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Engaging analogue processes through image, design and jewellery, Sirocco Studios is a model for cultural discovery, cultivating experiences that value commitment and care.
+Oscar Dooley’s interpretation of Anita Andromeda’s series Mythos
When I first started looking at the work of Anita Andromeda, I was met with a series of images that I didn’t quite understand. I knew that they were incredibly intriguing collages, yet not like those which I had seen before. Upon starting to write about her imagery, I had expected my usual search for referential comparisons to begin, hoping that finding someone else’s work to compare to hers would help my initial understanding of her work. From Hoch and Heartfield to Rosler, Kruger and Stezaker, I began my interpretation of her spliced fragments attempting to search for a starting point from the scattered history of collage. Yet I remained unanswered. Not because her work doesn’t fit within the ranks of artists past or that of her contemporaries, but because her work appears to do something different, something more subtle, more organic.
Amidst Andromeda’s cut and pasted photographs, are meticulously interwoven blending pictorial forms with wavering hues of back, grey and white. Within her collages, the essence of each image is carefully respected, yet she positions each fragment so that new and powerful forms emerge from the margins of her score marks. She effortlessly blends each image into one another, allowing the flow and contour of their original forms to construct shifting narratives which permeate through her final compositions.
I would like to briefly return to and examine the aforementioned collage artist, John Stezaker. At the start of this article, I mentioned that I wasn’t able to find a reference point for Andromeda’s collages, and whilst this is still partly true, I would like to explore the language used to describe Stezaker’s collages to further speak about Andromeda’s work. In particular, I would like to examine a quote from Parveen Adams’ essay on Stezaker’s work titled, Adding and Taking Away:
“The resulting image [strikes] the viewer as both unified and fragmented. The distortion is in full view but paradoxically, lends itself to the unity of the image which itself depends on the sense of movement created by the intervention.”
Rather than compare both artist’s collages, I would like to extend Adams’ remarks to Andromeda’s work. Examining any of the four images featured in this article and indeed the rest of her projects, the effortless movement and unity between the fragments, is as Adams mentions, found in the act of intervention in her images. However, this intervention does not disrupt the viewer’s gaze or disrupt the interplay of the fragments. Rather, Andromeda’s cuts and placement are precise, they respect the forms present within the original images whilst simultaneously allowing movement to traverse across each fragment. The interlacing of cloth, limbs and score marks turn the collages from cut and mixed images into coherent and symbiotic forms. Yet the movement present within her collages is not limited to its interior relationships, Andromeda pushes the boundaries of each image past the expected frame. The harsh monolithic edges of the cut photographs are as striking as the effortless forms which dance within her compositions. They rise up and beyond the image’s borders, allowing the flow of fragments to spill past its boundaries and into an inky abyss.
Yet for all the movement and motion present in her work, there remains a profound stillness within each collage. From the impossibly large and jutting cut edges to the cascading folds of fabric and limbs, Andromeda’s collages appear as single photographs, capturing and suspending the oscillation of her pieced imagery. Treating her collages as photographs, I find that there is sombre silence present in each one of them. I feel that I am looking at a single frame beautifully captured by Andromeda and that the fluctuating performances of her work have continued to move and shift into new arrangements. The conflicting movement and stillness within her work seem to warn that what I am looking at now, will not be the same if I look again.
When I initially started writing about Andromeda’s collages, I glanced over the fact that the images I was writing about had all come from the same body of work titled Mythos. Upon reflecting on the project’s title, I felt that my understanding of the work was recontextualised and that the enigmatic nature of her collages was replaced with a sense of mysticism. I suddenly understood why my initial search for comparative artists and works ended unresolved, I realised her work was far closer aligned with the forms of mythology than collage. Andromeda’s collages mirror the recurring narratives which make up our oldest and most celebrated mythologies, as she pieces together fragments of stories and voices into vivid tales. The images within Andromeda’s collages present themselves more as fragments of ancient tales, of which their dispersed origin and placement are pieced together and speak in unison.
