11 minute read
Freedom in the Finite
by artiqannual
It’s always been the nature of artists to reflect the times in which we live. Molly Coffey speaks to two artists who, in their own ways, have found producing art and cherishing the environment needn’t be at odds
At first glance, the work of Rebecca Newnham and Cyrus Mahboubian appear vastly different. Rebecca, based in the Southwest of England, creates faceted glass works, some stretching up to seven metres tall. Cyrus, based between London and Oxfordshire, known for his contemplative approach to photography, makes black-and-white photographs of remote landscapes with vintage Polaroid film to create a timeless, atmospheric aesthetic. Distinct in medium and materiality is their art, and yet striking parallels can be drawn between their practices, as I found out, when I sat down for a conversation with them last November. We settle into a spot amongst the open-brick archways of Cyrus’s studio, Maison Pan, the once National Gallery vaults turned artist-run studios and project space, which the British-Iranian artist now co-directs. Amid a variety of artworks spanning painting and sculpture, is an elegant curation of Cyrus’s works hung in his distinctive style. The original black and white polaroids sit within wide white mounts and black frames, provoking intrigue within the viewer. You must get closer, nose almost touching the glass, to observe the landscape captured with a grainy vintage film. A masterful eye and not only for that within frame; Cyrus has curated his works with reverence for both subject and artwork. His small prints are given a mystical quality, each piece with space to breathe accompanied by the aroma of scented candles.
Rebecca similarly seeks to capture the characteristics of the natural world, in her case, though sculptural glass works. Her faceted wall works aim to capture her encounters with nature, whilst her free-standing sculptures abstract scientific ideas such as waves of energy and sound. Through a process of staining, scratching, firing, cutting, and breaking, Rebecca creates colourful surfaces made up of recycled glass that both reflect and absorb light; their surface changing as the viewer moves through the space, blending past with present.
This is the first time Rebecca and Cyrus have met, and their conversation instantly flows with curiosity for each other’s work. Almost immediately, we establish that walking through nature is the main source of inspiration for both their practices. Their art is an ongoing response to the elements they encounter, as well as the personal, political, and philosophical revelations they experience along the way.
Listening to Cyrus and Rebecca speak, I feel an urgent desire to escape the city and into nature, not only for the sense of awe and wonder a beautiful landscape can give you, but also a renewed respect for the environment, its fragility, and our role to protect it. In a world where technology fuels perpetual overproduction, these artists prove there is freedom to be found in working with limited resources in a way that celebrates rather than damages the planet. Before we delve into how they achieve this, I ask where the urge to capture the landscape through art comes from.
Rebecca There’s no getting away from it making art about the natural world is political. We’re in a climate emergency, and part of our role as artists is to communicate what we see and know - to keep the story engaging. It is, after all, one of the big stories of our time. When I was younger, I did just simply enjoy getting muddy and looking at the plant world. The more you know, the more you want to know, don’t you? I’ve always taken time to meditate and spending time in nature is a kind of meditation. Our world is so reinforcing and allows you to just be. What about you, Cyrus?
Cyrus I grew up in London and didn’t visit the countryside as a child. The first time I really explored nature was at university which was the same time I was getting into photography. In Bristol, I could travel ten minutes and have access to the countryside. In the city, there’s a certain pressure, whilst photographing a landscape, there’s no pressure – it’s very quiet, it’s still, it’s slower. These experiences brought me so much peace and a sort of happiness because it was an escape. Over the years, embracing a slower environment has become an important part of my life. I’ve discovered that I’m naturally someone who enjoys a slow pace and having time to reflect, which is less and less possible today.
Molly How do you know when you’ve arrived at a place you want to capture through your work?
Rebecca The moment is significant somehow – you just know. I try to embrace it in a holistic way, to capture and set the scene within my work. I like to show multiple facets of an experience through a series. For example, the Sacred Water series was based on a 10-mile stretch of a pilgrimage route. Each panel is about a particular encounter with a well that hadn’t been used for an extremely long time and was well hidden along the way. It was this time last year, on the shortest day of the year, when I walked the route with my glass jars ready to collect water. Different mineral compositions influence the outcome of the firing, which is crazy! The Sacred Water series are very white, and this negative space allows the other colours in the water to come through.
Cyrus For me, walking itself has become a meditation - an escape from digital culture. I often say my work is a reaction to digital technology and the ways it has become so ingrained in our lives – it dominates. We’re totally at the mercy of technology. I love the unique aesthetic of the vintage film I use, but it’s no longer in production. I have to seek it out and try to find old, unused packs. I’m forced to be selective and careful because the material is so finite, and I can’t afford to waste. On my walks, I’m always observing my surroundings carefully. If I don’t get that ‘feeling’ I won’t make pictures – it’s just become an instinct. It’s the only time I’m really part of the environment, the landscape, and very attuned to it.
