Tickling Fingers, Infinite View.
Lars Morell

19.04 - 18.05.2024
Private View: Friday, 19th April of 2024, 6:30-9pm
Kristin Hjellegjerde, London (Wandsworth)

Skeletal forms wrapped in translucent ribbons create eerie and delicate shapes against ethereal skies. Norwegian artist Lars Morell’s paintings challenge the distinction between the visible and the invisible, our desire to make sense of space, to see things that aren’t always there. Tickling Fingers, Infinite View, his first solo exhibition with Kristin Hjellegjerde Gallery, comprises new additions to what the artist calls his Translation series or abstracted still lifes. Each painting takes as its departure point an object or detail that the artist has observed and strips it back to its barest structure, exploring in the process our emotional response to shapes, lines and colours as well as the ways in which painting can record these different sensations.

While Morell is heavily influenced by what he encounters in his everyday life, he is reluctant to point to specific sources of inspiration, preferring to leave his paintings open to interpretation. The bulging and spindly structures that form shapes at the forefront of these works, for example, could appear as both brutal and fragile, organic and inorganic, bringing to mind perhaps the bare branches of trees, bones, ligaments, something dragged up from the depths of the sea, the body of an alien creature. In one work, this structure is golden, wrapped in ribbons – or bandages? – of pale pink and white against a candy-coloured, rococo-esque sky, in another it is a silvery grey mass seemingly absorbing the blue and metallic tones of the turbulent cloudscape that surrounds it. ‘I am fascinated by proportions and curious about colour, by how things can be read as an appealing shape or not,’ explains Morell.

This is, in part, rooted in the artist’s interest in modernist sculptures, in the work of artists such as Barbara Hepworth and Jean Arp who created pureforms that explored texture, movement and space, but also in Scandinavian landscape painters such as Anna Ancher, Kitty Kielland and Amaldus Nielsen who captured the ephemeral qualities of light. The latter’s influence is most clearly seen in the backdrops of Morell’s paintings which evoke specific temporalities while also conjuring a slightly surreal space. It is this disconnect from reality that allows us to approach the work without expectations, to view each image on its own terms, without needing to define or categorise what’s before us.

At the same time, Morell provides us with a way into each painting, something to hold on to or follow, a tether. He produces a sense of harmony between foreground and background not only through his chosen colour palette, but also through the shimmering, diaphanous brushstrokes that wrap around the central structure. These marks are created using transparent pigments that are applied quickly and precisely in the alla prima (wet-on-wet) technique. As such, they cannot be easily erased or recreated, exposing the movement of the artist’s hand across the canvas or as Morell puts it, ‘a process of trial and error, the tense dance that happens in the studio.’

The show’s title points to this tension as one that is both sensorial and spatial, a push-pull between restlessness and expansiveness, the immediate and the infinite, the body and the mind. And in a sense, this is exactly what Morell’s paintings capture: a sensation, rather than a specific object, place or story. They are both records of the artistic process and an invitation to experience or feel rather than interpret the image.

(Norwegian text below)

/1

QB:

Do you remember your very first approach to art? What did you find fascinating about it?

LM:

Not at a specific point in time, but I remember that I early on got the taste of the “bubble” or the “state” that occurs when I zoom in on the work. Lost in translation, sort of. Like an enjoyment of the process first and foremost. Many hours in the boys’ room experimenting. And then gradually there was also some rumination regarding genres, techniques and figurative languages. It wasn’t like a switch being turned on, but more like a slowly increasing interest. The experience that there was something more I was curious about and a code that could be cracked in so many ways. The wonder for ambiguity is still present. I was also fascinated by how some things were accepted into museums while others were overlooked. There was also the fact that I didn’t settle on what I was going to do with my life. So the slightly wilful thought of actually choosing a direction that clearly has a high risk of collapse never left me - and it’s the one that still gets me out of bed every day. I still have the euphoria from the bubble of focus, but it feels more necessary and acute to focus on the work now than when I started.

/2

QB:

What has influenced you the most in your career?

How has this changed over time?

LM:

The places I’ve been and the people around me. The period in Paris in 2011 - 2012 was significant, I got some fruitful opportunities there. The exhibition at the Palais de Tokyo was a definite turning point. Instead of a source of influence, I think of it more as a cacophony, or a symphony of experience. The resonance depends on whether one manages to piece it together or see the contours of the direction it’s heading. In terms of daily inspiration, it doesn’t have to be the big things. I take great pleasure in looking at art, and the anticipation that I might get a rare thrill “this time” is worth the trip. Increasingly, I also find myself getting excited about everyday things, like how the light hits the cake display while I stand in line for a coffee. Perhaps this appeals to the southern part of me, kind of like Markus from “Kilden” by Gabriel Scott, who values the small things while pondering over the big ones.

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QB:

What do you think the role of an artist is in today’s society?

LM:

A meeting point that can lead in all directions, and all the drama that unfolds on the way to and from.

/4

QB:

How would you describe your own artistic expression?

LM:

A kind of logbook where light, composition and palette are the ingredients for a dish served to those with a keen eye. Energy, tension, balance and momentum described with colours and compositions. Individual notes (works) that hopefully, over time, form the larger context.

In an attempt to see things from the outside, I’m preoccupied with the unconscious. How visual memory and perception lead to such different readings. I don’t want to push the viewer in a specific direction, but rather create the opportunity for a subjective journey inward.

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QB:

From idea to finished artwork, how are your artworks made? Do you follow a particular process or “ritual”?

LM:

To some extent, I have a consistent ritual were I work at fixed times and mostly follow the same approach to each image. Since the process requires full focus and is physically demanding, I have limited myself to work “regular” working days for about 7 hours, give or take. Beyond this, I become less focused and it rarely ends well.

The approach is the same for each image, but presents equally significant challenges every time. A loose composition is sketched out, then I refine it and mask it with tape. Then I paint the background and then remove the masking tape. Finally, I fill in the foreground and tie it all together with light strokes that resemble silk ribbons. Each image follows the same process, but composition, temperature, mixing ratio, pigments and oil all contribute to something new happening every time. Choices must be made or eliminated along the way. Much of the challenge and motivation comes from my own mix of patience and restlessness. Each image needs both meditative reflection and immediate, almost hasty decisions. The process is twofold: planning and improvisation. Through trial and error, I’ve found that an equal mix of planning and improvisation yields, in my view, the most successful results.

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QB:

Early in your career, we can see a number of sculptural works and installations that appear more figurative than abstract. In recent years, however, your works appear more abstract than figurative, especially in the “Shadow Canvas” series. How and why did this transition happen?

LM:

I used to compose clearer compositions and narratives. A more staged mindset about how the gallery space could be used and experienced act by act. Now I’m more aware that what works there, must also work piece by piece as individual works on people’s walls at home.

