Photography: Cronje Strøm, Einar Aslaksen, Pernille Sandberg, Wordup, Tyd, Void
Copy Writers: Michael Ulrich Hensel, Silje Linge Haaland, Pernille Sandberg, Elise by Olsen , Einar Duenger Bøhn, Gaute Brochmann, Fredrik Høyer, Void
Disclaimer
The publisher assumes no responsibility for the accuracy of all information. Publisher and editor assume that material that was made available for publishing, is free of third party rights. Reproduction and storage require the per mission of the publisher. Photos and texts are welcome, but there is no liability. Signed contributions do not necessarily represent the opinion of the publisher or the editor.
The German National Library lists this publication in the German National Bibliography; detailed bibliographic data is available on the Internet at dnb.de.
Slanted Publishers is an independent design, publishing and media house founded in 2014 by Lars Harmsen and Julia Kahl. They publish the award-winning print magazine Slanted biannually featuring global design and culture. Since 2004, the daily blog highlights international design and showcases inspiring video interviews. Slanted Publishers initiates and creates publications, focusing on contemporary design and visual culture, working closely with editors and authors to produce outstanding publications with meaningful content and high quality. Slanted was born from great passion and has made a name for itself across the globe. Its design is vibrant and inspiring—its philosophy open-minded, tolerant, and curious.
Void is an experiential design studio and atelier based in Oslo, Norway.
Void designs, manufactures and executes custom temporary or permanent sculptures and installations that incorporate digital features in real space, through architecture, kinetics, audio, lights and sensors.
Introduction
Desperation-animation
Different Differences
On Syncope Loops of Light and Awareness
Collecting a Digital Word
From Cold Abstractions to Warm Realities
There is No Such Thing as Artificial Art
Shadow and Light
Near and Far
Projects
Chronology
Selected Bibliography
Acknowledgements
Michael U. Hensel
Silje Linge Haaland
Michael U. Hensel
Pernille Sandberg
Elise by Olsen
Einar Duenger Bøhn
Gaute Brochmann
Fredrik Høyer
Void
2015—2025
This book constitutes a milestone that celebrates ten years of work of VOID Studio from Oslo, Norway. VOID is an experimental design studio whose work is located at the intersection of art, design, technology, and informatics. Their predominant medium is light.
Speaking of Norway, people who have never lived in the high latitude regions of our planet often ask how it is possible to cope with the darkness during the winter season. Whether inten tionally or not, the works collected in this book address this question vigorously and positively: let the darkness embrace you and treasure the unfolding of ephemeral subtle or sharp events of light. Admittedly, one does feel tempted to assume that such a reading might be culturally and geographically grounded and that, perhaps, Void’s work may have been inspired by natural phenomena, such as the ones that occur in the upper atmosphere of the Earth’s Arctic and Antarctic regions: the famed aurora borealis or northern lights and aurora australis or southern lights. These phenomena are as beautiful as they are magical, they touch a nerve and trigger a deep-seated, perhaps even spiritual awe in a manner that most lower latitude dwellers might think not to possess or to be capable of … that is until they experienced these phenomena for real. Such phenomena and experiences seem to resonate with VOIDS aim, expressed in their essays in this book, which is “to confront and touch the audience with their position in the void, and to induce intense emotional, intellectual and visceral intro spection and immersive awe”. mesmerizing.
Yet, it is not as simple as just likening the works of VOID to such natural phenomena, at least not as a singular referential trajectory. VOID frequently has multiple layered narratives of their own embedded in the form and effects, and in the format and coding of their works.
Still, for this book they decided not only to share their own narratives. Instead, they invited external readings of and reactions to their work, which I, at least for my part and involvement, perceive as an act of sharing and generosity, a welcoming into the realm of VOID. In this spirit I also understand the intention of this book: to open the doors for the reader to seek and find possible layers of perception in and of this world that are not corrupted by the caustic forces that threaten to diminish art, science, values, and civility.
The invited contributions include the poem “Desperation-animation” by Silje Linge Haaland, as well as essays by Pernille Sandberg, Sverre Bjertnæs, Elise by Olsen, Einar Duenger Bøhn, Gaute Brochmann, and Void. Finally, the book design reflects the design sensibility of VOID by capturing an atmosphere that is analogous to those created by the works, enabling ephemeral traces, darkness pierced by events of light, reflectivity of surface, and stunning photography. As such, this book is a work of VOID as any of those included in this book. Thus, dear reader, enjoy the dive into the mesmerizing void that lies here within …
The light attacks
I can see
Silje Linge Haaland (b.1984) is a writer and visual artist educated at the art academies in Oslo, Amsterdam and Frankfurt and the Writing Art Academy in Bergen. Linge Haaland works with images and text, in the form of video, sculpture, sound and installations. She has received and been nominated for a number of art awards, she teaches and is active on boards and committees. Recent exhibitions include InExtensoArtSpace (France), GL-strand (Copenhagen), Henie-Onstad Kunstsenter (Bærum) and Papay Gyro (Tokyo). Recent and upcoming exhibitions include Galleri K and Munchtriennalen (Oslo), in 2025 she was nominated for the Lorch Schive Art Prize (Trondheim Art Museum). Her work has also been shown in London, Paris, Berlin, Hong Kong, Rotterdam, Barcelona and Orkney. Linge Haaland made her debut (2021) with the poetry collection Desperasjonsanimasjon , in 2023 came Den løseste delen av verden , both to good reviews.
