped me survive in my chaotic environment all these years is being really focused. The light obviously has other meanings, it can be the sun, that so many civilizations have praised as a God, or the light that people having near death experience say they have seen in a pleasant field, and that has brought them the most peaceful feeling they’ve ever felt in their life. So what I mean is that these artworks are for me a way to express something personal, even intimate, in a more abstract form. For instance, one of my latest pieces is called Adrift at Sea, and it refers to the feeling of having to choose among different values and not being sure what to pick, which made me feel a bit lost.

Kian Khiaban. Wisdom, 2020.

Despite this personal connection with a human experience, there is generally a lack of human figures in these landscapes, why is that?

I want it to feel lonely. It’s that feeling I get when I go into nature, there’s no one around me. But it is not about loneliness: I can think of having people there, but it would change the whole dynamic of the piece. It can become about them, and I am not interested in representing people in these landscapes, which would take you into figuring out what they are doing, but rather to express a feeling that you can only experience looking at this landscape where there is no one else but you.

“These artworks are for me a way to express something personal, even intimate, in a more abstract form.”

From your perspective as an artist involved in acclaimed large scale projects, what is your opinion about the current perception of digital art? Do you think it has finally become a widely accepted form of contemporary art?

Generally speaking, it is much more respected than before, partly because of the NFT boom. However, NFTs also brought negative associations, with purely financial speculation and lack of quality. On the other hand, 3D animation is now much more popular because it is widely used in advertising. Another thing I find that is more present in digital art is this blending of fine art and commercial creativity, which is pretty much connected to what Andy Warhol did, or now Takashi Murakami and Jeff Koons, for instance. For someone like me, who works with commercial projects as well as my own artistic practice, this is quite interesting, and to be invited to a fine art exhibition as a digital artist is something that the 13-year computer gamer in me finds really amazing. Digital art is definitely becoming art. It should have happened 20 years ago, but it’s okay.

“I think Niio is great. I feel that you have a deep appreciation and understanding of art.”

How do you see a platform like Niio contributing to this popularization of digital art?

I think Niio is great. I’d say that’s why we connected so well early on, because I felt like you had a deep appreciation and understanding of art. And if you’re guiding this platform, you’re gonna take it in the right direction. The way the artwork descriptions are written, the way everything is laid out, is the way a gallery would lay it out. I also value that the artist’s opinion, or vision is involved in the process. I’ve been approached by other platforms, but I didn’t say yes to a lot of things because I felt like they were mainly a business. Too much of a pure business approach to art. And I think that what you all are doing at Niio is really what the artists are trying to do.

Kian Khiaban. Lone Night, 2021.

Stan Adard: finding an inner anchor through digital art

NIIO Editorial

Stan Adard, a graduate in social psychology and an educator, has long recognized the significance of breath in stress reduction. This insight, combined with years of meditation experience, has been a guiding force in Adard’s career, spanning over three decades as the owner and CEO of various IT companies. Adard’s passion lies at the intersection of humanity and technology, a fascination tracing back to the early days of computer innovation. Committed to exploring the use of art as a mindfulness tool, Adard employs a unique 4-dimensional digital brush, where time represents the fourth dimension, infusing his pictures and experimental art films with a palpable sense of breath and flow.

Practice conscious breathing with Stan Adard’s Breathing Pictures.

Open artcast
Stan Adard. The Breathing Pictures: Sky Dance, 2017

As a professional of the software industry and social psychologist, what is your opinion on the way digital media influence our mental health?

To form an opinion, I need data and details. Digital media is an extremely broad term, and I don’t want to join those who mainly lament the dark side of new media. From the YouTube help videos created by hundreds of creators with loving intent to news and social media networks where digital content often creates a breathless atmosphere. In addition to these, just as examples of the many layers in the digital media landscape, there’s the entire digital advertising world that inundates us from practically every device. Or digital art, which can either unsettle, bore, or inspire us.