Even though I’m not very conscious of this transition in my work, I think the boundary between figuration/abstraction has the potential to balance somewhere between the obviously banal and the subtly seductive. It can be the entrance to the viewer’s reading. In the series “Shadow Canvas”, the point was precisely to blur or obscure the boundary between the figurative and the abstract.

Mostly, I envision a visual goal, with some partially formulated, and then I try to move in that direction to discover what challenges it presents. The direction is winding rather than conceptually clear. Subtle implications rather than explicit ones. I strive for (in my own work) and prefer other’s work that bears traces of choices made along the way with energy, ingenuity and a nerve - rather than a desire to clearly and distinctly place a finished project on the shelf of art history.

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QB:

Whereas the series “Shadow Canvas” appears abstract, your latest series “Translations” moves more in the intersection between abstract and figurative painting, where the forms that previously appeared as shadows are now perceived as the contours of something. Where do these shapes come from? Do they arise from your imagination or from memories?

LM:

After working through a large number of variations in the “Shadow Canvas” series, I wanted to approach the compositions differently. When I brought the soft forms in the “Shadow paintings” to the foreground in the “Translations” compositions, I needed to abstract them in a different way. What was previously only glimpsed became completely clear and lost its function. I was then forced to add a form of abstraction to retain the ambiguity and openness of the images. Originally, the shapes in the shadow paintings were intended as actual shadows that could have appeared on someone’s windowsill or out in nature. In this way, I consider them as abstracted still lives. In “Translations”, I see still life as something in a broader sense. It’s more like a section of something larger with less recognisable shapes and purer compositions. Balance, momentum and movement which together create a kind of mood or inner landscape, if you will.
They clearly relate to memories, but without imagination, abstraction is difficult. Let me quote Jens Fänge here:

“If I had all the answers I would stop painting and be driving a bus or something”
Jens Fänge (“Alcove” - Perrotin, New York, 2019)

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QB:

Throughout your artistry, your expression has developed organically over time and medium. We can start with your sculptures, which evolved into shadow paintings, and then took shape and substance from shadows to more concrete forms. Do you have an idea of how this will further develop?

LM:

I’m just as curious about that as you are! It’s a kind of choreography. I understand the process, but I don’t control it. Step by step with trial and error. I have periods where I work within a series and continue with it until I feel most of it has been tried out before moving on to a new one. It’s a daily dance that takes place, not just before each exhibition - but all the time. I trust the platform of experience I stand on and actively use my intuition. It’s a constant flow of choices that I want to make on instinct as much as possible, in my view, these choices make the most sense.

As Tal R said in an interview with Elephant: “Ask any boxer to explain first, and he is going to have a very broken nose - the same goes for artists.”

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QB:

Can you tell us a bit about the artworks by you on view at Enter Art Fair 2023?

LM:

I struggled a lot with these images, and after many attempts, it finally clicked. They were challenging to make, but at the same time it seemed like I took a step further with these particular compositions. To a certain extent, the images provide a glimpse into the months before summer. They are translations of the mood, the choreography of early summer with soundtracks from Emilie Nicolas, Undergrunn, Kalabrese and Stimmung. Early mornings at the gym, a few trips to the tennis court, summer coffee from Kaffebrenneriet, and a few meetings about a commissioned sculpture that will stand in a garden.

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QB:

Final question: If you were to have dinner with five other artists, alive or not, who would you choose?

LM:

Now that we’re in Denmark, I’m advocating for a bright summer evening with Anna Ancher, P.S. Krøyer, Carl Locher, Kitty Kielland and Amaldus Nielsen.

If this had been twenty years ago, I would probably be at a pub with Urs Fischer, Jason Rhoades, Glenn Brown, Jordan Wolfson and Matthew Barney.

_______

10 spørsmål. QB GALLERY / Christine M. Bruu, 2023

I forbindelse med den nye utgaven av Enter Art Fair i København har vi stilt Lars Morell, en av kunstnerne på utstillingen, 10 spørsmål om arbeidet hans, karrieren, inspirasjonskildene og historien bak de nye kunstverkene som stilles ut på Enter.

QB GALLERY / Christine M. Bruu

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QB: Kan du huske din første tilnærmelse til kunst? Hva var det som fascinerte deg?

LM: Ikke på et bestemt tidspunkt, men jeg husker at jeg tidlig fikk smaken på “boblen” eller “tilstanden” som oppstår når jeg zoomer inn i arbeidet. Litt lost in translation. Så som en glede over prosessen, først og fremst. Mange timer på gutterommet med eksperimentering. Og så etter hvert kom det vel også noe grubling i forhold til sjangre, teknikker og billedspråk.

Det var ikke som en bryter som ble slått på, men mer som en sakte økende interesse. Opplevelsen om at det var noe mer som jeg var nysgjerrig på og en kode som kunne knekkes på så mange måter. Den undringen for tvetydigheten er fremdeles tilstede.

Jeg var også fascinert over at noe fikk innpass på museum mens annet var oversett. Det var også det at jeg ikke slo meg til ro med hva jeg skulle gjøre med livet. Så den litt egenrådige tanken om å faktisk velge en retning som helt klart har høy risiko for kollaps, den slapp aldri taket - og det er den som gjør at jeg står opp hver dag fremdeles. Euforien i bobla av fokus har jeg fremdeles, men det føles mer nødvendig og akutt å fokusere på arbeidet nå enn da jeg begynte.

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QB: Hva har influert deg mest i karrieren din? Hvordan har dette endret seg over tid?

LM: Stedene jeg har vært og folkene rundt. Perioden i Paris i 2011 - 2012 var betydningsfull, jeg fikk noen sjanser der som var fruktbare. Utstillingen på Palais de Tokyo var et klart vendepunkt. Istedenfor en kilde til innflytelse, tenker jeg mer på det som en kakofoni, eventuelt symfoni av erfaring. Klangen avhenger av hvorvidt man får det til å henge sammen, eller se konturene av retningen det er på vei.

I forhold til daglig inspirasjon så trenger det ikke å være de store tingene. Jeg har stor glede av å se kunst, og forventningen om at jeg kan få et sjeldent kick “denne gangen” er verdt turen. I økende grad lar jeg meg også begeistre over hverdagslige ting, som hvordan lyset treffer kakedisken mens jeg står i kaffekø. Mulig dette appellerer til sørlendingen i meg, som en slags Markus fra Kilden av Gabriel Scott som verdsetter de små tingene mens han grubler på de store.

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QB: Hvilken rolle tenker du at kunstneren har i dagens samfunn?

LM: Et møtepunkt som kan lede i alle retninger, og alt dramaet som utspiller seg på vei til og fra.

