Inadvertent
Inadvertent
An exhibition responding to or in dialogue with the writing of Karl Ove Knausgård.
Curators: Andrew Churchill and Catherine Knight
Louise Bristow
Commuters, 40 x 80 cm, oil on wood panel
Of This Earthly World, 30 x 30 cm, oil on gesso panel
Maria Carvallo
Where the voices come from, 30 x 32 cm
Bodies and Blue, 80 x 130 cm, watercolour on paper
Andrew Churchill
Blue Book 15, 50 x 50 cm, oil on gessoed cradled board
Blue Book 11, 50 x 50 cm, oil on gessoed cradled board
Blue Book 13, 76 x 76 cm, oil on gessoed cradled board
Martyn Cross
Return to your dust, oil on canvas, 20.5 x 25.5 cm
Lara Davies
Arran Crossing, oil on canvas, 61 x 77 cm
Salvatore Fiorello
Canopy, oil on linen, 20 x 15 cm
Whispers, oil on linen, 15 x 20 cm
Cranley Gardens, oil on linen, 25 x 20 cm
Nicky Hodge
Never a jump cut, 190 x 90 cm, acrylic on brown card
Peter Jones
Snake, 20 x 20 cm, oil on Khadi paper
Hedgehog, 25 x 20 cm, oil on Khadi paper (in a sketchbook)
Catherine Knight
November (above), 24 x 20 cm, oil on Arches huile paper
November (below), 24 x 20 cm, oil on Arches huile paper
Pink Grapefruit, 30 x 23 cm, oil on board
Brendan Lancaster
Happy Birthday, oil on canvas on board, 17 x 12 cm
Sliding door, oil on canvas on board, 17 x 12 cm
Saturday, oil on hessian, 30 x 20 cm
Tim Millen
Day Shift, oil on canvas, 30 x 23 cm
Robin II, oil on canvas, 23 x 30 cm
Thinning, oil on canvas, 23 x 30 cm
Johannah Muriel
Passage, 51 x 38 cm, Unique mixed-media monotype with hand embroidery, acrylic and varnish
David Risley
Bulb, 23 x 19 cm, watercolour on clay ground on wood panel
Ræveskiftet, 28 x 24 cm, watercolour on clay ground on wood panel
Kate Sherman
Primrose (day), oil on board, 24.8 x 18 cm
Primrose (dusk), oil on board, 25 x 18.1 cm
Michael Simpson
Squint Drawing, 40 x 18 cm, oil paint, French chalk, indian ink on paper
Courtesy of Modern Art, London
Reed Wilson
Strange but true, 40 x 30 cm, oil on board
Gilded thistle, 40 x 50 cm, acrylic on board
Hedgehogs In The Dark Andrew Churchill and Catherine Knight
In Karl Ove Knausgård’s 2018 essay, Inadvertent, he sets out to answer the question, “Why I write” and muses on the idea that:
“Thoughts are the enemy of the inadvertent, for if one thinks about how something will seem to others, if one thinks about whether something is important or good enough, if one begins to calculate and to pretend, then it is no longer inadvertent and accessible as itself, but only as what we have made it into. The thought of what others will think, of whether this is any good or not, all criticism and self-criticism, all reflection and judgment must be put aside for trust to develop. In this sense, writing must be open and innocent. But in order for something within this openness and innocence to emerge and become accessible, there have to be limitations, and this is what we call form.”
This could equally be applied to painting and how the best things are stumbled across almost by accident. Painters often devise ways to “get out of their own way”, catch themselves unaware or make their best work while focusing on a different piece entirely. Knausgård’s vulnerability, unflinching honesty about his own life and way of exploring universal issues such as love, death and grief, intertwined with domestic details and the daily workings of family life alongside his ability to see the everyday in fresh and new ways make him a favourite writer of many painters.