I started this article by stating that I didn’t initially understand Andromeda’s work, that her collage acted differently from how collage usually acts. I stand by this statement, I don’t fully understand each collage, or how it acts on the page, but I think this is why I like Andromeda’s work so much. I enjoy getting lost in the rhythm of her compositions, letting my eyes trace the lines of her cut marks and witness an image expand and fluctuate in front of me. Like a myth, her work starts from scattered origins and builds into complex and fascinating structures. And like a myth, it is in constant flux, ever-changing and evolving, ensuring that I am always drawn back to see what Andromeda’s work will show me next.
Barbara Collé writes about Chantal Ariëns’ Where are you
The woman stands at the front left of the image. Her body posture forms a half-self embrace, as you can cherish yourself by touching your other arm with your hand, protecting your heart. It is a tender, gentle embrace. Her hand rests relaxed on her upper arm and this loving gesture combined with her downward gaze makes it clear that this woman feels secure. Her posture tells me that she is aware of the woman standing behind her. She does not see her but she senses her. She feels the way she can only feel when she is with her, her younger sister. It is that memory of when they were together that makes her feel safe. This image shows how your life can feel complete through the connection you experience with that one precious person. How you can experience wholeness by connecting in the moment of being together.
The three images featured here in Sirocco Journal are from the print series Where are you by Chantal Elisabeth Ariëns. It is a series whose first image appeared in 2018. The series is about the very cherished sisterly bond between the artist and her sister. When the younger sister had died, Ariëns saw her everywhere, in trees and clouds. She began capturing those images and translating them into art. The first prints are characterised by a fullness of passionate deep blacks and felt-through dark greys, always accompanied by an intensely warm shining light.
In these newly added art prints, the intense longing is still recognisable and the straight-from-the-heart memories are still palpable. But longing has taken on a different rhythm and timbre after all these years. In these works, an energetic grey vibrates and radiates. Grey exudes the feeling of ultimate safety, like that feathery feeling that embraces you as you lie on your back in the sea and are carried through the water.
The colour grey has many interpretations in art history, but one meaning that keeps recurring is the unifying power it has. After all, grey represents nuance and is the opposite of black and white. The colour helps artists show what happens in the transitions from one to the other. According to Vincent van Gogh, grey has the ability to evoke warmth, excitement and creativity. For Agnes Martin, grey is the colour that can reach into the most basic relationship between a person and the landscape. Concepts like creativity, warmth and connection that have no image become visible and thus tangible through shades of grey. That which we cannot grasp but can experience, such as a memory, we can represent with grey par excellence.
The richness of flowing grey tones in Ariëns images is made possible by the old printing technique of photopolymer etching used here. First, a photograph is exposed on a photopolymer-coated printing plate, after which a delayed process begins. This process allows Ariëns to work like a painter, she strokes layer upon layer with her hand so that the ink spreads. The image literally appears under her hands, allowing her to intuitively add subtlety and refinement. This handwork makes the whole range of greys emerge during this supreme meditative concentration. Then, using the etching press, the image appears on the paper. Nothing about these art prints is static. Even in the picture where admittedly the two women are sitting on the ground holding hands, time does not stand still. As if in a mirror image, the women sit facing each other. It is the moment exactly before one helps the other upright and they end up in a new movement. You can tell by the strength in their arms and their concentrated gaze that they will break their reflection in less than a split second. But not yet. It is precisely the reflection in the image that allows both women to be an imagination. Not physically present, but represented in the memory of the other.
Besides the etching technique, there is something else that enhances the dynamics in the images. Even while capturing the images, things dance, run and flow around Ariëns and her models. Ariëns was trained at a Dutch ballet academy. Because of this background, she not only knows what dance movements should look like, but also how they feel physically, and precisely because of this, she conveys that feeling like no other. She does not work with a preconceived plan and certainly not with poses. She brings the women she photographs into a flow that allows them to throw overboard their learned postures and be free of control. In this vulnerability, because for both photographer and model it is an uncertain state they find themselves in when any plan is lacking, an essence emerges that transcends the mundane. It becomes a recognisable, empathetic image that speaks to our heart and being.