I am bound to image after image like grass to soil between eyes and light there’s a party
Silje Linge Haaland
Grass in wind
the intimacy between blade and color how green clings close to each blade does wind have undiscovered properties?
The sun rises, sets, uninterrupted
Silje Linge Haaland (b.1984) is a writer and visual artist educated at the art academies in Oslo, Amsterdam and Frankfurt and the Writing Art Academy in Bergen. Linge Haaland works with images and text, in the form of video, sculpture, sound and installations. She has received and been nominated for a number of art awards, she teaches and is active on boards and committees. Recent exhibitions include InExtensoArtSpace (France), GL-strand (Copenhagen), Henie-Onstad Kunstsenter (Bærum) and Papay Gyro (Tokyo). Recent and upcoming exhibitions include Galleri K and Munchtriennalen (Oslo), in 2025 she was nominated for the Lorch Schive Art Prize (Trondheim Art Museum). Her work has also been shown in London, Paris, Berlin, Hong Kong, Rotterdam, Barcelona and Orkney. Linge Haaland made her debut (2021) with the poetry collection Desperasjonsanimasjon , in 2023 came Den løseste delen av verden , both to good reviews.
How large is the distance between the bark and the trunk my back and the forest the mountain and the horizon
I am invisible in this landscape I have always been invisible to the landscape
Silje Linge Haaland
White light
white noise
white bark around the trunk
we swing loosely here and there mimicking the trees’ movements in the wind
the bushes shimmer with sap
we look at the bushes
we look at each other: we have greasy hair
we mimic the bushes’ sap with our hair
we tell the kids that the world is an imitating communication system
knowledge might arise
Silje Linge Haaland (b.1984) is a writer and visual artist educated at the art academies in Oslo, Amsterdam and Frankfurt and the Writing Art Academy in Bergen. Linge Haaland works with images and text, in the form of video, sculpture, sound and installations. She has received and been nominated for a number of art awards, she teaches and is active on boards and committees. Recent exhibitions include InExtensoArtSpace (France), GL-strand (Copenhagen), Henie-Onstad Kunstsenter (Bærum) and Papay Gyro (Tokyo). Recent and upcoming exhibitions include Galleri K and Munchtriennalen (Oslo), in 2025 she was nominated for the Lorch Schive Art Prize (Trondheim Art Museum). Her work has also been shown in London, Paris, Berlin, Hong Kong, Rotterdam, Barcelona and Orkney. Linge Haaland made her debut (2021) with the poetry collection Desperasjonsanimasjon , in 2023 came Den løseste delen av verden , both to good reviews.
Silje Linge Haaland
DIFFERENT DIFFERENCES
Michael U. Hensel
Professor and Architect
About
Michael U. Hensel (b. 1965) is an architect and partner in the experimental practice OCEAN A|E. His work is located at the intersection of architecture, landscape architecture, urban design, Earth and environmental science, and computational and data science. He is University Professor at TU Wien where he leads the Research Department for Digital Architecture and Planning, and has taught in renowned schools in Europe, The Americas, Asia, and Australia. He is editor of the Designing Environments book series (Springer Nature) and author of numerous books including “Performance-oriented Architecture” (Wiley 2013).
perceived in real-time by the beholder. As a participatory space this can, to my mind be argued to point towards new social arrangements the likes of which are not yet very often encountered outside of special events. The last two points are complicated by the fact that these works are best perceived in relative darkness and that they are not intended to be on site for a longer period, such as architectural works. This implies that Incongruence and Intensive Coherence are easier to discuss in relation to the effects each work produces in time. Unlike for the C8 Tasseract, the space for the Eiris work was given, and it can be argued this fact has yielded a response beyond the act of generating the geometry of its encasing. While its distinct geometry is in clear contrast with its setting, in the relative darkness of the space the steel framed glass windows of the space and the encasing of Eiris engage in temporal affiliations. This is further enhanced by reflections of the lights of the given space on the surface of the encasing and by reflections of the work on surrounding surfaces of the exhibition space. Through these conditions aspects of the surrounding architecture are subverted while also some temporal affiliations are engendered, and thus the criteria for Incongruence and Intensive Coherence could be said to be fulfilled.