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QB: Hvordan vil du beskrive ditt eget kunstneriske uttrykk?

LM: En slags loggbok hvor lys, komposisjon og palett utgjør ingrediensene for en rett som serveres den som har et våkent øye. Energi, spenst, balanse og moment beskrevet med farger og komposisjoner. Enkeltstående notater (verk) som forhåpentligvis på sikt danner den større sammenhengen.

I forsøk på å se ting utenfra er jeg opptatt av det ubevisste. Hvordan visuell hukommelse og oppfatning fører til så ulike lesninger. Jeg ønsker ikke å presse tilskueren i en bestemt retning, men legge opp til en subjektiv reise innover.

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QB: Fra idé til ferdig kunstverk, hvordan lager du verkene dine? Følger du en spesifikk prosess eller et ritual?

LM: Jeg har til en viss grad et fast rituale ved at jeg jobber til faste tider og har stort sett den samme fremgangsmåten på hvert bilde. Siden prosessen krever fullt fokus og er fysisk krevende, har jeg begrenset meg til å kun jobbe “vanlige” arbeidsdager på pluss minus 7 timer. Utover dette blir jeg mindre fokusert og det ender sjeldent godt.

Fremgangsmåten er den samme på hvert bilde, men byr på like store utfordringer hver gang. En løs komposisjon skisseres opp, så rentegner jeg den og maskerer med tape. Så maler jeg bakgrunnen over det hele og fjerner deretter maskeringstapen. Til slutt fyller jeg inn forgrunn og binder det hele sammen med lette strøk som ser ut som silkebånd. Hvert bilde har lik prosess, men komposisjon, temperatur, blandingsforhold, pigment og olje bidrar til at det hver gang skjer noe nytt. Valg må tas eller elimineres underveis. Mye av utfordringen og drivkraften er min egen miks av tålmodighet og rastløshet. Hvert bilde trenger både meditativ refleksjon og umiddelbare nærmest forhastede avgjørelser. Prosessen er todelt: planlegging og improvisasjon. Via prøving og feiling har jeg kommet frem til at like deler planlegging og improvisasjon gir i mine øyne de mest vellykkede resultatene.

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QB: Tidlig i kunstnerskapet ditt kan vi se en rekke skulpturelle verk og installasjoner som fremstår mer figurative enn abstrakte. I de senere årene fremstår verkene dine derimot mer abstrakte enn figurative, særlig i serien «Shadow canvas». Hvordan og hvorfor skjedde denne overgangen?

LM: Tidligere komponerte jeg tydeligere sammensetninger og narrativ. En mer iscenesatt tankegang om hvordan gallerirommet kan brukes og oppleves akt for akt. Nå er jeg mer bevisst på at det som fungerer der også må fungere del for del som enkeltverk på veggene hjemme hos folk.

Selv om jeg er veldig lite bevisst på denne overgangen i arbeidet mitt, synes jeg grensen mellom figurasjon/abstraksjon har potensial til å balansere et sted mellom det opplagt banale og subtilt forførende. Det kan være inngangen til betrakterens lesning. I serien med “Shadow Canvas” var det nettopp et poeng å viske ut eller å tåkelegge grensen mellom det figurative og abstrakte.

Stort sett ser jeg for meg et visuelt mål, med noe delvis formulert og så prøver jeg å gå i den retningen for å finne ut hva den byr på av utfordringer. Retningen er heller kronglete enn konseptuelt klar. Subtile antydninger heller enn eksplisitt. Jeg streber etter (i eget arbeid) og foretrekker andres arbeider som har spor av valg som er tatt underveis med energi, påfunn og nerve - heller enn et ønske om å legge et ferdig prosjekt klart og tydelig på plass i den kunsthistoriske hyllen.

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QB: Der serien «Shadow canvas» fremstår som abstrakt, beveger den siste serien din «Translations» seg mer i krysningsfeltet mellom abstrakt og figurativt maleri, der formene som tidligere fremstod som skygger, nå oppfattes som konturene av noe. Hvor kommer disse formene fra? Oppstår de fra fantasien din eller fra minner?

LM: Etter å ha arbeidet meg gjennom et stort antall variasjoner i “Shadow Canvas” serien ønsket jeg å tilnærme meg komposisjonene på en annen måte. Da jeg i komposisjonene plasserte det som var duse former i “skyggemaleriene” frem i forgrunnen i “oversettelsene”, trengte jeg å abstrahere dem på en annen måte. Det som tidligere kun kunne skimtes ble helt tydelig og mistet sin funksjon. Jeg ble da tvunget til å legge på en form for abstraksjon for å beholde bildenes tvetydighet og åpenhet. Opprinnelig var formene i skyggemaleriene tenkt som reelle skygger som kunne ha oppstått i vinduskarmen hos noen, eller ute i naturen. På den måten tenker jeg på disse som abstraherte stilleben. I “Translations” ser jeg på stilleben som noe i en utvidet forstand. Det er mer som et utsnitt fra noe større med mindre gjenkjennelige former og mer rene komposisjoner. Balanse, moment og bevegelse som sammen utgjør en slags stemning eller indre landskap om du vil.

De forholder seg helt klart til minner, men uten fantasien er det vanskelig med abstraksjonen. Jeg får sitere Jens Fänge her:

“If I had all the answers I would stop painting and be driving a bus or something”

Jens Fänge (“Alcove” - Perrotin, New York, 2019)

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QB: Gjennom kunstnerksapet har uttrykket ditt utviklet seg organisk over tid og medium. Vi kan ta utgangpunkt i skulpturene dine, som utviklet seg til skyggemalerier, og som igjen tok form og substans fra skygger til mer konkrete former. Har du en idé om hvordan dette vil utvikle seg videre?

LM: Akkurat det er jeg like nysgjerrig på som dere! Det er en slags koreografi. Jeg forstår prosessen, men kontrollerer den ikke. Steg for steg med prøving og feiling. Jeg har perioder der jeg jobber innen en serie og holder på med den til jeg føler det meste er utprøvd, for så å gå videre til en ny. Det er en daglig dans som foregår, ikke kun i forkant av hver utstilling - men hele tiden. Jeg stoler på plattformen av erfaringer jeg står på og bruker magefølelsen aktivt. Det er en konstant strøm av valg som jeg ønsker å ta mest mulig på instinkt, i mine øyne gir disse valgene mest mening.

Som Tal R sa i et intervju med Elephant:

“Ask any boxer to explain first, and he is going to have a very broken nose - the same goes for artists.”

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QB: Kan du fortelle oss litt om verkene vi får se av deg under Enter Art Fair 2023?