We experience daily the challenges of not simply being swept away by this flood of possibilities. Where do we direct our attention? It’s our decision which aspects of digital media empower us and which weaken us. This process of realization is not always easy, as we often don’t immediately sense whether something is beneficial or weakens us in the long run. The world is becoming more complex and is already overwhelming us in many aspects. That’s why it’s important to find an inner path, an inner anchor. Conscious breathing is a crucial key to this. And if I can do this in the form of digital breath images, it helps in using digital media productively.

“A single image cannot lead a viewer to Nirvana. But it reminds us that it’s time to consider what conscious breathing can achieve at its core.”

You have stated that fear and anxiety are often consciously used to manipulate people. Could your work be seen, thus, as being not only about mindfulness but also social change?

You’ve caught me there. I see how our world is trapped in a system based on fear. As a system architect for over three decades, I have an eye for systems. And the overall system that towers over the national and alliance subsystems of the entire world serves only one purpose: to channel the profits from this planet’s resources and the labor of every inhabitant upwards. Into the hands of a few. This happens with a ruthlessness that sends shivers down my spine. The hunger in the world, the senseless wars, the acts of terror in the name of some selfinvented, vengeful god. The fuel is fear. In my view, fear is the opposite of love. Hatred stems from fear. What I can do in my smallness against this machinery is to bring to light that conscious breathing helps us so that our thoughts, and therefore our fears, can no longer control us. It’s an illusion to think that we can control our thoughts. But we can learn not to be controlled by our thoughts anymore. The breathing images, in their simplicity, are a subversive and loving element against a system that needs to be fundamentally renewed. Of course, a single image cannot lead a viewer to Nirvana. But it daily reminds us that it’s time to consider what conscious breathing can achieve at its core.

Stan Adard. The Breathing Pictures: Breathing Luxury, 2017

Let’s talk about the artworks we are now showcasing on Niio. Can you elaborate on the differences between the breathing pictures and the flowing pictures?

Most of my breathing pictures come to life during a process where I create my next breathing film. My digital experimental films must flow and breathe. Sometimes, an endlessly flowing motion arises from the film’s context, into which I then, at times, insert a breathing structure or infuse the structure itself with a breathing motion. ‘Eternal Blue’ is such an example. The viewer needs to take a moment to tune into the image until they discover the breathing motion.

In terms of their appearance, these artworks are often characterized by the presence of shiny, reflective objects and neon colors. Is this a personal aesthetic decision or does it respond to meditation purposes?

The ‘neon colors’ are generated by a graphics card in my server. In 2019, I was invited to create a breathing picture for an eSports gaming event in Asia (over Niio). To visually capture the attention of the mostly young participants, I used colors they are well acquainted with from their gaming servers.

Using the same colors, I then created a small series of pictures. However, in general, I choose colors based on aesthetic aspects. Colors have to appeal to me so that I can spend a month working with them, which is the average time it takes to create a new image. As an educated social psychologist, I am well aware of colors and their perception, but I rely on my intuition and often chance to choose the colors.

“Each ‘breathing picture’ exists only once as an original, marked with the appropriate signature, and is registered in the blockchain as proof of existence.”

Your signature is present in the lower right corner of each artwork. Does this mean that you conceive them as a painting? Is it to reinforce their perception as a work of art?

Exactly! A decade ago, my goal was to bridge the gap between classical paintings and digital art. In this vision, digital works would reveal their true, breathing form only when the viewer stands calmly in front of the artwork, allowing them to perceive the subtle breathing movements.

Right from the beginning, the signature, along with the year and edition, was a crucial means in the digital realm of art to precisely locate a work. Each ‘breathing picture’ exists only once as an original, marked with the appropriate signature, and is registered in the blockchain as proof of existence. The same applies to unique NFTs. For streaming platforms, exhibitions, and fairs, I always use an Artist Copy to ensure the integrity of the original work.

Stan Adard. The Breathing Pictures: Clematis Torus, 2018

Usually, a sphere is the element that guides the meditation. Does it have a different purpose according to its movement in the composition? Would you say that certain movements are easier to carry out a guided breathing exercise?