A similar discussion could revolve around other works of Void. And surely other critics may beg to differ with my thoughts or even disagree with the motivation for doing so, especially given the trajectory of a more architectural discourse that I subscribed to here within. At this point I must come clean
and reveal my not so very hidden agenda. As an architect and urban designer, I would like to see some of Void’s works at least to an increasingly leave behind the highly controlled conditions of exhibition spaces or cultural events, in order to be implemented across larger urban territories, negotiating requirements regarding functionality and sustainability with the innovative traits and stunning beauty of the works. It would be great to see how a large urban area would benefit from such works as a “normalized” condition. As Evans pointed out appearances and effects sharpen our perception. If there is anything we could wish for as a way of seriously upgrading the perceptual richness of our living environments, would it not be that: a sharpened and awake perception fostered by the unexpected, the different, the unfamiliar, presented in situations where it is the least expected?
Changing the extent of the intervention or its intensity, by modifying code and technology once in a while can serve to maintain the element of novelty and surprise. As the word goes “don’t just do something, do something else”. This can be extended to “don’t just do something different, do something differently different”. Void most certainly does something else and something differently different. Now is always the best time for the next evolutionary step to initiate a co-evolutionary embrace between the world we live in and the works we produce.
C8 (2015)
Eiris (2017)
bloggers, likeminded peers, from around the world in my lunch break. My world was WWW and I dived into a digital domain.
Bluescreens and blinking blue lights
My teenage years fully occupied an old Acer computer. Past blog posts, self-shot home videos and an eight year old’s early writing. Thousands of files and images – still and moving –that I obsessively saved and stored without backup. I didn’t even as much as comprehend that in a blink of an eye it all could be gone. The computer eventually did collapse and was sent for repair at the local electronics store. The files could not be saved. My youth, gone! Just like that! Deleted from a disk someplace. It was then I realized that we’re completely surrendered, at the mercy of these services and their servers, that may suddenly disappear. May it be this, let’s call it trauma, that led me to pursue a career within collecting and archiving?
Lucky for some, storage space on regular phones or daily devices have risen from some lousy gigabytes and up into the clouds. But what’s worth saving? At work in the library, we scan, register and catalog our books, magazines and photo albums. We wrap them in acid free plastic folders, moist-proof cardboard boxes or fire-safe drawers to cherish them for the future. Imagine what kind of work it would be to export every single photo you ever took or shared – from your very first Instagram post, all the photos you’ve been tagged in on Facebook, encrypted attachments in old emails, blog posts and Tumblr pages. Would it be far off to consider going back towards the ever-so unambiguous and static blogs as a medium, with content carefully considered worthy of publication – in other words, more, perhaps, intentional digital documentation with a clearer purpose?
Like life after death, a recurring question is, what – and where – is the afterlife of all this abdicated content? Do they reincarnate on some faraway planet? In some forget-menot box, the dark room, a black hole? Do they circle down
the drain of infinity? Impossible! I’ve often thought that any genius who can invent a way to make complete albums of our extended selves and digital footprint is a saint – at least I fear my youth is lost forever! An album as in a moodboard of life, a digital mausoleum, an archive of moments big and small. Wouldn’t that be something? I’m sure the future can fit on a memory stick, but where, then, is that?
Electronic ephemera
As you can tell by now, I’m not a technologist, but I’m also an accidental archivist. I was fine with practicing as a publisher and making magazines when my good friend and mentor, an American cultural theorist by name Steven Mark Klein, offered me his very personal archive. He had been collecting about 5,000 pieces of printed matter since the 70s onwards, that was now stacked in any free space he could possibly find in his one-bedroom apartment downtown New York. Under his bed, on his desk, double layered shelves, in kitchen cabinets, you name it. All sorts of fashion in paper: books, magazines and promotional ephemera.
Two tons of papyrus were packed up and shipped in a container by ocean freight to the harbour of Oslo, and planted the seed of the International Library of Fashion Research.
Now, the collection has been growing organically, yet rapidly, and it’s now outgrowing its space. At the library we specialize in material that has often been gatekept within the exclusive milieu of the global fashion world. Press releases that in the past have been produced primarily to be sent to journalists and critics, show invitations distributed directly to VIP customers and collection catalogs solely sent to retail buyers are all now available for public view here. However, and inevitably, times have changed. These ephemeral objects that the industry itself got so accustomed to does no longer serve its purpose. What had been printed on pages for decades turned into e-distributed pieces of pixels. Today invitations arrive by email, billboards run as digital banners, catalogs are packaged PDFs and press releases are submitted as online newsletters, for them to literally copy and paste.
This poses new opportunities for a library set out to collect and preserve material objects. All-in-all, how to preserve digital files and various media types? An increasing number of
TO WARM REALITIES FROM COLD ABSTRACTIONS
Professor in Philosophy
About
Einar Duenger Bøhn (b.1977) got his PhD in philosophy from UMass Amherst, USA, in 2009, and is today professor of philosophy at the University of Agder, Norway. He has published many articles and books, both nationally and internationally. He has published several popular philosophy podcast series, and occurs frequently on Norwegian radio and television. He is also an active artist who has exhibited paintings and drawings as well as released music. He lives far into the woods, outside of Oslo.