LM: Jeg kjempet mye med disse bildene, og etter mange forsøk løsnet det. De var krevende å gjøre, men samtidig virket det som om jeg kom et knepp videre med akkurat disse komposisjonene. Til en viss grad gir bildene et blikk inn i månedene før sommeren. De er oversettelser av stemningen, forsommerens koreografi med lydspor fra Emilie Nicolas, Undergrunn, Kalabrese og Stimmung. Tidlige morgener på gymmen, noen turer på tennisbanen, sommerkaffe fra Kaffebrenneriet, og noen møter om oppdraget med en skulptur som skal stå i en hage.

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QB: Siste spørsmål: Hvis du skulle spist middag med fem andre kunstnere, levende eller ikke, hvem ville det vært?

LM: Nå som vi er i Danmark slår jeg et slag for en lys sommeraften med Anna Ancher, P.S. Krøyer, Carl Locher, Kitty Kielland og Amaldus Nielsen.

Hadde dette vært for tyve år siden ville jeg nok vært på en kneipe med Urs Fischer, Jason Rhoades, Glenn Brown, Jordan Wolfson og Matthew Barney.

Just like you.

The first time I saw Lars Morell’s shadowpaintings they seemed redolent with the 19th century. Crafted with such apparent ease, they were elusive and intangible, yet immediate in a way I thought only photographs could be. They nodded to the Victorian era, when the belief that everything could be made visible if only one had the right lens, ran parallell with a deep–seated fascination for all that lay smoldering in the shadowy corners of the everyday, just out of view. The injunction of the day was to pull the curtains aside, shed some light on those dark corners in order to see reality and one’s own place in it for what it really was!

Shadows outline a space, a grey–area where the boundaries between reality and fantasy blur. The idea of a new lover, a much anticipated triumph, a novel pair of shoes or a glance from a stranger in the dark late one evening pulsates and entices because it, like the shadow can be seen, but never touched.
A shadow refers back to an object, but the object of desire is the thing in itself, isn’t it? What we so desperately try to grasp so that what previously existed only as potential doesn’t just seep out between our fingers.

Most of us have been there, at some point or other. When the thing previously shrouded is unveiled, when we demand that a loved one turn the light on for us and guide us into the basement of their soul to reveal who they really are, or we stand there gazing down at those new shoes that don’t look anywhere near as stylish on your slightly clumsy feet as they did in the online look–book. Without the veil of impossibility, what one experienced as that one TRUE love loses some of its power and we stand there, face to face with what’s actually there, not what we thought was there.

A blind man I read about at some point had regained parts of his vision after a series of operations, but the intense and often incomprehensible world of shapes, colors and light that make up our everyday became overwhelming and he wanted nothing more than to recede back into his all too familiar fog.
It’s understandable. It’s quiet in there, in the shadows that is, you don’t risk as Nico put it laconically, to be confronted with your failures, because when you think about it, naked reality writhing next to you in the morning might not be the problem, perhaps you are?

A part of me envisions Lars in front of one his shadow canvases, pensive, yet resolute, thinking OK! Onward! I’ll pull the curtains aside to see what they’ll reveal, because, in light of the shadows, his new painting and sculptures in the exhibition Liquid Attempts appear to be self–evident. It’s as if his shadow paintings had been dismantled piece by piece and their respective parts distributed throughout the gallery space in the form of paintings and sculptures.
Obviously we exclaim, palm to forehead!
Cause, and effect.

In practical terms, the everyday is far more unpredictable and thorny; anyone who’s ever tried to reproduce the process that led to anything being experienced as innovative knows this—the moment we try to formulate it, it evaporates. There is no predetermined straight line towards fulfillment. We wander around the periphery of our own mess, gaze over our shoulder and perhaps, if we’re lucky, we glimpse a sliver of light. When finally it does happen, it’s usually without warning.
The author George Saunders writes that one doesn’t need a grand idea in order to write a story, a single sentence is sufficient. Few of us possess an imagination capable of conceiving gestures that upend the playing-field. We need to act, and do. To bang our forehead against the proverbial wall until we burst through to the other side. The hope is that when the fog lifts and the pain subsides, the marks and lines we put to paper or canvas generate spaces we could not have achieved by thought alone.

To physically encounter one of Morell’s Translations as the paintings in the exhibition are called, is to experience some of the processes noted above.
They are revelatory.
Unpredictable, thorny.
The translation, like the shadow, refers back to the thing in question, as if something fundamental, previously relegated to the background is trying to make its way to the front of the crowd.
It’s as if the «veil» that earlier seemed to cover the entire field of vision in the shadow images has suddenly blown away, revealing not just the remains of what once cast shadows (or the shadows themselves dotted around the space as sculptures or «replikker»), but an overwhelming, luminescent space!

It’s blinding.
As in early spring, when the snow has melted and the leaves on the trees have yet to appear, the sun seems never to set.
There is no shade.
And nowhere to hide your waxy, transparent skin.
The comforting fog has lifted and we are faced with paint, light, shadow and last but not least, space.

When confronted with certain two–dimensional surfaces, we experience them as spaces I explain to my daughter with that annoying voice of the adult, as I show her pictures on my phone of Morell’s paintings, because it’s been taught us since we were children. We’ve learned to look at pictures. To translate the homogenous surface of an image into an experience of a differentiated and hierarchical space. I feel pretty smart, hearing myself ask rhetorically whether it makes any sense to talk about a painted shadow? I mean, the darkened area in a given scene can be recorded on a light–sensitive material and registered as the imprint of a shadow in a photograph. But a shadow in a painting—that’s nothing but an illusion…

Because really, there is no spoon I say with a wry smile. No spoon? The somewhat cheesy Matrix reference falls flat at the feet of the ten–year–old. Well—there are no shadows in Lars’ works. No veil, skin, sky light or space—just paint. With pigments and brushstrokes, the artist conjures space.
We see depth where there is none.
Create meaning where none is given.
Neither foreground nor background.
It mirrors life, I say with an air of importance, mostly to convince myself, because the ten–year–old lost interest in all this obviousness a while ago.

The magician is careful to conceal his tricks up his sleeve, because the viewer’s fascination is dependent upon the seamlessness of the illusion.
We allow ourselves amazement, not conviction.
Lars however is no magician. His liquid attempts neither mislead nor uncover.
Lars’ works are anything but stable, unequivocal entities.
Just like you, they vacillate.
And it’s in this wavering I sometimes see something out of the corner of my eye, for lack of a better word more. More than the sum of its parts. And it’s this more, this naive something I wax poetic about that has my ten–year–old rolling her eyes, that I try to fasten my grip on whenever I confront it in a piece of art, in other people or in life in general.
Is it worth attempting a translation of it, or will it be just another one of those supposedly grown-up explanations reducing vision to an optical illusion, smoothing over the void that lurks beneath every conversation, symbol or each and every heartfelt relation, in order to bestow meaning upon REALITY and render it manageable?