A sphere is a perfect geometric form. Inhaling enlarges the sphere and makes it rise, just like our chest does. Exhaling lowers the focal object and makes it smaller again.

Over the years, I’ve realized that in public spaces, the breathing movement must be clearly visible. People are often in a rush, and if we want to motivate them for a single conscious breath, it needs to be evident that something is breathing. The representation of breath can take many forms, and for each image, I explore the possibilities for it to fulfill its purpose in either a calm setting (gallery, living space) or a more hectic place (art fairs, exhibitions, Times Square).

“People are often in a rush, and if we want to motivate them for a single conscious breath, it needs to be evident that something is breathing.”

Tell me about the use of the torus as a recurring shape in your compositions. What do you find most interesting and/or effective in terms of guiding the viewer’s attention in this shape?

A torus symbolizes infinity for me. I also enjoy twisting a torus, forming a lemniscate, or adding gentle extensions to it. The eye can then glide along the structures of this ever-circular body, capturing the details. Ultimately, we reach a point where we perceive the structure as a whole and then also see that it breathes.

You have mentioned influences from Buddhist art and architecture such as the Wat Rong Seur Ten (blue temple) in Chiang Rai. Which other sites or works of art have inspired your work?

I’ve been practicing Buddhist meditation for decades, so visiting various temples on a tour through Thailand was a natural choice. A photo of the Blue Buddha, with blue being a color I often use in my works, stayed with me after my return to Europe. This inspiration led me to create three works in total: ‘Blue Buddha’ as a breathing image, ‘Blue Buddha Meditation’ with a soundscape by my longtime musician friend Mihaly Horvath, and a Virtual Reality version of ‘Blue Buddha Meditation.’

The breathing experimental short film ‘Time(s) to Breathe’ was inspired by Times Square in NYC, but these are exceptions. My primary source of inspiration is nature itself.

Stan Adard. The Breathing Pictures: Ethernal Blue, 2019

There are subtle references to nature in many of your artworks, can you tell us about this connection to the natural environment?

We discussed systems earlier. Nature, where humans are a part of, is the most complex and wonderful system we know. Its forms, colors, creativity, everchanging behavior, inter-connectivity, forces, and inner structures are all miracles rooted in the quantum fields that fill our universe. Sometimes, it leaves me breathless when I attempt to comprehend even a tiny fraction of it. At such moments, it’s time to create a new breathing picture, do some garden work, or to make concepts about the next experimental art film.

Some of your works display a mesmerizing, cyclical movement, while others reveal very subtle, almost imperceptible changes. How do you decide on the type of movement that each artwork will display?

Well, that depends on the environment in which I see the artwork being used. Initially, I primarily created breathing pictures with a slow and almost imperceptible breathing motion. The idea behind it was that only those who are calm would take the time to observe the image and perceive the breathing movement. These images only breathe 3-4 times per minute, while in everyday life, we may breathe 10-12 times per minute. The movement should not distract and should resemble a painting.

For art fairs, exhibitions, and ultimately the presence of the breathing pictures in very vibrant settings, I made the breathing movement more apparent. Spheres expanding and moving are easier and quicker to read. Moreover, based on many observations, I’ve found it more helpful to draw people’s attention to their breathing patterns when the initial breath rate is higher, perhaps around eight to ten breaths per minute, gradually slowing down over time. Such setups resemble therefore more to a meditative session.

“I’ve found it more helpful to draw people’s attention to their breathing patterns when the initial breath rate is higher, gradually slowing down over time.”

You were a musician at the progressive rock band Nautilus, yet music does not seem to play a central role in these artworks (although there is a sense of rhythm). Why is that?

Music still plays a significant role in my works, albeit not in The Breathing Pictures. Perhaps this perception arises from platforms like Niio, where I primarily showcase breathing pictures that are meant to fill the large black voids, often referred to as inactive screens, with art. However, I also create experimental breathing short films. ‘Time(s) to Breathe’ and the VR short film ‘Breathing Through’ feature carefully crafted soundscapes composed and realized by my musician friend, Mihaly Horvath.