In the third picture, we see a woman lying down and although we do not immediately see a second person, everything about her body language makes it clear that she is not alone, but together. The shades of grey that connect her body to the floor on which she lies seem to flow over into another figure. This artwork is the ultimate representation of a memory. Wasn’t another person lying there shortly before? Loss takes form here in the almost invisible imprint on the floor. This image fully captures the title of this longterm series: Where are you.
It is the shades of grey that give these art works a lightness. Hopeful is the meaning Ariëns adds to the power of the colour grey. Dare to have hope while intensely missing that person with whom you feel so connected. Dare to think back with gratitude and a sense of belonging to the shared moments in all the nuances, all the shades and hues you imagine possible. Because that longing makes you dance together in fluid motions, it makes you celebrate love. Those memories take you in a flow from the here and now to the past, and also back again.
Luke Newbould in-conversation with Irene Zottola
Through a layered approach, the feeling of your work transcends time. What is your process when creating a new series of work?
In each work the process is different, although there are things that everyone shares: curiosity and desire to experience to tell a story or simply an emotion, through images created with different techniques on different materials. In some way, everything is born from a simple practice, like a child playing.
The series you display are often accompanied by poetry. How do these written reflections illustrate or dictate the direction of your compositions and series?
When we read a word, an image comes to our head. If I write “tree,” every person who reads that word will see the image of a kind of tree in their mind. That symbolism generates meanings. Each word is an image and an image can generate words, ideas, emotions or stories that it suggests to us.
This practice was carried out in a very free way. Sometimes the image comes first and then the word or following a poem, there are interpretations of the images that appear in it. It’s pretty organic. Everything comes naturally during the process. It also depends on which books or authors I am reading at the time or how I feel. If I get stuck, I can always play with chance, music or go to the bookstore and write poetry. The key, I think, is to free ourselves from the pressure we can put on ourselves as creators.
I’ve read that you teach photography at the in Madrid, using photography as a tool for social intervention with vulnerable groups. Is this correct, and if so what is your connection to this?
Not exactly, I am a collaborating teacher with different schools and universities in Madrid such as Lens, TAI, IE Creativity Center and El Observatorio in Barcelona. In these places what I share are creative processes: how the different works of recent years have been born, what doubts arose along the way and how I was solving the various technical and conceptual challenges until achieving a good formalisation of the series. I am not a technical or theoretical teacher. I share more processes and like to reflect with the students on the different narrative possibilities. All this would cover my more “formal” educational practice.
On the other hand, I carry out photography workshops with associations or entities that work with social groups in a situation of vulnerability: adults with mental or physical disabilities, minors or adolescents. In this case, they are usually more practical activities and proposals in which, apparently we are only taking pictures, but in the end you work on many more aspects that are important: identity, creativity, self-esteem, listening ability and teamwork. I believe in photography not only as a tool for individual expression, but also for personal and social transformation.
Being a self-taught artist, your photography feels very personal. Collaging poetry with photography, and reflecting on personal and familial history, how do you balance creative freedom with the technicality of analogue processes?
I think that in this case the key is to forget about the technique and focus on the emotion or message you want to convey. Try different things, play games, see what works and what doesn’t work, until suddenly there’s a moment when you say, “it’s here,” it works. I think error is precisely to be afraid of making mistakes. You have to try and get caught up, get lost on the way to find yourself. Sometimes it will be better and sometimes worse, but nothing happens. The important thing is to try because if we let the fear of “going wrong” block us, in the end we do nothing.
You have to make many drawings, paintings or photographs to find a style, a voice of your own. And even when you think you have it, it will change. Creative processes are as organic as life itself. Balance comes when you feel that you have finished some series and you move on to the next, when somehow a chapter is closed.