Einar Duenger Bøhn
person is something we have to relate to concretely, while an abstract geometric figure is not something we have to relate to concretely. It is only something we can use to understand the concrete world, and ultimately the human being. In this sense, there is something more deviant about a person who does not relate to other actual humans and recognizable things compared to a person who does not relate to geometric abstractions. This is reflected in our view of art and installations. Ultimately, humans care most about humans. Abstract works of art are therefore easier to swallow as public decoration. They are interesting, but more neutral, less “dangerous”. They offend fewer people. We don’t have to care about them, on a deeper level.
Let’s look at an example from Void, namely the sculpture Cathedral of Ego. It’s a cathedral of light that was set up in Ekebergparken in Oslo, which, according to the description, points to the change in Western thinking from transcending the ego in a religious sense to finding salvation (and perhaps transcending ourselves) through technology. The installation is both fascinating and beautiful to look at, and the whole thing invites reflection. But does it feel concrete and close or abstract and distant?
Aesthetically, it’s beautiful to look at. In terms of content, it is a somewhat open commentary on the history of ideas, which in turn becomes a somewhat open commentary on
how we humans have thought, and perhaps still think. At the same time, it doesn’t concern me directly and personally. In that sense, it is abstract and distant rather than concrete and close. It doesn’t touch on anything painful and hurtful in me, which makes me think more directly about my life. Of course, I can and should see myself in the light of the history of ideas, and in this way it can make me reflect on myself, but it is very abstract and indirect, not concrete and close. That’s how abstractions can and should help me to understand the concrete world, and ultimately the human being, but the installation doesn’t feel urgent. It is not in any way “dangerous” to me. The Cathedral of Ego is more abstractly interesting than concretely important to me.
This is not a criticism of the installation as such, because it succeeds relatively well in exactly what it is trying to do. It’s just a description of a sign of the times, of which this installation is an example. It is, like most modern art and sculptures, especially in public space, completely “harmless” precisely because it does not concern me personally, other than very indirectly, in an intellectual way. It’s a bit like a Weidemann picture behind the Prime Minister during the New Year’s speech. Interesting, but harmless.
Note that this is not a cultural battle between modernism and classicism, nor an attempt to denigrate modernist art and installations. To put it simply, modernism is a cultural
movement that started at the end of the 19th century, which attempts to explore and challenge the principles of a genre rather than fulfill and perfect more traditional principles (which are more classical). Personally, I find a lot of modernist and highly abstract art and installations both interesting and exploratory. Not least often as a purely aesthetic experience. For example, I like to explore how form and color alone can affect our experiences and our psychology. However, I think it’s interesting to what extent the trend towards abstraction in art, installations and public decorations, not to mention architecture, has characterized our time. The world of art and design, not to mention architecture, has become overwhelmingly abstract. Where has the human element gone?
What does it say about us, our time and our culture that we have gradually moved away from the concrete and direct human towards the more abstract and indirect human? We have slowly but surely entered a posthumanist state. This trend towards posthumanism is an escape from ourselves as individuals. But such self-denial cannot possibly last. We will eventually be overtaken by ourselves and the desire for a more humanistic and humane culture. Because at the end of the day, people care most about people.
A humanist culture is a culture that puts the human being in the main focus, with a very special value, for which we ourselves must take responsibility. A post-humanist
Cathedral of Ego (2019)
Why hasn’t the digital revolution had a bigger impact on how we make art?
The world is digital. Culture is digital to a surprisingly limited extent. Why?
Sometimes the answer seems obvious. Culture is about the unique, the man-made and the sacred. The sublime. And nothing I see on my mobile screen matches any of these qualities. Quite the opposite, in fact.
But in the face of Void’s work, the question takes on a whole new meaning. Isn’t this both unique and man-made? Yes, it is. And sublime? Yes, I would say so. Much more so than much other art, in any case.
The strange thing is that we surround ourselves with digital technology all day long, but the interface is conspicuously limited to the small screen we carry with us at all times. It has its practical functions, but it also has an incredibly limited format. And what Void demonstrates through its work is the formidable potential of incorporating new technology into our physical surroundings, not just an abstract world.
So the big question is why, in our technologized world, we have so few good examples of these types of projects. And why aren’t many more academic environments than Void working specifically on this?
It’s not easy to answer. But one possible answer could be that many people have an idea that the digital should be simple to the point of being self-explanatory. That you can press a button and then, automagically, fantastic solutions and products reveal themselves. Although such a delusion sounds foolishly naïve when written in this way, I actually believe that our attitude to technology is characterized by such a way of thinking. An approach that has been actualized with the advent of what is often referred to as Artificial Intelligence, i.e. software that summarizes text or images produced by humans to create syntheses of this.
