In the Studio: Lotte Wieringa

Lotte Wieringa sits down with Erik Sommer to talk about open gazes, giving the work breath, being a kid for a long time, and making bouncy paintings.

(ES) Describe your work for us.
(LW) The work is intuitive, physical and guided by the process: patches of colors, scribbles, scratches and lines floating around the canvas, layered in a way that is both spontaneous and considered.

I think that when we look at an image that doesn’t immediately tell us what it is, it invites a kind of attention that’s more bodily or felt, rather than intellectual. There’s a quote by Paul Valéry I regularly return to: “To see is to forget the name of the thing one sees.” It gets at this idea that naming something can limit it. Words are very useful and important, of course- but they tend to narrow things down. They rarely capture the full depth of that what is spoken of. Painting offers a way of telling a story wider than words, I think that is why I paint. 

Tell us a bit about your background. Where did you grow up?
I grew up in a small town in the South East of The Netherlands. It is a quiet place with not much happening. As kids we would stroll around and create our own adventures, leave a written note at home on our whereabouts and go. Gradually, I was able to expand radius and explore the world further, all at my own pace. Looking back I would almost always make myself take the next step to venture out to bigger places and new things. 

Even though I did not always appreciate growing up in a tiny village, it was a privilege to be able to explore and move around so freely. I think I was a kid for a long time. This is something I feel really grateful for. Growing up in a more rural place also builds some resilience; the bike ride to my high school was 10 kilometer (a good 6 miles) -one way- this is something I had to do every day for 6 years. My parents would never bring us by car, no parent did that. Everybody was simply always cycling, in all weather types. No busses, no excuses. You had to step on the bike and make the ride. The only time I was truly upset about that was when my mom let us cycle through a thunder- and snowstorm, that was wild!

Where do you live and work now?
At the moment I live and work in Berlin. I moved here 2 years ago, after having lived in Rotterdam for 13 years.

How do you think this has influenced your work?
The spaces in which I work always influence the painting process. At the moment I work in a former lithography printing hall and the huge space triggered working large and making bigger movements in my works. My former studio was located in a former primary school classroom. It felt as if the colors of the window sills (blues and yellows!) and the playful energy of the space gave the work a certain bounciness. Another big influence of my immediate surroundings is sound- I listen to a lot of music and regularly visit concerts and clubs. There is a lot of that here in Berlin, very high quality too. I think I visit as many club-nights and concerts as I visit exhibitions. I grew up in a family of musicians, it is in the blood. Some things you just look for/find wherever you go. 

Do you remember any artists as a child that captured your attention?
This is a question I had to think about quite a bit. I think I came in contact with art quite late, during high school in art classes. But I do have this clear memory of visiting the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam with my school class when I was 9 or 10. They showed us this massive painting ‘The Nightwatch’ by Rembrandt van Rijn. We travelled all the way to Amsterdam for that with 25 kids. This painting is considered a classic Dutch masterpiece, a must see. It is all a bit beyond your comprehension when you are so young. The room was very dark and the painting is too so I found it heavy and it was in line with the stuff I saw on the walls in churches. This was my idea of art for a long time, together with being able to draw well. 

What captured my true attention as a child were stones and minerals. I started collecting at a young age. It was their beauty that drew me in.  

I do however remember the first time when art really hit me in a different way, it was when I was studying in Rotterdam. I visited an art exhibition in Stedelijk museum Schiedam about the Zero movement. It was the first time I saw something like that and I was dazzled. Overall it was rather minimal and white -very different from what I do myself- but it really touched something in me. I can still remember the feeling and experience of amazement clearly.

Any artists today you are looking at?
At the moment I feel rather inspired by the work, life and persona of Oliver Lee Jackson.

Your work is immensely striking and rich with color, yet you allow peeks of canvas to remain untouched. Why is this important to you?
Leaving empty space in my paintings comes natural. I don’t have to think about it at all, it simply happens. The open areas are part of the composition, it gives the work breath, air and brings in a certain movement that only open space can bring. The empty space adds contrast that just has to be there.
 
To me it stands in connection with Buddhist philosophy about emptiness. They say “form is emptiness, emptiness is form”. There are many wisdoms connected to this simple saying. Buddhists are interested in the human condition, emptiness does not mean nothingness, but rather that all things are interdependent and lack a fixed nature.

There is an incredible amount of energy contained in your work, but also soft quiet places in which to get lost. Do you think in dichotomies while you work?
I need tension and contrasts. There is this urge to constant change and trying out new things. It is how I create a sense of balance and maintain in connection with my creativity; throughout the practice and in every work. I find it important for the field wherein my work happens to be wide and open. I don’t want to narrow it down too much. Similar to emotions or seasons, one moment it is this, the other it is that- always in flux. The dynamic makes it feel alive.

Are you more concerned with the process or the end result?
All the times the process did not go to my satisfaction, you just don’t get to see the result. Those parts of the process land in the bin, end as painting cloths or move to my storage for a review at a later time.

What about your working technique? Walk us through how you start and then develop a piece.
Usually it starts with the making of scratches or scribbles that look similar to ballpoint/biro markings. They are made from oil paint and applied via a mono printing technique. Making those markings is rather physical and requires my whole body to move around and over the canvas. Once the scribbles are done it takes a bit of time before I know the next move. The biro-markings usually need some time to settle on the canvas. After that the work gets build-up gradually, layers and patches of paint are added; sometimes fast and other times it can take months to figure out the piece. 

There is an immediacy to your work. How much of each piece is planned and how much of each piece is discovered while you are working on it?
Most of it is discovered/shows itself during the process. All movements made are dependent on one ones that came before. It is like a chain reaction and a very exciting way of working.

Finally​,​ what is your favorite color?
Simply a color alone doesn’t do the trick. For me it is in combinations. As a kid I was for a long time obsessed with using the blue and pink markers next to each other. A lot of my drawings would consist out of those colors together. It gave me joy, to watch the beauty of the interplay. It made me feel very full. Orange alone is just orange but when there is a color next to it things start to happen, a feeling, an exchange, tension, expansion, contraction. That is my love in and for color.