In the series Icarus, you explore the universal ambition to fly, to be free. On a personal level, what does this transcendence represent for you?
Flying means transcending, rising, being free. We should ask ourselves what freedom is. Relating it to creation and life, in the end it is about overcoming limits and barriers that can go from being afraid to making portraits of strangers on the street, want to apply for a scholarship and contest to do an artistic residency in a different country or dream of making a sculpture or a film.
There is a direct creative and vital relationship that responds to how you want to live, what you want your life to be, what your dreams are. Obviously, it will not be an easy path to achieve them and even when they do, other difficulties will come. It is life itself. I think the important thing is not to give up and go crawling towards those things that make us happy, being aware of the most “logistics and boring part of life”: paying a rent, a house, bills, basic things necessary to live today. The key is to try to make a balance and get nourish us artistically and vitally doing what we want. This will pose other challenges, I do not mean that by deciding to be an artist and start doing small things everything will be easy and beautiful all the time, but what is clear, at least in my case, is that there are still more uncertainties, I prefer to have the life I have to a steady job from 7:00 to 3:00.
Flight is the journey that life offers us, where we want to go and the adventures we will live along the way.
Luke Newbould in-conversation with Zhao Han
My photographic style has developed closely with my experiences in recent years. Initially, I was deeply interested in documentary photography and spent a lot of time learning and experimenting. When the COVID-19 pandemic struck in 2020, everyone was confined to their homes amidst numerous tragedies. I sneaked out to take photos but returned home empty-handed and frustrated. This tragic period lasted for several years in China, where I spent all my time with my family. My wife cooked delicious meals daily, and my child was innocent and so adorable. The forest outside our window shifted between fresh greens and golden hues. These ordinary moments felt extraordinarily precious and peaceful. Gradually, I shifted my photographic focus to capture the scenes around me more attentively.
I have never consciously tried to link my work with traditional Chinese aesthetics, and the thought of doing so is somewhat embarrassing. The China we see today, formed from many small states, is a mix of numerous ethnicities, languages, architectural styles, clothing, and cuisines. To generalize such diversity under one aesthetic standard would be both terrible and hollow. I don’t have a high educational background, and know little about traditional Chinese aesthetics. However, I am fortunate to have lived authentically in this land. I am not a millennial; however, I was born just after China opened up, so I did not have to suffer from hunger or cold. My family relationships are very close, and we often travel and immerse ourselves in different cultures. Therefore, if my work possesses any perspective, it only comes from the genuine emotions of the individual, which brings me a profound sense of satisfaction.
What is your process of developing a photograph into an artistic object?
This is a challenging question, which I can approach from two angles. First, from the perspective of art theory, I have not studied formally in an art school, nor am I clear on the specific definitions of ‘art’. I simply love and appreciate photography—it’s fun, enjoyable, and primarily a way to satisfy my hobbies and address my issues. Meanwhile, these images also resonate with many others. As the content grew, they naturally evolved into artistic ‘object’ during the process of organising and understanding the photographs.
On the other hand, from the perspective of actual photographic work, I spent several years learning photography techniques. There are many books and precedents that teach how to create an artistic ‘object’, but when I actually began working, those experiences and techniques often proved unpredictable. Images that deviated from my initial goals unconsciously coalesced into a whole, leading to a new artistic ‘object’. It is hard to describe this feeling precisely. For example, like composing a lullaby, sometimes musical theory does not apply, or like writing a personal letter, literary theories can also be ineffective. While precise and meticulous designs can indeed create an artistic ‘object’, I find greater joy in allowing photography to be spontaneously creative.
James John Midwinter on Working with Imperfections
Unpredictability has become something central to my work because it has been such a challenge to embrace. I struggle with perfectionism, so the unpredictable and uncontrollable ‘happy accidents’ are themselves an expression and embrace of that discomfort with imperfection, within myself as much as the work. I actually have to try my best not to manage the unpredictability itself, but rather to manage how I feel about it, and to be compassionate to myself rather than judgemental.