But after looking at Void’s work, the impression I’m left with is that digital drawing tools are in a way just the preconditions for the projects. The result is achieved with traditional, hard work with completely traditional materials.
What I’ve learned from Pixar
When did the digital really become woven into popular culture? For me, it started with the chandelier in Beauty and the Beast. The year was 1992. I was twelve years old and sitting in Lillehammer cinema, completely immersed in Disney’s renaissance as an animation studio. But as entranced as I was, I couldn’t help but notice that something suddenly changed on the screen in front of me. Something that had nothing to do with the fate of Belle, Gaston or any of the other characters. In one of the film’s key emotional scenes, where Beauty and the Beast dance in the ballroom of the castle, the perspective suddenly shifts. The room takes on a different depth and texture. And the camera moves around a strangely shiny chandelier. With a level of detail that just can’t be drawn.
I didn’t realize what it was at first, but something was off. Something simply didn’t appear to be real. It’s a strange feeling to get when you’re watching a cartoon where nothing belongs to the real world. But that’s how it felt.
I soon realized that the scenes were achieved with computer technology. And the strange thing is that I immediately thought of it as a form of cheating. As if using a computer to generate images was making it too easy for oneself.
When the new technology reappeared in Aladdin and The Lion King, I was also struck by something. It was as if all you had to do was press a button and you could get exactly what you wanted.
Not even Toy Story blew me away. It was as if I thought that the advent of digital technology meant that nothing was required of the people pushing the buttons.
This would later change. In the early 2000s, it turned out that a hand-drawn Disney movie did not necessarily have to be a good movie. The digital animated films seemed both smarter and more emotionally engaging. What’s more, I’d sat down with early versions of the Adobe package only to realize that despite its astounding utility, it was a tool, not a form of magic. And mastering these mediums required no less skill than traditional drawing tools.
In 2001, both Shrek and Monsters Inc. were released in Norwegian cinemas, films that were not only technically revolutionary in terms of animation (think of what Sullivan’s furry body cost in terms of computer power at the time!), but also represented a type of smart, elegant and, not least, genuinely inventive storytelling that was really put into relief when Disney launched its hand-drawn mega-flop Treasure Planet the following year. What should have been an adventurously drawn sci-fi universe just felt helplessly tame and empty, marking the end of both the 90s heyday of traditional Disney films and the hand-drawn cartoon.
Not everyone sees shadows; some do, when walking down the street on a lightly clouded day with the sun at their back, where the outline of an armless torso and a lopsided, twisted head—your own self-image in relief—lies silently ahead of you, on the ground. It’s easier to see other people’s shadows, when they pass by in the spring wind, trailing a gray-hazed cloak behind them. To me, it appears differently than, say, water reflections in a puddle, the oily shimmer in the window of a parked car down the street. Everything casts shadows, has its own half-brother —even a nearly melted snowflake in a drift up in the woods, a single pine needle on the brown trunk of a tree. Only the shadows themselves do not. At dusk, I see them grow and engulf us, celebrating in stolen half-hours a kind of revelry, reclaiming their world and their right to exist. But even shadows must eventually surrender to the night, which is not their domain. Like a limping dog forced to lie down, the shadows, too, must sleep when night comes. In the child’s room—redone back when she still slept in our room, just a baby, a little bundle, not yet a toddler who now says “yes” when asked if she wants a blueberry, and sits herself down on a step—I hold her hand and sing the sad lullaby and draw the curtains. Even now, as the days grow lighter and the evenings keep her awake— because spring evenings, too, are children, stubborn and strong-willed toddlers who refuse to go to bed—those curtains from Fargerike, still block most of the sunlight. When I renovated the room, blackout curtains were one of the most important things. The woman at Fargerike Alnabru had her work cut out for her, diving deep into the catalogs to find samples that would make the room as dark as possible. To keep the light out, but also the shadows—though in vain. The light sneaks in like white ants at the edges, and the shadows of the toys grow ever larger while I sit there. I can’t keep her away from them. From the darkness. I can’t protect her from the shadows, any more than I can outrun my own—the thick and clumsy shadow with the bumbling arms. One day, she’ll notice her own shadow and will have to let it change her, too, in the soul’s alchemy.