Molly For both of you, the process of making work is slow and meticulous requiring a lot of focus and discipline. How important is pace to your practice?
Cyrus My practice is intentionally slow because I’m seeking an escape from the fast pace of everyday life. As a result of the film being so limited, I’ve started to make collages using my own existing body of work from the last seven years. This process is similarly slow, considered, and meticulous. Pace is crucial to my work.
Rebecca Like you Cyrus, my work defines its own pace. In the studio, whilst there are time-sensitive points such as drying periods that may take days, it’s actually quite an energetic and creative process at stages. If the piece requires a lot of water, I might be moving that around, splashing things. There’s an intensity at the beginning. I know what I would like each work to capture the feeling of. I try and retain that freshness. Unexpected things happen in the process, which I embrace.
Molly You are both mindful of your impact on the planet. Some might ask whether artists should be producing at all. What would you say to that?
Rebecca I feel very passionate and have had many conversations with artists, particularly sculptors, about this subject. At the Royal Society of Sculptors, we regularly debated the ethics of using finite resources within our work. We have concluded that whilst it’s our role to be careful with materials, it’s also important to capture and communicate what it is we want to say - it’s a lot of pressure.
Cyrus Right! Using limited materials is a lot of pressure, but on the other hand, has brought so much meaning to my work. It’s enhanced my experience – I look at everything much more carefully than otherwise I would. As well as being precious, the film is very unpredictable because it’s so many years past its expiry date. One pack might be great, the other unusable. Occasionally I’ll get lucky, the quality will be brilliant, and I’ll be able to capture details. But honestly, over the years, this has become less and less important to me – using vintage film is part of engaging with the landscape in a meaningful way.
Molly Rebecca, have you always had a consciously sustainable practice, or has it become accidentally eco-oriented?
Rebecca This is an interesting one. When I was doing my masters, I was fascinated by mosaic. The Venice Biennale was a huge source of inspiration for me, with its amazing churches encrusted with fabulous mosaics. I went to a fantastic shop that sells Italian mosaic and chose several beautiful materials but later found I couldn’t use them in my work. I was completely inhibited by how precious they were. So instead, I used all the scrap glass and coloured it with glass enamel which is something I do to this day.
My work is an expression of an experience, so I must feel free to experiment with it. I also collage, cutting pieces of glass and arranging them to emulate the flowing lines and light reflecting on the water. It was in Venice that I realised you could place a red tile next to a blue tile and from a distance they merge, and the colour vibrates. While on that, I’d love to learn more about your approach to collage, Cyrus?
Cyrus Well, in the early days, I was much more of a purist and believed photography was a literal representation of an experience - you see a landscape, you want to capture that landscape exactly. Now, I’m increasingly playful and experimental in my practice. With time comes confidence and you become more competent with your materials. At first, I just I wanted to reuse the imagery and continue making work with that aesthetic. Then I started really enjoying bringing in a surrealist quality, taking my photography in a new direction. I would look at the different halves of images and try to find a visual relationship or harmony. Like a memory, my collages evoke a kind of ‘blending together’ of an experience. I take a lot of pleasure in creating these small, meticulously mounted collages, and being more playful with the format.
Molly Talk to me about the finished work, and the ideal context in which you feel your art should be seen?
Rebecca My glass panels have a curved surface. This might be rippled or a concave in an aim to try and capture the motion of water. I really like them to hang in spaces where they have a relationship to other objects and lots of light, which brings them to life. In the beginning, I was very inspired by Vermeer and the ways in which he embraced that which was available and used the lens to capture his subject with accuracy. When I create three-dimensional sculptures, I use a wire mesh system and then a blender. In the past, I’ve used fibreglass because it’s incredibly light and robust – perfect for outside, where much of my sculptural work exists. I’m enjoying making work for interiors now because durability is less of a concern you can have a lighter touch.
Cyrus I’m really enjoying the intimacy of small-scale works. I like to translate this meditative experience to the viewer. Some Polaroid artists blow their images up large for exhibitions, whereas for me, it’s always been important to show the original photographs because it forces the viewer to look at them closely. You must stand close to them and analyse the detail. It’s a way of encouraging the viewer to slow down and absorb some of that energy with which the work was created. Large works demand your attention, whilst small scale photographs draw you in. This is also why I choose to frame with a lot of negative space around the image, because this contributes to the intrigue.
Molly Coffey, Curator at Artiq