For many artists their first exposure to Knausgård was his book on Edvard Munch, So much longing in so little space. Having been invited by the Munch Museum to curate an exhibition he records how he was drawn toward those paintings rarely shown. Depicting the humdrum and the everyday, the side of his house or a field of cabbages Munch’s paintings selected by Knausgård reflect his writing, particularly in My Struggle. For artist Catherine Knight this book on Munch was the impetus to take a trip to Oslo to visit Munch’s house and the surrounding landscape.
Knausgård has written countless other essays about painters as well as collaborating with artists for his book covers including contemporary artists Karin Mamma Andersson, Anna Bjerger, Anselm Kiefer, Vanessa Baird and Celia Paul. We have all heard of the expression “a Painter’s Painter” but perhaps there is such a thing as a “Painter’s Writer”? The painter David Risley has written that “he is one of the only writers who really gets art”.
In Inadvertent Knausgård uses the analogy of the hedgehogs in his garden to describe approaches to writing:
“Sitting still and waiting for them [hedgehogs in the dark] to come out and become accessible to my gaze is the novel’s way of thinking, while … the inadvertent stumbling over them in the dark and giving it a kick is the logic of poems and short prose. In both cases its happens inadvertently...”
Tripping Over The Hedgehog -
Inadvertent Subjects
For a number of the artists in this exhibition their use of the inadvertent discovery of subjects resonates with Knausgård’s theory. Peter Jones paints objects that are discovered by chance on walks. “The works I often regard as my most successful are of finds stumbled upon fortuitously. A good number of the still-life subjects in my studio sketchbooks were painted on the afternoon of the very day they were found during that mornings dog walk, interrupting or postponing work I had planned for that day. Indeed, I can’t imagine why l’d ever actively search for a Very Hungry Caterpillar toy or a rubber joke-shop snake, but the split-second decision to collect these things is always instinctive.”
Louise Bristow begins making her paintings by arranging a selection of found and made objects, filtering them to find the right composition: “What are my criteria for deciding if a composition works? It needs to surprise me, to ring true. I think the paintings I make are narrative, but I’m just not really sure what the narrative is. I certainly find it difficult to put into words. If I’m lucky, at some point during this playing around process things begin to coalesce into an arrangement that surprises me, that has a kind of life of its own and stands up for itself. It might very well veer away from the original starting point but nevertheless communicate something to me… It feels as if that first prompt is too self-conscious, and I need to work to get to a point where my decisions aren’t superficial, where they’re less conscious and more intuitive. Even though I know that first starting point will almost certainly be jettisoned, I still have to believe in it totally and be fully committed to it.”
In Tim Millen’s painting Thinning the outcome of the painting’s possible narrative was arrived at inadvertently. Millen described how the beginning of the painting was the seated figure near a fire. Working right to left the additional shapes along the edge of the fire began as stones, then suggested more people, these then became firmly stones, but finally stones with faces in them as the narrative literally came full circle around the fire. To root the painting in the unknown and the known simultaneously, a stoat-like creature wanders past the
camp, seemingly unperturbed by such a spectacle. The accidental and the truth found within it can be seen clearly in the swimming paintings of Catherine Knight. Born of a project to swim in a quarry every week for a year, recording the changes week by week in photographs taken whilst in the water, which in turn become painted studies, the work in this exhibition is painted from the accidental images or short video clips that are captured on her phone whilst the intended image is being taken. The inadvertent chance outcomes of a project whose boundaries are relatively set chimes with Knausgård’s words in his essay Inadvertent “The rules I set myself now were exceptionally simple. I would write only about things that had actually happened and I would write about them as I remembered them…I also had to write a certain number of pages every day, first five, later ten, and towards the end up to twenty”. These swimming paintings also investigate what is above and what is below the surface, bringing to mind our outer presentations of self in contrast to our inner worlds.