Now that the paintings are up on the wall, stripped bare, the traces of their coming into being so relentlessly put on display, it strikes me that they are less figurative than the shadow paintings, and yet, they’re more concrete. And the strange thing is, that the more precise the brushstrokes are, the more it becomes clear to us as viewers that it is just paint applied to a canvas with varying degrees of transparency we’re dealing with, the more moved I am to experience them as representations of veil, sky, of skin, bones, a foreground and a background.

It’s as if they’re saying yes please, I’ll have both.
Doubt and belief coexist.
Try to see what’s really there, breathe it in, but allow yourself also to be touched by all that you can’t put your finger on, that you only imagine is there. Because perhaps, in the end it’s just, for lack of a better word an illusion, but not as resignation, nor as an opiate, but as bare necessity.



Morten Andenæs, 2022

Akkurat som deg.

De dryppet av 1800-tallet. Skyggebildene til Lars Morell.
De var så uanstrengte. Unnselige nærmest. Uhåndgripelige og umiddelbare på̊ den måten jeg ofte har tenkt at fotografiet har enerett på̊. De nikket til Viktoria-tiden, da troen på̊ at alt kunne synliggjøres bare en hadde de riktige brillene på, gikk hånd i hånd med en dyp fascinasjon for den upløyde marken som lå og ulmet i skyggefulle hjørner av hverdagslivet. En skulle slippe lyset inn i krokene - dra gardinet til side og se virkeligheten og ens egen plass i den for det den var!

I skyggene dannes et rom, en gråsone der grensene mellom virkelighet og fantasi opphører. Ideen om en ny kjæreste, en etterlengtet triumf, et par nye sko eller et blikk fra en fremmed i mørket sent en kveld er antydninger og omriss som puster og peser fordi, akkurat som skyggen kan de sees men ikke røres.
Skyggen tilhører tingen tenker vi, men det er tingen som er greia er det ikke? Det er den vi desperat forsøker å få fatt på̊ med hud og med hår slik at det som tidligere kun eksisterte som et potensial ikke bare renner ut av hendene våre og etterlater dem tørre og sprukne.

De fleste av oss har vært der, på et eller annet tidspunkt. Når tingen som tidligere var svøpt i et klede avdukes, når vi krever at våre kjære eller nære skrur lyset på̊, åpner kjellerdøren og avslører hvem de egentlig er, eller vi står der og titter ned på̊ de nye skoene som ikke ser halvparten så stilige ut på̊ dine litt klumsete føtter som de gjorde på̊ det der tilforlatelige bildet i nettbutikken. Uten umulighetens slør mister det en trodde var den STORE kjærligheten noe av sin kraft og vi står ansikt til ansikt med det som er der, ikke det vi trodde var der.

En blind mann jeg en gang leste om hadde fått deler av synet tilbake etter en rekke operasjoner, men den intense og ofte uforståelige verden av former, farger og lys som preger hverdagen ble for mye og mannen ville bare tilbake til den velkjente tåken.
En kan jo forstå̊ det. Det bråker ikke der, i skyggene altså̊, en risikerer ikke å feile eller som Nico sang - å konfronteres med egen utilstrekkelighet (for det er vel egentlig ikke den utilslørte virkeligheten som ligger og vrir seg ved din side det er noe galt med - er det ikke kanskje deg selv?)

Det er lett å se for seg at Lars stod foran skyggebildene sine og grublet og tenkte at NEI - jeg må̊ fremover, vekk! - nå̊ trekker jeg gardinet til side og ser hva som skjuler seg bak, for sett i lys av skyggene oppleves de nye maleriene og skulpturene i utstillingen Liquid Attempts som en selvfølge, som om skyggebildene var demontert og delene var fordelt utover utstillingslokalet i form av malerier og skulpturer.
Det er jo helt åpenbart sier vi og slår oss selv på̊ pannen.
Innlysende.
Det er årsak, og virkning det der.

Rent praktisk er dagliglivet langt mer uforutsigbart og snirklete, det vet enhver som har forsøkt å reprodusere prosessen som ledet frem til at noe som helst opplevdes som en nyvinning - det fordamper i det øyeblikket vi forsøker å gi det en formel. Stegene vi tar følger ikke en rett linje mot en eller annen skjebne, eller fullbyrdelse. Vi beveger oss i periferien av vår egen smørje, kikker oss over skulderen, myser over grøten og kanskje, om vi er heldige aner vi glimtvis, en åpning. Når det endelig skjer er det som regel uten forvarsel.
Forfatteren George Saunders skriver at det trengs ingen storslått idé for å skrive en historie, det trengs bare en setning. Mange av oss er ikke fantasifulle nok til å komme opp med horisont-overskridende gester bare ved å tenke. Vi må̊ gjøre, stange hodet i veggen helt til vi dundrer gjennom til lyset på̊ den andre siden, for så å håpe at tåken letter og smerten avtar slik at vi er i stand til å se hvilke rom disse strekene vi har satt til papiret eller lerretet genererer som vi aldri kunne drømt opp selv.

Å stå foran en av Oversettelsene som Morell har kalt maleriene i sin utstilling Liquid Attempts er å erfare denne prosessen. Som om ordene brukt ovenfor gjenspeiles i selve arbeidene.
Åpenbaring. Innlysende.
Oversettelsen, i likhet med skyggen, peker tilbake på̊ tingen. Det er noe bakenforliggende som forsøker å bane vei til forgrunnen.

Sløret som tidligere dekket hele synsfeltet i skyggebildene har liksom brått blåst bort, og det som avsløres i utstillingsrommet er ikke bare restene, drapert rundt det som tidligere kastet skygge (eller de sorte skyggene selv frigjort fra maleriet som skulpturer eller replikker rundt omkring i lokalet), men et overveldende og bokstavelig talt selv-lysende rom!

Det blender.
Litt som om våren når snøen har gått, når bladene på̊ trærne lar vente på̊ seg og solen nekter å gå ned over den grålige, nesten transparente huden din. Det er ingen skygge noe sted.
Ingen steder å gjemme seg.
Den tidligere så betryggende tåken har lettet og vi står der ansikt til ansikt med maling, lys, skygge og ikke minst, rom.

Vi erfarer rom i møte med visse flater forklarer jeg datteren min med irriterende voksen stemme mens jeg viser henne bilder på̊ telefonen av Morells malerier, fordi vi har lært det, helt fra vi er små̊. Lært å se på̊ bilder. Å oversette den homogene flaten i et bilde til en opplevelse av et differensiert rom.
Jeg føler meg temmelig smart.
Hører meg selv spørre retorisk om det egentlig går an å snakke om en malt skygge? Altså̊, det lysfattige området i en gitt scene kan nedtegnes på̊ et lys- sensitivt materiale og registreres som avtrykket av en skygge i et fotografi, men en skygge i et maleri - det er jo bare en illusjon...