Furthermore, we (astradream) collaborate in workshops and exhibitions with various sequences of The Breathing Pictures, accompanied by a carefully drafted soundscape, creating what we call a ‘Breathing Space.’

You have created a series of artworks in collaboration with several artists, such as Magno Laracuente, Zmakey, and Maura Patrizia Zoller. How have these collaborations developed? Which is your approach to incorporating their paintings into your digital animations?

I love working with people and in teams. All the artists I mentioned earlier, including the recent addition of Margarita Somnolet, have come into my life through art exhibitions. There must be something in the structure or movement of a painting that challenges me to find an additional layer that gives rise to a breathing motion. Sometimes, I carry a painting in a corner of my brain for a year, searching for the right approach that does justice to the image. My artist friends see it as an opportunity to expand their viewership.

For me, it’s the connection with various artists, their perspectives on the world, and the diverse life circumstances they come from that contribute to my creativity. These connections have also resulted in some wonderful friendships.

Stan Adard. The Breathing Pictures: Ethernal Blue, 2019

You have experimented with VR, how would you compare this immersive medium with your digital paintings in terms of the conception of the artwork and the viewer’s experience?

A classic painting is like a view from a window. Everything that doesn’t fit within the window frame is omitted and remains unseen. Creating a film or artwork in a virtual environment is the construction of an entire world. In this realm, you can’t hide a camera; what’s behind or beneath you is as significant as what’s in front of or above you. Crafting a virtual concept requires strategic thinking in concentric layers, perhaps similar to building an onion. A virtual space structurally resembles a sphere, which we perceive from the inside. This sphere must be developed in all directions.

We’ve also experimented with immersive audio, and the two VR works available today, ‘Breathing Through’ and ‘Blue Buddha Meditation VR,’ are quite impressive. I look forward to Niio delivering VR content to its subscribers in the future. In a virtual environment, the viewer can immerse themselves in the artwork; art can’t get much more comprehensive than that.

I think that I’m a fan of this art form?

“In the near future, we will certainly see more 16K (for both eyes), larger devices, more VR entertainment, and new ideas in the realm of digital art.”

You have had a long relationship with media during your life, from your first Super8 camera and a Hammond electronic organ to the current 3D animation and VR software. From that perspective, how do you expect digital media to evolve in the near future? Will it continue to bring constant, groundbreaking innovation, will it stagnate…?

Wow, that’s a vast field for predictions. The developments in the realm of artificial intelligence are currently pushing the boundaries of our comprehension. So, let’s focus on films and art for now. From my perspective, humans are inherently curious beings, and they age best when they remain open and curious. This nature won’t let humanity rest until it improves its film techniques, which naturally include the depiction of virtual realities, to the point where there are no discernible differences between the real world and the depicted world. Only when we can’t distinguish resolution, ambient sounds, music, and eventually even scent from reality while watching a movie or using our VR goggles, will this development, which has entered an exponential phase, come to a halt. So, it’s only when we can’t tell whether the actors in a film are real people or animated characters that the developers of these technologies can finally sit back. In the near future, we will certainly see more 16K (for both eyes), larger devices, more VR entertainment, and new ideas in the realm of digital art. The race for the world’s largest display recently gained momentum with the Sphere in Las Vegas.

As public advertising spaces are increasingly rejected by many communities, it will become more crucial to produce meaningful content for these spaces. I look forward to being a small part of shaping this landscape.

What is the role of art museums in the Anthropocene?

Pau Waelder with Karin Vicente and Diane Drubay

Art in the Age of the Anthropocene, Kumu Art Museum. Exhibition view. Photo by Stanislav Stepashko.