These chance discoveries chime with the work of Lara Davies whose subjects for her paintings are inadvertently found on cycling trips across the country. “My work is an attempt to hold on to the memory of a place, preserving a moment that otherwise eludes capture. Most frequently my paintings are made after bike packing adventures, a space I inhabit alone, for hours or days, where the countryside or sea around me can seem a vast, magical place. No photograph can capture the transient details that are experienced during these trips, so once back in the studio I make paintings which attempt to capture the sense of wonder and freedom I felt at the time.”
Her painting techniques also allow room for accidental elements. She states: “My practice is based on experiment and chance, often using the immiscible qualities of oil and water to create a dappled surface on the canvas. The initial layers of paint are put down in a free manner, then deliberate details are added, informed by the initial marks and stains. The paintings act as photograms, absorbing the environment and feelings I experience while out adventuring.”
While Lara Davies meticulously plans her bike packing trips, Salvatore Fiorello likes to “cycle round not knowing where he is going” and find himself in places that catch his eye. “The locations may at first seem banal or inconspicuous, yet there is often an air of implied or impending suspense, with the implication that the mundane could conceal something mysterious.” These “overlooked sections of suburbia, edge lands and semirural landscapes” with “creeping shadows and spectral forms denote odd or uncanny scenes, like recollected memories or nostalgic day dreams.” The works selected for Inadvertent spark similar feelings to the 1970’s Norway of Knausgård’s youth. Being outside all day, killing time, seeing friends, loneliness and boredom.
Brendan Lancaster captures everyday moments on his camera phone: a hand holding a glass, a bowl of fruit, or cutlery - all potentially mundane subjects but which he knows that he wants to paint at a later date. The works selected for the show are of a more autobiographical nature, featuring a sliding door from his parents house, the 16th birthday balloons of his daughter and his teenage son in front of a mirror, painted on rough hessian. The photos are the starting points for the paintings but are then put aside as the work develops its own life. All three feel ‘Knausgårdian’ in the way that Lancaster is both a son clearing out his parents house and reflecting on the details, and also a father observing the domestic life of his family.
“The painting of my son in front of the mirror, is from a photo. I saw him hovering about in front of the mirror, the way teenage boys seem to spend a lot of time doing, and the boredom of it, the sunny Saturday afternoon with nothing to do, but stuck in this restless state. It was so recognisable. I took a quick photo and then let it turn into a painting without being too photographic in the way I represented him, a little distortion, and off balance, the rest of the room is only there as a peripheral smudge. And the mirror reflection is shaded, seeing the reflection against the light. The painting of the sliding door is from a photo I took in my dad’s house, at the time he was moving out of the family home, after my mother died. And those doors are so memorable. I remember being only about 10 years old when they put the doors in and planned it together. I remember as a child the effort they put into choosing the pattern
of coloured glass panes that are in the centre area of it. To my childish eye it was a pleasing abstract group of coloured rectangles. But my mother said it was an arrangement of yellow and green that to her looked like a flower. So typical that she would demand a decorative design even in a grid of coloured glass. Not a fan of abstraction. We passed through those doors to go between the living room and the kitchen. It’s across that doorway that one of my sisters rolled as a baby, Rachel I think - or was it Laura? My brother and I had been waiting for one of them to make this momentous first journey from one room to another by themselves, long before they could crawl. So those doors are so familiar, such a part of growing up, it’s off the scale. But seeing them lit strangely, at night, that was when I took the photo. My dad moved out soon after and we cleared the house. So that’s one of the last images from there.
“And so as a parent, I think of my mam and dad as ahead of me on a big wheel. When I was young they were the grown ups, at the top of the wheel, and my grandparents were old, ahead of them, going down the other side. Now it’s my turn to come to the top, and my parents are going down, and gone, to the end in their turn. Behind me my children are coming up. The big circle. From being a child, to being the grown ups, ‘it’s us now, we’re in charge. Apparently’, to growing old and leaving it to others. So the other painting is of balloons, from my daughters 16th birthday. A milestone on the way up the big wheel, and I’ve moved a little further past the top…My usual paintings don’t focus on family life, or time. Maybe this theme was lurking there without me realising. Then it shuffled forwards and prodded me.”