For egentlig er det jo ingen skje sier jeg med et skjevt smil.
Ingen skje?
Den litt tøysete Matrix referansen faller temmelig pladask hos tiåringen.
Ja, for det er ingen skygge i bildene til Lars. Ingen slør, hud, himmel, lys eller rom - bare maling. Med en malerkost og pigmenter har kunstneren tryllet frem et rom.
Vi ser dybde der det ikke er noen.
Skaper mening der ingen er gitt.
Ingen forgrunn eller bakgrunn.
Det speiler jo livet sier jeg, ut i luften, mest for å overbevise meg selv kanskje, for tiåringen mistet interessen for dette litt opplagte for en stund siden.

Tryllekunstneren skjuler sine triks i ermet fordi betrakterens fascinasjon er avhengig av at illusjonen er sømløs.
Vi lar oss forbløffe, men ikke overbevise.
Lars er ingen magiker. Hans flytende forsøk verken forleder eller avkler.
De er ikke entydige, stabile størrelser disse arbeidene til Lars, akkurat som deg. De vipper.
I denne dobbeltheten opplever jeg glimtvis i møte med maleriene noe, i mangel av et bedre ord, mer. Mer enn bestanddelene. Og det er dette mer jeg tidvis maser om og som får øynene til tiåringen til å himle, dette litt naive jeg desperat forsøker å feste grepet om og holde fast ved når det slår meg i kunsten, hos andre mennesker eller i livet generelt.
Er det forsøket verdt å oversette det, eller blir det bare nok en liksom-voksen stemme som skal forklare synsbedraget, glatte over de svarte hullene som lurer under enhver samtale, ethvert symbol eller enhver tilsynelatende ektefølt relasjon og gi tingen mening slik at virkeligheten med stor V blir håndterbar?

Når maleriene nå̊ henger der med hud og hår, og deres tilblivelse er stilt så ubønnhørlig til skue slår det meg at de er mindre figurative enn hva skyggebildene var, og likevel mer konkrete. Og jo mer presise penselstrøkene er, dess tydeligere det blir at det bare er maling påført et lerret med ulike grader av transparens jeg står overfor, desto sterkere blir opplevelsen av at det er slør og himmel, en forgrunn og bakgrunn.

Det er som om de sier ja takk, både/og.
Tro og tvil i samme setning.
Se det som er der, ta det inn over deg, men slipp også̊ til alt dette du tror er der. Kanskje er det da bare, i mangel av et bedre ord illusjon, men ikke som kapitulasjon, og ikke som et opiat, men som nødvendighet.

Morten Andenæs, 2022

Curse, Effect.

The term “causality” describes the relationship between cause and effect, between A, B, and how they are related. “Determinism” refers to the idea that everything that will happen has already been determined. Cause and effect become curse and effect. Hence the title of the exhibition at QB Gallery where Norwegian artist Lars Morell is presenting his new works.

New works? Can something be new that was already predetermined according to the principle of determinism? Over the past few years, Lars Morell has created a complex and diverse body of work consisting of photographs, sculptures, and installations. Up until now, classical painting has not been a central part of his artistic oeuvre, though it has always been present. Much of his work thus far has grown out of detailed drawings. Previous works, such as the shadow canvas series, began with an initial sketch of pencil on paper. Photographs also served as “sketches” for these works. Following the initial sketch, Morell used collage as a way of approaching the final result. After that, the images were digitally edited, over and over again - the perspective was adjusted, distortions was inserted and removed, filters applied, and 3D effects generated. This resulted in a final digital file that was then industrially reproduced to serve as a guide for the spray painting process of the shadow canvases. It was then transitioned from sketch to canvas. The material of these works drew on Morell’s interest in photography and its history, as well as illusionism and the machines that were used for different stage tricks. The result was flat paintings that showed photographic and digitally generated images. The silhouettes of shadows looked so deceptively realistic that one could wonder where the actual light source was.

The drawings, which formed the basis for all of Morell’s work, and which up to this point were only used as preliminary sketches, are now important templates and direct preparatory work for the paintings in this exhibition. They are “Cause A”, so to speak. Compared to earlier, the entire process is now more analog and direct. The steps previously carried out by filters and effects through the computer – are now performed in the artist’s mind and are processed and incorporated directly onto the painting. We might say that the new canvas works were born out of the “shadows”. They grew out of flatness into the space, and moved towards abstraction. They were also created directly by the artist’s hand, and they are rougher, more vulnerable and approachable than previous works, which were grounded in an aesthetic of industrial production and a consistent perfection.

These distorted shapes, which now “grow” over the canvas, are constructed from the drawings and yet they are created organically in one go. Small mistakes in the process are not corrected, but incorporated. They define the direction of cause-and-effect. The paintings may be planned, but they undergo change naturally. We see coloured constructs that at first glance are reminiscent of branching root systems. In some cases it seems as if they are growing beyond the canvas, in others into the centre of the composition. Along the way, these constructs are “devouring” something. We recognise the outlines of chains and hooks – and thus again objects that are used in illusion and deception. Morell develops these works out of figuration and sees them as distorted still lifes, as a dilemma between abstraction and representational painting.

The colourfulness is one striking feature of these paintings. The artist uses domestic objects and translates them into abstraction. Morell works with contrasts and patterns in order to create perspectives, but also to highlight specific layers in the paintings. The inspiration for the colours and contrasts comes from a wide range of sources, based partly on historical paintings, things seen on TV, or scenes from everyday life. The background of some of the canvases is filled in, while in others the raw canvas is exposed. In the latter case, the painted area is clearly lifted from the surface. Even if Morell is taking a different approach, Wassily Kandinsky comes to mind. The artist, as described by Kandinsky in his 1912 publication Concerning the Spiritual in Art, has two means of producing a purely painterly composition:

Color, and

Form.

He further describes the possibilities that these two means have. The form can exist independently, as a representation of the object (real or non-real) or as a purely abstract delimitation of a space, a surface. Colour cannot do that: one can only imagine its limitlessness. Kandinsky also speaks of an inevitable relationship between colour and shape and the effect that shape has on color. Lars Morell’s work is not based on Kandinsky ideas, but there are indeed interfaces with regard to the effect of form and colour, and the complexity of composition.