Is there a need for art during an ecological crisis? This provocative question is the starting point of the exhibition Art in the Age of the Anthropocene, currently on view at the Kumu Art Museum in Tallinn (Estonia). The exhibition explores Estonian art history from an ecocritical perspective, addressing how nature, but also the industry and the impact of human activity on the environment, have been depicted in painting, sculpture, photography, and other media, including video art and performance. Such an approach is particularly interesting in itself both for bringing new perspectives to Estonian art history, and for suggesting a reflection on our relationship with the environment from the vantage point of a selection of artworks spanning more than a century. However, what makes this exhibition even more relevant to our present time is that it is the outcome of a three-year-long project debating the role of the museum in the Anthropocene and particularly during a climate emergency. 

What should an art museum do at a time when sustainability is no longer a choice, but a need? What should be the institution’s role in raising awareness about the way human activity fuels the current climate crisis? How can art museums become hubs for reflection, and possibly action, to face a growing environmental disaster? These are hard questions to answer, and we cannot expect a single project or institution to be able to answer them. In fact, this has been an ongoing debate for many years among museums experts, in forums such as the Museums Facing Extinction programme carried out since 2019 by We Are Museums in collaboration with the EIT Climate-KIC agency. However, the exhibition at Kumu offers a good example of how sustainable exhibition principles can be put into practice, and furthermore communicated to the visitors.

This is actually the aspect in which this exhibition stands out, questioning its own museography and drawing attention to experimental solutions for a more sustainable exhibition design with highly visible informative signs. Before entering the exhibition, visitors encounter an unusual sight: instead of using vinyl lettering, the exhibition title has been spray painted on the wall, while the curatorial text is displayed on two large sheets of paper. Next to them, a thin red pole stands on a concrete brick, holding a cardboard label with additional information. These freestanding labels are scattered across the rooms, providing an additional reading of the exhibition in terms of the sustainable practices applied to this particular curatorial and museological project. 

Art in the Age of the Anthropocene, Kumu Art Museum. Exhibition view. Photo by Pau Waelder.

Thanks to them, we learn for instance that clay paint has been used to create the wall texts and labels, and that the labels are UV-printed on leftover cardboard, thus avoiding the use of plastics. Different wall paint solutions have been tested, considering their ecological footprint, price, amount of work required, and efficacy. We also learn that the posters in the exhibition are displayed in frames that have been used multiple times during the last eleven years, or that a painting that has been in storage in the museum’s collection for 78 years is now on display for the first time. Sustainability therefore goes beyond the choice of materials used and involves larger decisions about the management of the museum’s collection or the carbon footprint of an exhibition that includes artworks brought from remote locations. Art in the Age of the Anthropocene does not pretend to solve all of these questions but rather to raise awareness about the challenges that museums face on their path to sustainability. The freestanding red poles and experimental solutions give the appearance of a construction site and seem to convey the idea that it is all in the works. This is actually an honest way to address the issue, and also to involve the visitor, who is encouraged to consider how to contribute to a sustainable museum experience.

Art in the Age of the Anthropocene, Kumu Art Museum. Exhibition view. Photo by Stanislav Stepashko.

An expert’s view on sustainability in museums

To better understand the ideas and the work behind Art in the Age of the Anthropocene, I had a brief exchange with Karin Vicente, the head of the sustainable work group at the Art Museum of Estonia.

Photo by Terje Ugandi

Karin Vicente is an art historian based in Tallinn, Estonia. She works as a programme manager and curator at the Adamson-Eric Museum. She is the head of the sustainable work group at the Art Museum of Estonia. Currently she is working on the project A Model for a Sustainable Exhibition.

The exhibition Art in the Age of the Anthropocene has had a long gestation period of over three years. Can you highlight the main tasks and processes that have taken place during this time? 

The preparation of the exhibition is a part of a research project. It helped us analyze our collections (as well as collections of other museums) from an ecocritical perspective. Beyond the content, the exhibition has also initiated discussions about the green transition in the museum. How can an art museum minimize its ecological footprint? We organized a few seminars and discussions in the museum, involving participating artists and designers.