The sense of marking time is also present in Catherine Knight’s painting of her son, Pink Grapefruit, as she tries to document moments of being a parent, sitting at the table where it all happens. “My phone is full of photos of my sons; out walking, sleeping, eating, playing with the cat. This is my way of recording things I notice during the busyness of daily family life and that I can return to in paint at some future point. Sometimes this is years later; years later when the moment has passed, the child is older, maybe doesn’t look like that anymore and I can see them properly.” Even looking back on a photo from a year ago, so much has changed and evolved and this echoes Knausgård’s reflections in Autumn:
“It feels like I have started something new, something quite different, and that is this family. I think of it every day, that what matters is now, that the years we are living through now are when everything important happens. My previous life seems more and more distant. I am no longer preoccupied with my own childhood. Not interested in my student years, my twenties. All that seems far, far away. ) And I can imagine how it will be when what is happening now is over, when the children have moved out, the thought that these were the important years, this is when I was alive. Why didn’t I appreciate it while I had it? Because then, I sometimes think, I hadn’t had it yet. Only what slips through one’s fingers, only what is never expressed in words, has no thoughts, exists completely. That is the price of proximity: you don’t see it. Don’t know it’s there. Then it is over, then you see it.”
Karl Ove Knausgård, Autumn
For Reed Wilson, Knausgård was instrumental in reestablishing her painting practice after a long break. His writing opened up the possibility of subject matter or lack of it…she states: “When I first read Knausgård’s A Death in the Family in late 2018, I couldn’t get over how a book had the ability to get inside someone’s head, I was taken by the way it jumped all over just as you think, and was full of the minutiae of the sort of things you think but would never say, let alone write. There seemed to be no vanity in the writing and no arc in the story. The book said very little, and said it so beautifully.
“For years after college I tried and failed to paint. I didn’t think what I had to say was particularly important, and kept stopping. After reading this book, something clicked and I stopped caring about what I ‘should’ paint. In early 2019 I decided to paint the light on a sweet wrapper, after that some paper bags, and I just kept painting. I never plan ahead and what I choose to paint is fairly random, although often out of my kitchen. I will have seen some beauty in an object at that moment, and want to capture it.” As quoted in the Times Literary Supplement, “Knausgård finds the sublime in the everyday”.
Waiting For The Hedgehog - Inadvertent Technique
The paintings of Michael Simpson may, at first sight, appear meticulously planned and the outcomes predecided. The large body of preparatory drawings made prior to the paintings would seem to confirm this. And yet the truth is, these drawings are a starting point for the eventual painting. Evidence can be seen of subtle, or, at other times, significant changes to the painting over time. The artist also makes use of inadvertent or even premeditated disruptions to the surface, essential in their reading as, first of all, paintings. Andrew Churchill recalls Simpson advising him to “always use a brush slightly too large or too small for the job, or with too little or too much paint on the brush”. In this Simpson is using a technique which creates disruption, inadvertent outcomes and from it, comes a greater truth.
Within the drawings there is endless variation across a relatively limited number of subjects (Benches, Squints, Confessionals, Banners). Two drawings that appear on first view to be near identical reveal their differences on closer inspection. A subtle difference in the weight of a line, the placement of an object, is enough to alter the outcome.
In the work of Johannah Muriel the element of chance and risk, and the ‘inadvertent’ results which occur through her extraordinary method of working, are central to its success. Each work on paper is unique, the result of numerous applied layers of printing ink. Essentially a mono print, but in many ways created in a method closer to painting, the works have stitched elements, further raising the stakes as to whether the work will be successful. This combination of a high risk element and the incredibly precise methods used to achieve it is a tightrope of inadvertent technique.