Another important part of the show, and Morell’s artistic oeuvre, are his bronze sculptures that in this particular case seem to have been born out of the canvases. They are clearly engaging in dialogue with each other. Again we see silhouettes of objects, again the still-life motif is taken up. The metal itself and how it was processed is part of what interests Morell here. Similar to his working method on the canvases, which create constructs, the liquid metal paves a predetermined path for itself. Here and there a flaw is visible, but it continues to grow.

The exhibition Curse, Effect stands as an exciting turning point in the oeuvre of Lars Morell. On the one hand, he continues a working method and an interest that has been developed over the years. On the other hand, he surprises us with these new works and new approaches of a particularly technical nature. The handling of the material is now much more direct. Morell does not use traditional artistic techniques for the purpose of nostalgia, but to be closer to his work, that is, with his hands, so as to shape the work directly. In this sense, this is a radical decision and a most timely one. As a result of the causal determinism, it was clear that this would happen. One cannot become an artist – one can only accept or reject the gift. As Louise Bourgeois once pointed out, being born an artist is not only a privilege but also a curse.

_

Fabian Schöneich

Fabian Schöneich is a curator, writer, and editor based in Berlin, Germany. From 2014 to 2018 he was the curator of Portikus in Frankfurt. He worked as an assistant curator at the Kunsthalle Basel from 2012 to 2014 and curated the 2013 and 2014 editions of the Performance Project of LISTE Art Fair in Basel. In 2011, Schöneich co-organised the „Melanchotopia" exhibition and programme as an assistant curator at the Witte de With Center for Contemporary Art in Rotterdam. Since 2012 he worked as an advisory curator for the exhibition space SALTS in Basel/Birsfelden and from 2015 to 2017 as an advisor for the Focus, Frame, and Live sections of Frieze art fair in London and New York. In 2010 he curated the first solo exhibition of Lars Morell in Switzerland at the non-profit art space Perla-Mode. Recently he has edited a comprehensive monograph with the artist duo Daniel Dewar & Grégory Gicquel titled "Body of Work" as well as a monograph titled "Magic Center" with artist Ade Darmawan.

Marc Bembekoff: Your artistic practice intertwines references to the late 19th century with very contemporary features and issues. What is the source of your interest in that era?

Lars Morell: I’m interested in the point where the overt visual language of that time meets the analytical approach of contemporary art. A lot of my source material refers to the beginning of something new, such as the Lumière Brothers’ first photographic trick, spirit photography and various early stage illusions, what were considered at the time revolutionary new inventions. So I time-travel back to those events, to when they were genuinely new and unexplainable, in order to create a melancholic atmosphere. I'm exploring this world of visuals and hope to rework them into pieces that can generate new ideas and experiences.

MB: I suspect that by injecting a kind of magic in your work, you create artworks dealing with the revelation of images. Do you think that the beauty or the strength of an image is directly related to this concept of revelation?

LM: The link to magic interests me because of the similarity between the illusionist or magician’s process and that of the artist. I’ve always sought to create works that function on different levels. In a way, with the Ink on Paper (2011) series, I am playing with how the spectator views the work and its composition, colors, shape and motif. The idea for this series came from seeing a poster in a shop window, from inside the shop. Because the light came from outside, I saw the poster rather vaguely, as a transparency. Like this, when analyzed, this series only partly reveals its motif, and I invite the viewer to decide what is hidden behind the image. I also deal with invisibility and the question of where a work begins and ends. In 2008, I made an installation entitled Ghost Work. After in-depth research on various artists who had dealt with the notion of invisibility throughout history, I was thinking about what to do with this archive. In the end, I decided to exhibit it in a pile, on the floor. All the documentation I’d collected about these beautiful works was installed as a kind of failure, or a vain attempt to gather information on the invisible. The work was partly hidden during the exhibition, but those who had a closer look recognized those familiar images. But the time I refer to, when the jugglers stepped from the street corner to the stage and put on a suit and top hat, always had a very technical aspect to it.

MB: There’s even a religious connotation, hinting at the way people believe in images. To me, your Ink on Paper series evokes the holy shroud of Turin, particularly through the viewer’s mental process as he or she contemplates these almost empty frames. Given that you were raised in Norway, where Protestantism has replaced ancient paganism, have you ever considered these series as connected to a kind of religious belief?

LM: I come from a part of Norway where the church stands stronger than in other areas, the Christian belief holds society together. I find a lot of inspiration in religion and the discussions that it can generate during a Sunday dinner. Somehow it always comes down to what boat you are in and what beliefs you have, very similar to discussing art. For me, the viewing experience is often connected with how the idea is materialized. For instance, the series Ink on Paper is comprised of windows onto something you cannot fully see, but can only imagine is there, at the back of the image. You are part of the image as well because of how you see your own reflection in the glass it is mounted in—as you would see it through a window.

MB: Your installations always place the visitor at the very heart of an experience in which he can participate. You like to create stories, or fragments of stories, while developing your work. How does fiction participate in the process of your research?

LM: I tend to establish the idea for the show, or the "parameters," if you like. There is a certain atmosphere I try to build that results from the decisions I’ve made along the way. Through this core, the show mostly builds itself up. It’s often a very intuitive process, but of course with a basis in the research I have undertaken. For instance, my installation, entitled Hotel Paris (2012), radically transformed the gallery in which it took place, converting it into a hotel lobby. The gallery itself was really small, but I imagined that the floors above it could be connected to the ground floor. For me, it is very poetic to think of an inspired artist returning to his/her hotel after a long day spent, for instance, installing a show, then doodling and sketching on hotel stationary picked up in the lobby. In addition to wallpaper, a reception desk, a carpet, a hat from which smoke escaped, and an absinthe fountain, I of course made serigraphs on this imaginary hotel stationary. I used the motifs that result from placing a wet glass on a piece of paper. These green stains, made by the absinth glasses, hinted at various images borrowed from my research on early illusionists’ tricks.

MB: If the exhibition could be considered as a stage for a magic trick—as in your project for the Palais de Tokyo, inspired by Giacomo della Porta’s optical effects—are you interested in deconstructing the illusion?

LM: I often think of the experience of visiting a museum as going to the theatre. Art on stage, and the audience moves around it. Even though there are other people in the space, you are kind of alone with the works as you walk around them, making up your story of connections among them. For instance, with Porta’s descriptions, I find it very fascinating that he revealed his tricks, or at least described them in a written document. In magic circles, it is typically very important to keep secrets about how magicians actually perform the tricks on stage. In this way, Porta was a traitor. I guess I am the same here.

MB: Like Brecht, who always reminds the spectator that he is merely looking at a staged fantasy, do you consider your installations as fake environments? Or are you focusing on a way of making them as real as possible?