The first word she ever said was “light.” And we sit there reading the same children’s book over and over again, and I go, “Can Solveig say… pajamas?” Or: “Can Solveig say… grandma?” And every time she just answers, “Lysj…?” Light? Everything was “light”! That was the first word she said, besides “mama” and “papa,” of course. And she totally fixated on it. Every time we walk into the living room, step out into the sun, turn on the TV, point at a picture of a farm, or Peppa Pig, or a plane—just: LIGHT?! Lyyysj? Lyyyyyyyys? Everything is “light”… like the stroller and Christmas carols and Røros sour cream; Friday night tacos and summer holidays on Tjøme; sterilizing baby bottles and tomato cans; Kjempe-Yes and Krone-is ice cream cones; all verbs and prepositions and proper nouns are “light,” and every situation too—trying to keep the laptop on the table, no listen, I say: “Daddy’s working!” and she just goes up! up! reaching out her arms and I lift her onto my lap and say: “No, Solveig, I’m trying to write a tex…” and she j jj jjuv6y6vb6vuumvm g6mv66 and the black Times New Roman letters light up on the screen; the shimmer in the aspen leaves in autumn; spring on the trail through the woods when the bright green tries to burst out from something immanent in the world; when Solveig in the stroller points at a squirrel darting up a pole while I’m listening to a podcast and staring off toward the trees, and we just look at each other for a moment; gulls circling above the recycling center in warm air currents; asphalt roads, the E18, and traffic lights— all kinds of Norwegian middle-class dreams are a kind of light, says Solveig. Everything is light. The entire universe, lysh, something at Carl Berners plass; poopy diapers, sun and stars; cardboard boxes from Oda and apples on the tree; Østensjø and Apple Watches in the midday rain; Oslo compost and potting soil from Plantasjen in the trunk of the Skoda; the baby carrier with Baby Yoda strapped to my chest in the garden; when Talkmore salesmen calls with a mobile data plan for “unlimited everything”; when she insists on climbing up the stairs, and I go like, relax, okay? Daddy doesn’t want you to hurt yourself! and she looks at me like, *please!* – your darkest, most terrifying shadows are LIGHT! Everything is something that’s just about to be released, says Solveig’s grin— and that little girl, those words, that thought, everything we don’t say, is light, and everything we haven’t already said; the tip of the neighbor’s flagpole sprayed gold; the flawless polish of that guy’s sports car down the street; photons and waves in the fjord— everything, the whole world is filled with love, it’s light, says my daughter, the world is light, a totally transparent solar wind in a single flash...
NEAR AND FAR
Studio Void
Oslo’s Aker River and the Nile, they are entirely new rather than just faces of the idea of water. In this view, the creative act of the primordial myth is differentiation, as the iteration of chaotic-behaving noise coalesces into different forms, that iterate into ever newer, ever more different, and ever more complex ones. Equally, the personas of the characters that play out the events of the myths – even feelings themselves, of vengeance or pride or joy – take on new expressions as embodied in new figures.
The parallel to the modern understanding of the origins of the universe is the period immediately following the Big Bang, in which the now-expanding super-hot and dense noisy mathematical field of matter and anti-matter through some disparity (difference) cools into subatomic particles, forming different (!) atoms that form different (!!) molecules. These, in turn, carrying the potential of untold quantities of differentiation (!!!) in their chemistry and physiology, through chaotic, dynamic processes, form the cosmos and ultimately – in its most complex form yet – sentient, feeling life.
The myths of the classical world correspond to a view of the universe where emotion, deliberation, will and yearning are driving forces of everything that happens, from the prosperity of nations to the rising of the sun. A layer of human-seeming feelings is the substrate upon which the mechanics of the cosmos unfold, and the emotional modality of classical art (as it relates to human passions) is akin to that of the classical worldview. Modernity has meant to strip these feelings from
the stories of the structures of the universe. However, as in the case of the charming quark, it seems a deeply rooted temptation in us to find humanity, charm, in even the tiniest of particles.
Void of meaning
Our studio is called Void, which is (at least) a triple entendre of 1) the void programming keyword indicating that a method does not return a value, 2) the abyssal darkness of the universe, the idealised backdrop to our work and 3), the “void separating our digital lives from real experience”, bridged by the studio in earlier versions of our mission statement. The first refers to the digital tools used to both conceptualise and realise mixed media sculpture and installation art, the second to a cool, aloof relation to the deep dark black. The last notion might rest on a misunderstanding – that the space between the opposing concepts of physical and digital is empty and must be bridged. Or even that the between-ness of this void is real at all - that the metal between the sides of the coin is less than coin.
In certain capacities, the tools of the digital realm are superior in simulating the modern view of the physical universe on a mathematically one-to-one basis. As artists, designers and architects we leverage this capacity to create art that sometimes is, as in the case of Khaos, about the mysteries of the universe, and even digitalism itself as representation of this (and other) universe(s). As such, we are sometimes challenged to consider whether our “modernist” work has
the capacity to communicate to the “classical” sensibilities of human passions and emotions. In any case, it seems a de facto aspiration for art to rouse the passions and incite real meaning in its audience, not just present what could be deemed concert visuals, selfie backdrops, IQ puzzles or screen savers. In what is (in certain senses) a revival for classical, figurative art (in Norway), it seems wise to also consider the ways in which the divide is polemic and artificial, which we will leave to others to discuss.