For Martyn Cross the act of painting is a means to explore the inner life and strangeness of the ordinary. Each work begins in reality, with recognisable limbs and elements of landscape, which transform into uncanny scenes. He strives to make paintings that have lived a life, the trace of their existence evident. His paintings are the result of many layers of paint often on top of sand
and scratch marks which give an aged or unearthed appearance. Cross tries to work as unconsciously as possible and allow things to unfold on the canvas over time. He once asked a friend to take one of his drawings with him in his pocket while he hiked in the Hebrides for a year resulting in a highly unique patina Cross refers to as “pocket dirt”. Cross spent twenty years as a bookseller alongside his painting practice and is an avid reader seeing himself as a kind of melting pot, full of everything: books, films, music, medieval wall paintings, all of which get filtered through him and come out in his drawings and paintings without premeditated plans.
Return to your dust is a small painting made without a preliminary sketch, Cross recalls, in that strange, uncertain time on first returning to the studio after having an exhibition. A head appears to be floating or maybe sinking into water; a mortal human form morphing into the landscape as in many of his works. This connection between human and the earth is expressed by Knausgård in The End:
“The reason is that it is where we are from, and where we are destined to return. It is because the heart is a bird that flutters in the chest, it is because the lungs are two seals through which our air smoothly passes, it is because the hand is a crab and the hair a haystack, the arteries rivers, the nerves lightning. It is because the teeth are a stone wall and the eyes apples, the ears mussels and the ribs a gate. It is because it is always dark inside the brain, and still. It is because we are earth. It is because we are blood. It is because we must die.”
Karl Ove Knausgård, The End
Stumbling Upon The Hedgehog - Inadvertent Truth
When we abandon style, technique and what we think we already know, we are left with the truth, what is actually there. Artists often feel that they have inadvertently discovered something truthful in such an act. The writing of Knausgård is celebrated for its observation of the everyday and arguably mundane aspects of life. In his hands, an almost pathological desire to record in great detail the mundanity of the moment-to-moment inevitably reflects and amplifies the undertone of the ‘action’. When reading the My Struggle series, Andrew Churchill recalled that he found himself constantly turning the page “waiting for something to happen” which it invariably didn’t. However, what is revealed with each page is the unbridled truth-telling and exposing of problematic thoughts as well as an emphasis on the detail of the mundane, the sights, sounds and actions that accompany the narrative thoughts, thoughts not spoken out-loud. In Churchill’s paintings he places books ‘in peril’ in a largely mundane but potentially problematic environments. The dark spaces (are they holes? Is the book coming out of it or into it?) represent the reality of revealing such intimate details and truth-telling to an audience.
“The key to enhanced living is the ability to hit upon something inadvertently, to regard it from a position of defencelessness and unknowing”.
Karl Ove Knausgård, Inadvertent
For Nicky Hodge, putting herself in a state of notknowing and relying on intuition is key. “When I first read this it hit a real chord with me. It described something to myself that I had not articulated into words but which made complete sense of my approach to my own art practice as a constantly evolving, spontaneous process that tries to exceed any self imposed limitations and restrictions. One of the key ideas behind this is to be in the moment and to just trust that something will happen. It is a risky method (as Karl Ove acknowledges) that applies equally to writing and to art. “When I first started writing, I was incredibly self-conscious and self-critical. I somehow published two novels, but then
I had five years of not being able to write. I had a set of pages that were just beginnings, beginnings, beginnings. With My Struggle, I learned to lower the threshold; to accept whatever comes; to continue and not to throw away anything; and to do it every day.”
In much the same way as Hodge sees Karl Ove’s writing process as raw, intuitive and sprawling, she likes to keep that energy, ‘not knowing’ and lack of planning integral to her art process. In addition, Hodge titles her works with sentences plucked from the London Review of Books. Never a Jump Cut is no exception and is from Patricia Lockwood’s essay on The Morning Star referencing Knausgård’s sometimes infuriating tendency to include every detail of a characters actions. “If someone drinks coffee, they must later wash the cup.”