If anything, I am now more fond of ways to push my prints even further from a ‘perfect’ finish. I like to print my photographs on delicate washi paper that I’ve hand coated in silver gelatin or cyanotype chemicals, as a way to bring beautiful imperfection into the prints themselves, with brushstrokes and texture you wouldn’t get in a factory coated piece of darkroom paper. There are ways of getting a more ‘perfect’ linear result with even these hand coated mediums, coating with a glass rod for instance, but that doesn’t interest me. Earlier this year I completed work on a collection of images for a zine with a Tokyo based publisher, where I’ve deliberately used a very coarse brush to apply the emulsion, in order to bring out the imperfections in the prints even further.
In the making of my last book, I used a risograph machine, and fell in love with the subtle variations in each print, and the way the soft black of the soy ink bleeds and smudges in places. The way the ink is pushed through the screen gives a really unique grain texture to the images, which feels so much more satisfying than a digital print. These ‘mistakes’, the imperfection of the materials and process, are what make it feel relatable and magic. Obviously there is a balance to be had. I don’t want the integrity of the image to be overpowered by the imperfections and accidents so that it is lost, but I also don’t want to try to control things too much either.
As an example of this search for balance, for a recent collection of prints I used very fine washi paper pasted onto plywood boards. In some areas the gelatin had worn away on the surface of the prints from the process of smoothing the paper on. This left marks which were subtle and interesting, adding to the patina of the print; they were a testament to the effort and hand made nature of the work. However, there were some less subtle marks which just didn’t sit right with me. They drew attention away from other areas of the print, distracting from the image rather than enhancing it.
In the past I would have found this extremely frustrating as it would have thrown up a lot of self-insecurity: was I just being too perfectionist? Were they in fact not that big a deal? Not even noticeable? Or did they look really terrible, worse than I thought! Perfectionism can often distort your discernment, and make you feel unsure of yourself, and in the worst cases, ‘reality’.
Thankfully these days I can summon up compassion, and give myself permission to either leave them, or deal with them, for better or worse, in a way that I’ll enjoy, and that would add something to the print. I got out a pencil, and gently drew some texture onto those missing patches of emulsion; something I hadn’t done before. It was a really enjoyable process… something subtle, new and spontaneous had been added to the print, rather than something imperfect to be removed.
Perry Oliver on Geometrics and Maintaining Momentum
In 1968, introverted and secluded to an extreme, I needed to find a new way to relate socially. I thought: learn a new language, do it with the people. I chose Spain and was fortunate to find myself, by chance, with Los Andaluces in Nerja. They made possible our dialogue from my zero, and with it came my immediate sense of belonging. I live in the hills of Frigiliana, remote but not isolated. This does mean limited periods without much direct social interaction or cultural activities. Previously during extended periods, I have been much more actively involved. That has its inheritance; I am not disconnected nor socially self-marginalised. The Malagueñan ambiance itself makes seclusion an extreme. My solitary inclination has not reached that condition, not here, gratefully. So I am saying that my work is and always has been affected by my dalliance with solitude. I don’t want to contemplate what seclusion would do to me or my work!
I enjoy the geometric in my work as being spontaneous and simple. A few lines on paper, a collage of iron fragments on the table. Many of the shapes have become familiar, a new one occasionally appears. How they fit together anew is what keeps me using them. My interest in it as design is fundamental and decisive from beginning to end. Because there is a representational component, and because for me geometrics encourage abstraction, symbolic expression and literal content can easily get suspended in favour of design. Which can mean, upon reflection, I find something unexpected got into the image. An altered relationship of shapes, textures, colours, space, dynamics is there for me to consider, to indulge, to interpret. I like that: to discover what I subconsciously or intuitively wanted to make.
