In the Studio: Kyte Tatt

Kyte Tatt sits down with Erik Sommer to talk about working seasonally on farms, stage design, navigating the universal tensions between chaos and order, and the accessibility of the current art world.

I explore themes of life and death, destruction and renewal, and the intricate web of interconnectedness.

(ES) Describe your work for us.
(KT) My work is free, intuitive, and expressive, marked by bold, gestural energy. It navigates the tension between abstraction and figuration, chaos and order, creating a dynamic fusion. I blend raw materiality with intense gestures to evoke primal imagery and contemporary disorder. My subjects—humans, flora, and fauna—emerge from a mix of personal mythology, biological forms, and folklore.

Tell us a bit about your background. Where did you grow up?
I was raised  in rural Pennsylvania, where my early years were spent riding bikes, catching frogs and snakes, and exploring the forests and countryside. As soon as I was able, I set out on a nomadic path, spending a decade living and traveling in vans, buses, and RVs. I worked seasonally on farms, and during the off-season, I often journeyed to warmer, more affordable places like Asia and Central America. That lifestyle eventually became unsustainable, and the end of a long-term relationship prompted a major shift. I moved to Berlin, Germany, where I’ve now lived and worked for the past ten years.

How do you think this has influenced your work?
My work is deeply autobiographical, rooted in memories of personal experience. My move to Germany was sudden and surreal—almost imagined—transforming my life overnight. One day, I was living in a caravan on a farm in Oregon, surrounded by mountains; the next, I found myself in the concrete sprawl of Berlin. Painting became a way to process the longing and absence I felt for that former life. The distance from that world sharpened my appreciation for it, and I began to translate those emotions visually. Living in Berlin has profoundly shaped and influenced my practice.

Any artists today you are looking at?
Georg Baselitz, Joe Bradly, Jorge Galindo, Marta Junwirth.

You started painting around 2015. What artistic endeavors did you undertake prior to this?
I’ve loved drawing since childhood, winning several art contests in grade school—and I never really stopped. Over time, my creativity expanded into other forms, though often without a specific focus. I explored stencil art, leatherwork, and spent years designing my own clothing using found, deconstructed, and repurposed materials. This sensibility continues to inform my current practice, from painting on reclaimed books and papers to crafting hand-stitched, patchwork canvases.

Before focusing on painting, I also worked in stage design for a weekly community theater, where I created new sets each week over an eight-week run—often built entirely from discarded materials and scrap metal. It was an incredibly fun and inventive time. I’ve been actively involved in several artistic communities along the West Coast and was honored to receive a grant to install my own work on the playa at Burning Man.

You have written how nature explains much of what you have to say in your work. Can you expand on this idea?
To process my life experiences I turn to nature’s cycles, drawing metaphors that help me make sense of the world and reflect it back to myself. These metaphors deeply inform my work. I explore themes of life and death, destruction and renewal, and the intricate web of interconnectedness. My practice navigates the universal tensions between chaos and order, using abstraction and symbolic imagery rooted in both plant and animal life. These elements come together through a kind of folklore or mythology—part borrowed, part invented—that shapes the narrative of my art.

Your work seems to skirt the edge between chaos and order, between a predetermined idea and impulsivity. How important is it for you to allow each piece to develop organically?
It’s essential to me that each piece unfolds organically—I have to coax it into being. My process is gradual, layering the canvas as thoughts merge with lines, textures, and marks. Over time, something begins to emerge, and instinct takes over. My analytical mind recedes, and I enter a flow state, simply responding to the work. The idea gains momentum on its own, snowballing as I paint, guiding me rather than the other way around.

I love the dichotomies of your work, how the strong gestural marks become quiet and delicate. Is this something you are conscious of?
Absolutely. I’m naturally drawn to the dichotomies of life, and that tension is deeply reflected in both my work and my personal nature. It’s the interplay between seemingly opposing forces that creates the richness and complexity I seek. In my marks, compositions, and subject matter I aim to explore contrast—chaotic, energetic bursts alongside quiet, meditative spaces; the analytical lens of science and biology balanced with the mystery of mysticism.

You have used a wide range of media, from acrylics to house paint, charcoal, graphite, pastel, and coffee. Is there a medium you prefer, or a medium you want to try next?
I love mixing materials in my work. I primarily use acrylics because they dry quickly, which suits my fast-paced painting process. However, if I had a larger studio space, I’d love to work more with oils. I’m drawn to the way oil paint holds its shape and retains texture as it dries—it doesn’t flatten out like acrylic. I think incorporating more oil would add a compelling new dimension to my work.

Are you more concerned with the process or the end result?
I’d say I’m more driven by the end result. My process is fast-paced and often repetitive—once I begin, there’s an urgency to get the idea out. I don’t linger or overwork; instead, I allow my impulses and intuition to lead. This immediacy helps me trust the process, knowing instinctively when to push, pull, or let go.

What is your normal studio practice like? Any routines or superstitions?
My studio practice involves a lot of stillness—sitting, thinking, and occasionally sketching when I feel a block or tension. It’s a bit like fishing: ideas and inspiration drift by like fish in a river of thought. I wait patiently for the right one to bite, though often what I reel in is something entirely unexpected. Either way, it’s about entering the right mindset—open, receptive, and ready for ideas to flow and intertwine. Once I begin painting, the process usually unfolds in a single movement. I rarely return to the composition afterward.

What excites you the most about the current art world?
What excites me most about the current art world is its incredible diversity and the broad recognition of so many different forms of expression. There’s a real sense that anything goes—every voice and vision has a place. Unlike in the past, there’s no dominant style or movement; creativity is wide open. I’m also energized by how accessible art has become. Today, anyone can discover contemporary painters with just a few taps on their phone. That kind of access simply didn’t exist when I was growing up—the art world felt much more closed off then.

Any recent or upcoming projects?
I am currently developing new work for my upcoming solo shows in Spain and Germany. No formal announcements have been made yet, so I will keep the details to a minimum.

Finally​,​ what is your favorite color?
Green. All day every day.