Louise Bristow chose Commuters for the exhibition: “because I feel the mood of this painting is in keeping with much of Knausgård’s writing, particularly My Struggle, with its focus on the intimate details of everyday existence. I think there’s beauty in mundanity and routine. The trappings of much of modern life and the compulsion towards novelty are massive distractions from the stuff that really matters; love, death, meaning.” In Day Shift by Tim Millen the universal ‘day’s work’, manual labour and the global familiarity of erecting a fence represent the beauty caught in the everyday. The image depicted, the glint of the setting sun caught on the head of the hammer and nail, is both mundane and universal.
Maria Carvallo found a point of connection between writer and painter through the everyday observed through the eyes of a migrant and a parent. She writes “Knausgård invited me to explore and connect with what it means to migrate, to observe parenting and otherness. Living in another culture and being a parent. I followed him, he accompanied me in my tasks as a new mother, navigating my own new identity, de-constructing my culture and the one I inhabited. He gave me permission to realise that there is something foreign, sinister and human in the domestic, in taking care of indoors and creating outside. Getting away from your life and making work out of it. There is space in art for the domestic without romanticising or denigrating, it is beautiful and ugly, it feels tender and at the same time it is
charged with impotence and frustration”. She continues “In my paintings I connect with my contradictions, I explore images of others, master painters where they represent the sacred bond of mother and child, explore my catholic imagery, but in my paintings they are diluted. I show bodies that float or sail, or just become forms. They separate, they come together. In my process of constructing images I invite myself to see what happens, I work with water and in a loose way, without drawing, my references become vague ideas and gradually I embark on what I don’t know, on the accident. Sometimes it hurts me when I see images appear that disturb me. Is this really part of my mind? They frighten me and I turn away. They take me unaware, like the exercise of writing and not knowing where the next point will end.”
“Painting contains its own truth” is a phrase Michael Simpson uses to describe how reality and truth in painting are not the same thing. If it appears correct in the painting, the truth of the matter is not relevant. This manipulated version of truth is not dissimilar to Knausgård’s wish to record the facts as he remembered them, without recourse to the remembrances of others.
Kate Sherman felt powerfully drawn into the books of Knausgård and after one page she felt fully on board. “The way he writes about life experiences feels both universal and strangely familiar. Honest, straight-talking descriptions of everyday life which really struck a chord and resonated with some of the thoughts hovering around my own work. I tend to paint ordinary, unassuming subjects. I’m interested in how everydayness can evoke time and memory, and also experience. Shadows on a patch of grass, the view through a chainlink fence. Does the ordinariness of these subjects help create a sense of familiarity? A shared experience that encourages connection? Maybe.
“After reading Knausgård’s Inadvertent in which he tries to answer the question, ‘Why I write?’ This led me to wonder, ‘Why I paint?’. Possibly, being an introvert, it’s to do with having a voice - an opportunity to describe through images some of what I feel and think. I also really love the alchemy of paint, its potential to transform and transport, the slow process of building up layers, the hypnotic flow and lyricism of the medium.
“I like to think I strive for authenticity and truth, two qualities I also recognise in Knausgård’s writing, sometimes painfully so; a pin-point accuracy which has the ability to connect and maybe also to console. The melancholy that hangs over his work also feels familiar and is an emotion that possibly creeps into my painting a little too often. Perhaps what lingers most in my mind is the way he describes infinitesimal details, sometimes banal, but interesting nonetheless. Inconsequential fleeting moments are pinned down, fixed on the page. Life is playing out, passing by, and never taken for granted.”
Sherman’s two paintings of primroses, one in daylight one at dusk contain all the qualities mentioned above: familiarity, ordinariness, some melancholy and perhaps a sense of waiting.