LM: That was a clever way of limiting the audience’s expectations. Visitors are often more aware of their surroundings when entering a fake environment, as they don't know what to expect. I think that most people, when entering an exhibition space, want to be seduced or at least inspired in some kind of way; well aware that everything they see is carefully constructed to play with them under the given circumstances. Without being too pretentious, I like to think that my works appear in the space between the visitor and the work itself. It’s neither just the work nor just in the mind of the visitor; the work fully exists in a kind of vacuum in between the two. Having said that, I also think that feelings of disappointment or dissatisfaction can be quite powerful.

Lars Morell Born in 1980 in Kristiansand. Lives and works in Oslo. Graduated from the National Academy of Fine Arts in Oslo in 2005. Amongst his recent participations in group shows: “BYOB,” Palais de Tokyo (Paris, 2012); “No Base,” Vigeland-museet (Oslo, 2011); “Fiction,” Fondation d’Entreprise Ricard (Paris, 2010); “Cut Ups,” Centrum fur Fotograpfi (Stockholm, 2009);Nationalmuseum (Berlin, 2008).

-- "Porta’s Description," solo exhibition by Lars Morell as part of Modules – Fondation Pierre Bergé – Yves Saint Laurent, from 27/02/13 to 04/04/13, at the Palais de Tokyo.

Marc Bembekoff is a curator at the Palais de Tokyo.

LARS MORELL (NO) // MAID'S MEDIUM

23.10 - 13.11.2015

PROSJEKTROM NORMANNS, STAVANGER

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For the exhibition at Prosjektrom Normanns Morell worked module based, painting panels at his studio prior to mounting them as a grid on the walls of the project space. He also collected some silhouettes from his ongoing series Shadow Canvas (2012 - ). The silhouettes can represent rearranged still life, hung from the ceiling in ropes and chains, giving a reference to the upside-down stunt by illusionist and performer Houdini, noted for his sensational escape acts. The shapes of the silhouettes are composed by objects and apparatus used to seduce the audience during the grand era for illusionists, dating back to the early 1900s. Rather than being soft shadows on subdued canvas, Morell presented the silhouettes as black, solid contours, their shadows being cast upon the walls.

The installation is a fragment of interiors, or a stage of requisites. A touch of art deco flirts with hard edge painting. The monumental painting and the repeating grid pattern impose a meditative feel. The combination of a subtle backdrop and the more narrative sculptures, create a sort of vacuum at the same time as they actively interact and the audience wanders in-between.

But, there is something creaking. Could it be that some of the sources of inspiration affected the process?

Visually and thematically the project is a dive through the era of entertainment, from the time when clairvoyants and jesters wore their top hats whilst performing from a stage rather than on a street corner. Myths were about to be busted, the occult unmasked. Morell’s project at Prosjektrom Normanns consists of a rather complex and correlated material, full of anecdotes and fragments from a variety of sources. There is a conspicuous lack of obvious narrative, which in turn opens for a more personal composition of elements.

Morell is fascinated by the Lumiere brothers’ very first double exposure; by the fact that Robert Houdini began his professional career as a watchmaker; by the myth behind the help Leonora Piper received from her servant, and the scientific efforts and trials to disprove and unveil these seductive cheats. Without doubt, there is sincerity, as well as a touch of melancholy, to Morell’s take on the contemporary art scene through presenting and comparing it to the time when magic was real. Back then, as now, there is an ongoing debate figuring who actually has the ability, or who did come out first with an idea or invention. Spying eyes stare into each others’ workshops and studios.

The title, Maid’s Medium, is inspired by Leonora Piper, who held séances with William James (American Doctor, Psychologist and Philosopher) impressing him with some of the details he was given. However, it is said that a maid in the household of William James was friendly with a maid in Piper's house and that this may have been a channel of information that Piper used to obtain private details about James.

The chains used for the installation of the silhouettes represent the proverb “a chain is no stronger than its weakest link”, referring to the very fact that the mystique and true abilities of Piper were unveiled when James discovered Piper’s true source of information. There are no pre-drawn conclusions or blueprints for Morell’s project. You have to come and take a look. The artist can’t promise you anything.

LARS MORELL (BORN 1980, KRISTIANSAND) STUDIED AT NATIONAL ACADEMY OF FINE ART IN OSLO (2001 - 05). RECENT EXHIBITIONS INCLUDE PALAIS DE TOKYO, PARIS; MUHKA ANTWERPEN, FOUNDATION D’ENTERPRISE RICARD, PARIS; JEU DE PAUME, PARIS; GALERIE WENTRUP, BERLIN; CHOI & LAGER, KØLN; CINNAMON, ROTTERDAM AND KRISTIANSAND KUNSTHALL, KRISTIANSAND. HE HAS RECEIVED GRANTS AND AWARDS FROM POLLOCK-KRASNER FOUNDATION AND DEUTSCHE BÖRSE RESIDENCY PROGRAM, AMONGST OTHER, AND IS REPRESENTED IN SEVERAL PRIVATE AND PUBLIC COLLECTIONS.

PRESS RELEASE

‘Porta's Description'

Palais de Tokyo, Paris, France

Curated by Marc Bembekoff

Exhibition Dates: 27 February–4 April 2013

Opening Reception: Monday 25 February / 18:00

For his installation at the Palais de Tokyo, entitled 'Porta’s Description', Lars Morell envisions the exhibition space as a theatrical, illusionist space, somewhere between uncertainty and tangible proof, in which the works become mysterious theatrical props. The artist refers to an essay by Italian scientist Giambattista della Porta entitled 'How to see, in a room, things that aren’t there', published in 1558 in the volume Magia Naturalis. In this essay, he explains how one might, through optical illusions with reflective glass plates, produce apparitions and disappearances of silhouettes, an effect that flourished in the second half of the nineteenth century, when it was frequently employed by magicians. Palais de Tokyo's curator Marc Bembekoff states that ‘the work of Lars Morell has its roots in the artist’s wide-ranging curiosity, encompassing ancient scientific discoveries and cabinets of curiosities as well as pop music and magic shows. This modus operandi allows Morell to devise an analytic approach tinged with dreamlike, mystical touches. By instilling an element of magic, he creates installations in which illusions stimulate the spectators’ eyes and minds’.

About the artist: Lars Morell (b.1980 in Kristiansand, Norway, lives and works in Oslo, Norway) has since his graduation from Oslo National Academy of Fine Arts exhibited at Jan Wentrup, Berlin, Germany (2006); Jeu De Paume (2009) and Fondation d'entreprise Ricard (2010), Paris; France; Perla Mode, Zurich, Switzerland (2010) and the annual Autumn Exhibition, Kunstnernes Hus, Oslo (2011). In 2013 he received the Pollock-Krasner Foundation’s Grant. Recent exhibitions include ‘Hotel Paris’ at Galerie Nivet-Carzon, Paris and BYOB at Palais de Tokyo.