“We wanted to raise questions among the audience, such as the price of being part of a global art network.”

The exhibition is characterized by a double educational approach, on the one hand selecting artworks that speak about the representation and appropriation of the environment in Estonia, and on the other hand pointing out the sustainable exhibition practices carried out in its mounting. How have you combined these approaches?

The “red flags” indeed reflect the issues we discussed with curators and the exhibition team during the process. However, the selection of artworks was made by curators, following the narrative of the exhibition. We didn’t plan to create a zero-waste exhibition. For example, we invited international artists to contribute to the exhibition and designed a special exhibition layout considering eco-design aspects. We wanted to raise questions among the audience, such as the price of being part of a global art network. The pollution generated by air travel casts a shadow over bringing international art to Tallinn, yet it makes more sense than visitors traveling to the country of origin of each piece to see it. We want to be part of a global arts network, but how do we balance the pros and cons?

The sustainable exhibition practices have involved collaborations with third parties, such as the Tallinn Book Printers, to obtain leftover material. Can this lead to continuous collaborations? Is it possible for a museum to fully transition into using donated materials for purposes such as wall labels or brochures?

We collaborate with many companies, and there is a growing demand and consciousness concerning “green solutions” in the field. In some cases, it might be reasonable to create an exhibition using only reused/recycled/donated materials, but we also need to consider other aspects, like the security and well-being (climate conditions) of our collections. Handmade silkscreen texts and labels on waste paper were playful experiments, but they demanded a lot of human resources. Therefore, I’m afraid we won’t be able to do it every time.

Art in the Age of the Anthropocene, Kumu Art Museum. Exhibition view. Photo by Stanislav Stepashko.

Reusing elements purchased by the museum from previous exhibitions is a good practice both environmentally and economically, and currently most museums have a certain amount of reusable stock. How can this practice be even more effective and sustainable, balancing the specific needs of artists and curators with those of the museum?

The only restriction to reusing more materials is the limited storage space we have. We have discussed with other museums and institutions the idea of a platform that would facilitate the exchange of different showcases and materials between different institutions, but it still needs to be developed.

Wall painting is a major element of exhibition design, as it conditions the visual perception of the artworks. How do you see the solutions you have tested in Art in the Age of the Anthropocene being applied to other exhibitions?

The experimental design decision our team made involved testing different wall paint solutions. We were looking for the most economical and sensible solution, so we have analyzed the properties of clay, casein, linseed oil emulsion, and acrylic paints: their ecological footprints, prices, covering capacities, drying times, scratch resistance and ease of removal, and the required amount of work. The result was visually effective as we also tested different painting styles (using less paint). I think it’s a matter of taste; different wall paint solutions can be used when exhibiting artworks from different periods. There are obviously other methods to use wall paint in a more sustainable way. I think the trick is to find a good balance between the desired outcome (how it looks) and how we achieve it.

“Handmade silkscreen texts and labels on waste paper were playful experiments, but they demanded a lot of human resources. Therefore, I’m afraid we won’t be able to do it every time.”

Video and digital art are increasingly present in contemporary art exhibitions, which demands that museums have screens, projectors, computers, and other equipment that is also commonly used in educational activities. How does incorporating digital art into the museum align with sustainability goals? How would you compare it with traditional formats (painting, sculpture) in terms of shipping, maintenance, and storage, and the need to participate in the global art scene?

Indeed, both digital and traditional art forms have their ecological footprints. Traditional artworks need to be kept in a controlled climate that consumes a lot of energy. Digital artworks require computers, etc., and they have a digital footprint. However, we need both, and I think it doesn’t make sense to compare them.

Climate control is necessary inside the museum, not only to make visitors comfortable, but also to preserve the artworks. How can it be made more sustainable? What are the challenges for a museum in Estonia, where the difference between summer and winter temperatures can be extremely high?

We are updating our HVAC systems at Kumu in 2023; this requires a significant investment. This year, we also initiated a discussion in the museum to form our opinion about the Bizot protocol and weakening the climate standards. These are not easy decisions to make, but we are working on them.