The paintings by David Risley in the show are inspired by Knausgård’s recent The Morning Star trilogy. Ræveskiftet came about whilst reading The Wolves of Eternity. “The painting is about it and us and it all being the same stuff and being in the forest and picking berries and a moment later I ate them and then the forest was in me at the same time as I was in the forest and then one day l’ll be in the ground becoming the soil and feeding the trees and maybe someone will come and pick the berries...There’s a whole bit in Knausgård’s new book, The Wolves of Eternity, about this where they’re on mushrooms but I was just on blackberries. Something about Julian of Norwich as well, she had a vision of holding a tiny hazelnut type thing. She understands that it’s all that is made, all of creation, all that ever has and ever will exist, sitting in the palm of her hand. Also, it’s mostly about art history and painting, not berries at all.” The glowing light in Bulb calls to mind the strange new star in the sky as it casts a new light on the familiar.
In Death in the Family Knausgård writes about a group of paintings he admires:
“I didn’t know what it was about these pictures that made such a great impression on me. However, it was striking that they were all painted before the 1900s. Within the artistic paradigm that always retained some reference
to visible reality. Thus, there was always a certain objectivity to them, by which I mean a distance between reality and the portrayal of reality, and it was doubtless in this inter lying space where it “happened”, where it appeared, whatever it was I saw, when the world seemed to step forward from the world. When you didn’t just see the incomprehensible in it but came very close to it. Something that didn’t speak, and that no words could reach, consequently forever out of our reach, yet within it, for not only did it surround us, we were ourselves part of it, we were ourselves of it.”
Karl Ove Knausgård, Death in the Family
Karl Ove Knausgård writes about art in a way that connects with artists, perhaps like no other writer of his generation. It is clear that he understands artists and how they think, because it is mirrored in his approaches to writing, as illuminated in his contribution to the Why I Write series of books, Inadvertent. The artists drawn together in this exhibition are a mixture of those that have read and related to Knausgård’s writings and those whose work we, as curator’s of the exhibition, felt had a resonance with Knausgård’s view of writing/painting. From the stark devotion to telling of their truth (“painting contains its own truth”), to the openness to inadvertent subjects or the allowance of inadvertent outcomes in their work, Knausgård’s influence on contemporary artists is notable. In the paintings selected for this exhibition it is emphatically “when the world seemed to step forward from the world”.
Published on the occasion of
Inadvertent
An exhibition responding to or in dialogue with the writing of Karl Ove Knausgård
The Launderette, Bristol 26 April to 4 May 2025
Curated by Andrew Churchill and Catherine Knight
Text © the authors
Images © the artists
Publication © the curators
Photographs pg. 2/3 Bernard G Mills
Cover: Peter Jones, Hedgehog
Design: Andrew Churchill
Inadvertent @_inadvertent_exhibition
Louise Bristow @lou_bristow
Maria Carvallo @josecarvallo_art
Andrew Churchill @andrewchurchillstudio
Martyn Cross @martyncross
Representation
Hales Gallery, Marianne Boesky Gallery
Lara Davies @larad123 Canopy Collections
Salvatore Fiorello @salvatoreluciofiorello
Nicky Hodge @nickyhodge4 Francis Gallery Bath/LA
Peter Jones @peterjonesart
Catherine Knight @catknightart
Brendan Lancaster @brendanlancasterartist
Tim Millen @timmillen_
Johannah Muriel @johannahmuriel
David Risley @davidrisley
Michael Simpson @michaelsimpsonstudio
Kate Sherman @kateshermanart
Reed Wilson @reedelizabethwilson
Modern Art, London
Inadvertent
An exhibition responding to or in dialogue with the writing of Karl Ove Knausgård.
Curators: Andrew Churchill and Catherine Knight
Louise Bristow
Maria Carvallo
Andrew Churchill
Martyn Cross
Lara Davies
Salvatore Fiorello
Nicky Hodge
Peter Jones
Catherine Knight
Brendan Lancaster
Tim Millen
Johannah Muriel
David Risley
Kate Sherman
Michael Simpson
Reed Wilson