Conversations / Mikael Siirilä
Here, in Absence: Mikael Siirilä reflects on his processes as a ‘way of looking’
In conversation with Luke Newbould
In conversation with Luke Newbould
Based in Helsinki, Finland, Mikael Siirilä
works with darkroom printing to explore the themes of absence, presence and outsiderhood.
The individual photographs are minimal, silent impressions of the world around. Working solely with black & white film and the darkroom, the contemplative process has led his imagery to a sense of calmness. Limited to a one-time edition of 500 copies, the artist recently published his first photobook "Here, in Absence" through IIKKI. The book is accompanied by an experimental-ambient vinyl, responding to the imagery printed within.
To begin, can you explain the meaning of the title of your forthcoming photobook Here, in Absence and the themes that are explored throughout?
One of my greatest pleasures is being completely immersed in doing something fascinating, wholly disconnected from the surroundings yet in a visceral internal presence: being here, yet absent from the world. Perhaps my pictures are stored triggers for those introspective and immersive moments. They are small perceptions of life with recurring reflections on presence, absence, identity, introversion and outsiderhood. They are personal and self-expressive but grow out of admiration and fascination for beauty in the everyday. They are pictures I love to look at and become lost in.
Sometimes, I feel the pictures are all about the same thing. Reflecting on photography itself plays a part in the title of the book. Like in an archaeological find, something is both preserved and immediately lost.
I’m reminded of Anthony Gormley’s description of “transitional objects” and imagining the self with eyes closed. For me, the self emanates from staring into my photographic relics. They help me live with greater detail and intensity. Something happens when the circle closes from the gaze at the moment of capture to the moment of reflection.
The book Here, in Absence covers my work over the last 4 - 5 years. Despite being shot in different countries and in unrelated situations, the pictures share underlying moods. Sometimes, I feel the pictures are all about the same thing. Reflecting on photography itself plays a part in the title of the book. There is a tension between presence and absence in a photograph. Like in an archaeological find, something is both preserved and immediately lost.
The photobook is accompanied by an experimental-ambient vinyl by IIKKI; the sounds seamlessly intertwine with the reflective photographs. Can you talk about the thought-process behind this synergy - particularly in how the art forms work together?
I have stifled the idea of a photobook several times over the last several years. I have felt my pictures were destined to be a catalogue rather than a coherent book. IIKKI approached me with their concept of merging poetic imagery with music. I was immediately on board! The credit for realising and directing the cross-disciplinary dialogue belongs to IIKKI. It takes sensitivity and vision to anticipate resonances and synergies. My book is one in a series of musical-visual merges worth looking into!
The pictures and their abstract themes informed the music. In the book, each chapter is marked with the album’s side and timestamp for a synchronised experience.
The process began with the photography. A selection of the photographs was assembled and grouped to establish concepts and structure for the album. The pictures and their abstract themes informed the music. In the book, each chapter is marked with the album’s side and timestamp for a synchronised experience. As an abstract visual thinker, it has been incredible to discover how two art forms can speak with a shared abstract tongue. The musical experience of The Humble Bee & Offthesky (Jason Corder and Craig Tattersall) evokes mental movements I recognise from working with my pictures. My mind is lured by the musical layers and threads and starts to wander. The fragmented and spatial sounds build on the photographic moods. Then suddenly, my senses are snapped back into alert awareness by sharp, intense, brittle textures.
While being distinctly analogue, your works modernise the pioneering movements of the avant-garde and pictorialism. Where do you find an aesthetic purpose in your images?
The early artistic movements in photography are incredibly inspiring and relevant. While pictorialism leaned towards a recognisably painterly and fabricated aesthetic, I am, in some ways, doing the opposite. I am looking to heighten the photographic identity of the pictures. I use shallow depth of field, overemphasise film grain and reference visual language from the 60s and 70s black and white photography and cinema.
My silver prints are relatively small and exaggerate the nostalgia of photographic albums with warm tones reminiscent of ageing. I look for media specificity and want my photographs to look like photographs. I have worked as a graphic designer with digital and analogue media for over twenty years. Therefore, composition and consistently articulated style are apparent in my pictures. I have incorporated my fascination for negative spaces and strong visual contrasts into photography.
Perhaps the pictures are to be looked at rather than analysed. We should allow images to communicate and open up non-verbally. Each new picture must resonate with the others: extend and contribute to the body of work.
There is a lifelong quest driving the work. I don’t work on projects or series and am not interested in specific subject matter or storytelling. Photography is my personal, philosophical project. I aim to create 10-12 self-contained pictures each year that contribute to a coherent ‘way of looking’. I am entirely focused on individual pictures during editing and the printmaking process.
I don’t think of sequencing. None of the photographs in Here, In Absence were made for the book or included to fill pages and provide rhythm. However, the book project brought forth some fascinating pairings of pictures. Perhaps the pictures are to be looked at rather than analysed. We should allow images to communicate and open up non-verbally. Each new picture must resonate with the others: extend and contribute to the body of work. I study the pictures repeatedly during the several printmaking stages, pulling my intuition to judge new candidates. With each picture, some new contemplation occurs. I must trust that my sincerity will drive the body of work in the right direction. It’s often missed that editing, often unseen, is at the core of printmaking stages, polling my intuition to judge new candidates.
Why am I drawn to an arrangement of de-contextualised and fragmentary elements inside a frame? How is the picture a consequence of my gaze, and how does my ‘way of seeing’ contribute to the picture? Can a picture be found? I keep returning to such fundamental questions about picture-making. Several photographs in Here, In Absence are subtle reflections of the presence of the picture-maker within the composition. - I prefer the word ‘picture’, implying high intentionality. The Finnish language does not have such a nuance.
Analysis can ruin the experience of looking. These are relics of my experiences, family, places I have seen, and things I want to hold on to. Being alive and conscious is an incredible thing to have.
An exciting transformation takes place during the picture-making process. All my pictures are snapshots, unplanned and unstaged. Elements of the photographs were not carefully considered and placed with a painterly precision. Yet through looking, composition, editing and style, total intention takes hold of the picture. A fascinating tension between the real and the fictional becomes apparent. A snapshot that has the status of a ‘picture’ feels special.
Just last year, I saw one of many renditions of The Veil of Saint Veronica by El Greco at The Prado Museum. Without the religious component, that painting archetype reflects my fascination with analogue photography. An analogue photograph is not just a picture but a sacred trace and imprint of the world. In this context, I am most fascinated by the edges of a picture. Since we recognise the picture as a photograph, we believe the world extends beyond the frame. This thought has been transformative in my compositions.
What happens when an element crosses the border? My photographs reflect the picture, but I hope they also come across as sincere, subjective perceptions. Analysis can ruin the experience of looking. These are relics of my experiences, family, places I have seen, and things I want to hold on to. Being alive and conscious is an incredible thing to have.