Art in the Age of the Anthropocene, Kumu Art Museum. Exhibition view. Photo by Stanislav Stepashko.

Is there a need for art during an ecological crisis?

Considering the issues raised by the Kumu exhibition in a wider scope, I asked Diane Drubay, artist and founder of We Are Museums, about her views on the sustainability of art museums and a possible answer to the role of art in our current climate emergency.

Diane Drubay is an artist whose work focuses on better futures and nature-awareness and a researcher working towards the transformation of museums and art through various communities, events and programs, internationally since 2007. Founder of We Are Museums and WAC-Lab. Member of Museums For Future.

What is your opinion about the interplay of artworks and information in Art in the Age of the Anthropocene? 

In my opinion, the greatest challenge to overcome when we want to adopt sustainable exhibition practices is taking the first step. There are endless lists of practical sustainable actions, but they are often repetitive and tailored to a global audience rather than a local or personal one. Over the years, I’ve learned that it’s by sharing our personal stories that our actions can resonate with others. So I don’t hesitate to talk about what I do or don’t do any more, and to explain how I do it and what impact it has on my daily life. 

In the “Art in the Age of the Anthropocene” exhibition, we find this very personal way of talking about what has been done and why, but also a very practical one. All the details provided give visitors the chance to draw inspiration from them and apply this mindset to their everyday lives, or even their professions. I would love to see all these practical insights shared online in a global “ressourcerie” for museums on their climate journey!

Also, while museums tend to have the reputation of being large, secretive or inaccessible institutions, showing such openness and sincerity highlights the human beings who work in this museum and who, like everyone else, have moments of questioning and try to do their best to reduce their carbon footprint. Such honest behavior addresses the human being before the visitor. Leaving questions open invites dialogue and shows great humility, while sharing insights can be inspiring.

Art in the Age of the Anthropocene, Kumu Art Museum. Exhibition view. Photo by Pau Waelder.

In a recent article on Art Review, Marv Recinto states that art exhibitions about ecology “often feel futile in the face of real environmental devastation” and calls for “a more concerted effort towards action.” As an artist addressing this subject, how would you respond to this? Is the effort carried out at KUMU a step in this direction?

As there are many different types of disaster, there are many different ways of approaching an environmental emergency. Some people need to feel emotionally involved in order to act, others need figures and scientific facts to speak to their rationality, and still others need to be on the ground, collaborating with others, and so on. What I see is that many artists have several points of action, and the creation of stories or emotions complements local community action or changes in behavior. If we want to make a lasting impact and see behavior change profoundly, the approach must be multiple and complementary. As in nature, it is the diversity of species that makes a land fertile.

“If we want to make a lasting impact and see behavior change profoundly, the approach must be multiple and complementary. As in nature, it is the diversity of species that makes a land fertile.”

Karin Vicente states that both traditional art formats (painting, sculpture) and digital art have their carbon footprint, and that we need both, so it makes no sense to compare them. What is your opinion about digital art and sustainability in museums?

Exhibiting digital art and, above all, preserving it are key priorities for museum professionals today. So now is the perfect time to experiment with sustainable practices in my opinion. Many museums and associations are already well advanced in their search for a sustainable digital strategy. 

Like KUMU did beautifully, low-tech cultural mediation within the museum is a very good way of offsetting the carbon footprint of hosting servers and other carbon costs. But museums can also seek to reduce their carbon footprint by implementing actions in favor of biodiversity, reducing their water consumption, maintaining or creating forested or natural areas around the museum, thinking in terms of slowing down, circularity and renunciation, or supporting the local before thinking global.

“A digital work of art can reach more people in a global and inclusive way.”

And I agree with Karin Vicente that comparing the different media and their carbon footprints makes no sense, because we would also have to add a measure of the impact in terms of raising awareness, encouraging people to act and changing behavior, but also in terms of the number of visitors reached. A digital work of art can reach more people in a global and inclusive way.