We observe ourselves and our colleagues, mainly through images, working with digital representations of the cosmic— the beauty of light swirling through the universe in fluid dynamic vortices and whirlpools, metaphorical dances tied to the eternal. These images are concerned with what unites us, what we are part of: cosmic dust, grains of sand, drops of water, leaves in the wind—a kind of Zen-romantic return to chaos, a delightful ego-death bath where sense and space are the same thing, where you and the artwork are the fingers pinching themselves.
Two root systems shown side by side. On the left, a tree with a central trunk and symmetrical branches represents hierarchical growth and common descent — a classical model of identity and linear evolution. On the right, a rhizomatic plant spreads horizontally with no central axis, illustrating Deleuze’s concept of difference: growth through unpredictable, non-hierarchical differentiation rather than repetition of form.
from a candle in a dark room, illuminating faces, bodies, and whispered conversations. The fire extended the day, creating safety and leisure at night—to be together, to tell stories, to develop language, to cultivate longings and passions and conflicts, to extend wakefulness, to cook and eat, to get to know one another and to love. This is how the light enters the kitchens, bathrooms and bedrooms of the mind. The warmth of fire, the soft luminescence of a room at dusk, the way light curves around a body—this is where intimacy emerges. A star is magnificent from afar; its warmth is meaningful when it touches the skin. It might be a misconception that the vast and abstract must be experienced and felt collectively. And so the light from a work of art can create a space for these intimacies and private, strange, charming moments, or a stage on which to enact your charisma and attraction, or a boudoir in which to explore our connections, emotional, intellectual and bodily, in the nearness of what is very far away, like falling asleep under the stars.
We asked about the capacity of art about the mysteries of the universe to rouse the passions of the human heart. One answer to our question lies in the potential for art about the chaotic universe to bring into relief the backdrop to our existence as passionate, charming, intimate beings, and its enmeshing in the expression of these.
Another lies in the extreme lengths to which we are willing to go to find images of our charming selves, whether in the cosmos or inside the atoms. As such, like how the digital does not need to be reconciled with the physical, the body does not have to be reconciled with the psyche, and the grand does not have to be reconciled with the intimate.
Through the lens of Deleuzian difference, the potential forgetting intimate with art about the universe, or chaos, is real and unknown. It brings us the consolation that even repetition and representation is an act of creation. Furthermore, that the identities of emotion, charm, intimacy and passion, and any other of the profoundly human ethereal, ephemeral and poetic phenomena that art concerns itself with, were themselves produced by a creative process of differing from each other.
It might not be enough to convince the readerthat art about the chaos at the root of the universe relates directly to the rages and reliefs, flirts and conflicts, arousals and disappointments, risks and negotiations, or the endless other conditions of the human experience in the classical myths and modern worlds alike. But it might do something different.
PROJECTS
IRREGULAR POLYHEDRON: REPRESENTATION OF BASIC COMPONENTS OF COMPUTER GRAPHICS
Client Self-Initiated
Location Kungstensgatan 27, Stockholm.
As a physical representation of the very basic components of computer graphics, the vertex and the edge, it explores the perceptual gap between the flat and the spacious, the analogue and the digital. When does a collection of arbitrary connected lines start to read as a volume? Does this perception change when the shape is altered?
The site-specific installation was created for the window gallery Kungstensgatan 27 in Stockholm. It was open from November 2014 to February 2015 comprising a wireframe polyhedron constructed from black elastic bands, suspended with fishing line, connected to 9 stepper motors.
Photography Void
N3MBERS: CAMPAIGN FOR KRAFTWERK CONCERT SERIES
Client Kraftwerk
Location Norwegian Opera and Ballet. Oslo, Norway.
In the days leading up to the launch of the Kraftwerk 2016 series of eight concerts in the Oslo Opera, neon incarnations of the digits one through eight were placed without ceremony throughout the city, their locations changing at random each night.
The numbers lit up as the public passed by, and shouted their enumeration in German. On the day of the launch, the numbers were gathered on the opera sea front. The band brought the sculptures with them. Their location is as of yet unknown.
Photography Einar Aslaksen
FYR: DYNAMIC LUMINAIRE
FOR OFFICE BUILDING LOUNGE
Client Braathen Eiendom
Location Dronning Eufemias Gate 8. Oslo, Norway.
Photography Einar Aslaksen
This installation is the luminous centerpiece of the skybar at Queen Eufemias street 8 in the Oslo financial district. The eight meter long luminaire gives ambience to what is both a cafeteria and an event space.
The view of the Oslo fjord and some of Norway’s most ambitious projects - the Opera and the Edward Munch museum - frame the piece, which is visible from several key locations in the city.
THE SUN: SUN SCULPTURE IN MIDWINTER DARKNESS
Client KIA Europe
Location Ramton. Nærsnes, Norway.