I am usually working on several sculptures at once, always more than one etching. Usually one suggests another, a version of it, sometimes based on a fragment. As I am inclined to make series, a continuum with momentum happens naturally. When eventually my curiosity is waning and that series of imagery is exhausting itself (and me), then what? It depends. In that instance something beyond my immediate or accumulated experience might initiate new imagery. Other art? That participation has usually been oblique, and has been as diverse as Johns, Motherwell, Chillida, Picasso and other masters as well as chance encounters.
Inspire me? I shy away from that notion in favour of provoke, challenge, accompany, etc. On my rare occasions without momentum, if I can fake a calm acceptance of the unpleasant absence, just to be with my materials, to have their physical presence, to look at them, touch them — that can be all I need.
Something happens, usually before I leave the studio. As a harmony metaphor, I don’t perform as a duet: my graphics and sculpture do not happen simultaneously. I think their physical harmony is mostly history. A vibrant bond between them is ever-present regarding what motivates me and wants expression. I began making art as a printmaker. Three decades and many series later, a technically satisfying aquatint whose no longer relevant concept of space gave me notice and virtually insisted that I go to three dimensions. Then (1999) was when visual harmony occurred flagrantly and effectively. The first few sculptures I made were direct interpretations / extensions of etchings. That was a short-lived fortuitously engendered chord of sync between the two mediums. I do not expect nor try to harmonise the two mediums by design or craft. I have been disappointed on the few occasions I forced it to happen. If they come together naturally and interact as happened in 1999, then please let that be once again because I need it and am ready.
Jevon on Reconnecting with the Roots of Music
“I’ll be honest, looking back now I think I was in spirit this whole time — I feel like something possessed me to go and really explore [my heritage]. I was saying things I feel like I didn’t really know the meaning of but it felt right at the time and now looking back at it, it really resonates even more so. It’s just amazing to see and take it in after this amount of time from the album.
When I first heard the vinyl it was an emotional time for me, so it connected with me differently and allowed me to step outside of my normal comfort zone, and then when I got to Brazil that was even more of a challenge for me to step outside of my comfort zone because they have a complete different style of music-making processes compared to what I was doing. It forced me to step out and deliver.
And working with Marcos Valle, he’s a legend, the records that he’s done are legendary in Brazil. There’s a reason why people like Kanye, Pharell, Jay-Z and Pusha T have sampled him because his music is just incredible. And even now, his ear is just so sharp. As soon as he came in [to the studio] he knew what chords we were playing, all of it. He was just sharp with it. Same for João Donato, he’s like the godfather of Brazil — Bossa Nova and Samba music — so for him to come in and acknowledge my music and be like ‘yeah, I give this my approval’ and to see him play on it, as old as he was, I got that opportunity.
Really, what I want the next generation to understand about music is that music has been here long before all of us. It’s an art, and it should be respected as such. I don’t think it is being respected as such and people can naturally feel that, when someone’s being genuine or not. Their intuition is heightened now because of the times that we’re living in, so I think even more so now people are less reluctant to bullshit now — I’m happy AI is here so it can just clear all the bullshit. It’s gonna clear all the music makers that aren’t really about the music. I’m not saying don’t feed your family, but it’s just that people need to learn the difference and separate it.
You know what is, a lot of people are asleep to their creativity. It’s just about finding that process that wakes you up it. I just think you have to be conscious about your opinion and not follow the crowd, it’s so easy to be a sheep in this thing. But if you’re conscious you can when it make a decision for yourself and especially when it comes to your art. Being vocal is just a form of expression I’m trying to help people unlock within themselves.
I think it’s important to provide all of the knowledge and resources I’ve gained to less experienced artists because it’s just a due diligence. When I was coming into the scene I had to figure out a lot of things for myself and there were some great people who gave me some incredible words of advice and I thank them so much. But I feel like I’m playing that part for the new generation so the same way some of them advised me is the same way I can help some of these younger artists coming in. I’m just grateful, I’m embracing that wizard, Merlin kind of position.