The installation is a sun sculpture, and continues a millennium-long conversation on the representation of the sun in art. The structure is an arc in which the inscribed circle is articulated, raising the disc above the ground.
In the fog, strong LED lights make up the volumetric sun corona at the edge of the circle. The dedicated white channel of the lights closely mimic the properties of sunlight. The full disc is illuminated from within, and has the same properties. The totalt lumen output proposed is equivalent to the sun at mid-day.
The LEDs allow for animation, so the full disc and the corona can take on innumerable shapes and movements, possibly responding to environmental conditions or audience presence. The sculpture is monumental, at 7.5 meters height and 5 meters across, and will be visible at a large distance.
Photography Cronje Strøm
CAMBRIA: LUMINOUS
FAMILY OF TWO
Client Vedal
Location Urtegata 9, Oslo, Norway.
Two sculptures, mother and daughter, of steel, glass and light. They represent growth on the evolutionary and personal scales. A metallic spine protects the electronic marrow and nerves that power the luminous fins of fluted glass profiles.
These ambiguous forms resemble flatworms, primitive but beautiful and efficient creatures only a few cell layers thick. They exhibit an extraordinary diversity of complexity and expression. The shapes refer to geometries that evolve through sophisticated and pragmatic processes - leaves, cilia, horns and feathers.
Photography Cronje Strøm
A-Ha Afterglow Day of the Dead Photon
Eiris Into the Night
Noe Maa Gaa I Stykker Portals
Innerbloom
The Sun
KHAOS
Cambria Suspense
Cathedral of Ego
Du Finnes
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
THE TEAM FORMER EMPLOYEES AND INTERNS
CURRENT BOARD
COLLABORATORS
PHOTOGRAPHERS
CLIENTS
MIKKEL LEHNE
JOAKIM WIIG HOEN
PER KRISTIAN STOVELAND
TORSTEIN BAKKE
BJØRN GUNNAR STAAL
ANDERS NÆRØ TANGEN
NICOLAI WESSELTOFT
LUIGI GALBUSERA
BENDIK SCHRØDER
ÅSHILD WANGENSTEEN BJØRVIK
JEANETTE NORIN
JØRGEN LØVAAS FREMSTAD
SLANTED
MICHAEL ULRICH HENSEL
SILJE LINGE HAALAND
GAUTE BROCHMANN
DARKA
AFFIX OSLO
BOLT METALL
LEDFLEX
SCHNICK SCHNACK SYSTEMS
TREVERK STEDET
BRYNJULF KROKSTRAND
DISPLAY SYSTEMS
TUNGE TING
FJORD OSLO
AUDRIUS EIGELIS
REPUBLIC OF BENNY LUND
TRAFO KUNSTPRODUKSJON
INSENTI
RODEO ARKTITEKTER
GRAPE ARKITEKTER
MAD ARKITEKTER
KIMA ARKITEKTUR
ØYSTEIN AURLIEN
SVERRE BJERTNES
BJARNE MELGAARD
ARE MOKKELBOST
MAGNE FURUHOLMEN
EINAR ASLAKSEN
CRONJE STRØM
PERNILLE SANDBERG
ENTRA
BRAATHEN EIENDOM
VEDAL
LUNDIN
TIETO EVRY
EIENDOMSSPAR
NASJONALBIBLIOTEKET
KULTURHISTORISK MUSEUM
KRAFTWERK
COLLECTIVE OSLO
CHRISTIAN HOVDA HUSAN
ANDREAS KÅSIN
CHRISTINA SUND
PEDER MIDTØMME
JØRGINE RIISE
IBEN JUEL HERSCHOUG
CHRISTIAN BJØRVIK
LUC PÉREZ LAVAIL
ELISE BY OLSEN
PERNILLE SANDBERG
EINAR DUENGER BØHN
FREDRIK HØYER
DOGLOVER95
BENDIK BAKSAAS
KRISTOFFER EIKREM
RAYAN ZOMMORODI
A-HA
APPARATJIK
TORGNY GUNDELACH
VEDAL BETONMAST
VEIDEKKE
JULIE IRGENS
ANTI
PEMAT AG
PLEXON
ERLING FOSSEN
OMA
CONSTRUCTION CITY
BYMILJØETATEN OSLO
OSLO KOMMUNE
KHRON ARK
ELDAR KAURIN MAXIMUS VALDE
CHRISTIAN SØGAARD
WORDUP TYD
KIA EUROPE
22. JULI SENTERET
AKER PROPERTY GROUP
REMARKABLE
FRITJOF EIENDOM
TULLINSAMARBEIDET
BERGÅRD AMUNDSEN
NOBEL PEACE CENTER
ASPELIN RAMM
2015–2025
For their 10-year anniversary, Oslo-based experiential art and design studio Void invites friends and critics to reflect on a decade of work. This retrospective includes essays, poetry and critique on art, design, technology and architecture, as well as comprehensive visual documentation of Void’s most prominent projects.
