Marius Bodea – Ro / 1986.
GS. : You live and work in Cluj-Napoca Romania how does that work for you?
MB. : I live longer in the studio than everywhere else, everything happens here. If I had lived in Hong Kong, I would be living in the studio. The studio is with me, I have it in my head, even when I am not physically present. The disadvantage in Cluj, compared to other cities or cultural centers, is that you don’t have much to see – I mean exhibitions, that would be one of the disadvantages. I’d like to see a Baselitz, but I have nowhere to go.
GS. : Is painting still a valid medium these days, do you find it difficult to paint or it just comes natural?
MB. : I don’t think painting takes time into account. Even if new technologies are increasingly interfering with the artistic field, I believe that the death of oil painting announced almost a century ago is far from happening. Every work you start comes with new challenges, I’m always at the beginning. I rely more on intuition, on what I feel when I paint, than on a definitive template beforehand.
GS. : Where does the inspiration come from?
MB. : It is enough for a colleague or friend to enter the studio to activate me. I already see myself painting them, of course, if they have that something I’m looking for in a character. Recently, I visited a friend in Psychiatry, he was sitting on a bench in the park in front of the building, crossed legs, lost in the branches of the trees: it was exactly what I was looking for, and he – I am convinced – was looking for the same thing. The inspiration is just work and nothing else, I don’t expect miracles.
GS. : How do you choose your subjects, is it an intimate process or is more like logic and observation?
MB. : I see loads of people on the streets. I would paint some of them, others I wouldn’t, as they aren’t telling me anything – and it’s about choice or a kind of distant communication. I have a friend that I have painted dozens of times and I still haven’t exhausted the theme. The characters are like the light, they change all the time. I would draw a parallel with the static natures of Morandi – they are always the same objects, but the result is never the same. Something always changes: the light, an object is more deformed, a curved line.
GS. : It seems that the world is coming to an end, does that influence your process, or is just the same?
MB. : Of course I’m influenced about what is happening around me, and my characters convey this: an insecurity, a kind of stillness, which culminates in alienation, loss of meaning and identity. I am especially interested in how these characters feel and live, who in one way or another are me. This can be seen best in moments of silence, when you are actually forced to stop everything you do. Only when you stop you notice.
GS. : Your work seems as a premonition for the present, isolation, loneliness and lack of any clear intentions towards social interaction… does that validate your perspective over the world or am I being too pessimistic?
MB. : I don’t know, I’ve been told this before, I just paint what I see. This is how I see people – fallen in thought, lost in a labyrinth full of nightmares and anxieties. My most recent exhibition took place in Cluj, at White Cuib, a very intimate space, just before the pandemic, and it folded exactly on what was to come. Now I don’t know if it was a premonition or not. Flammarion would have said yes.
GS. : How much time do you spend in the studio, do you go there every day?
MB. : Almost every day, I go in the morning and stay until the evening. I can’t stay away from the studio for too long, it’s like any addiction, this is where I find myself and I lose myself. The studio is not my second home, but my first.
GS. : Do you listen to music when you work ore you prefer silence?
MB. : My studio is in a former communist factory, I am on the top floor and cars are always heard in the yard, due to the car services. To reduce the noise, I listen to music or radio theater. Sometimes I can’t stand to hear anything, but silence has become a luxury nowadays.
GS. : You paint a lot of figures, people standing on a sofa or on chair is that a real place and are these real people, like friends maybe, visiting you in your studio?
MB. : All the characters are real, as well as the place where they sit. I start by making a quick drawing in pencil, on which I write down some things, after the actual process begins, which is much slower.
GS. : Thank you!
Eugen Rosca – Ro. / 1988.
G.S. : I don’t really know you, except from your works, so how do you go by these days? I would assume you are a solitary person, but maybe am wrong.
E.R. : I could generally pass as an introvert but I also like networking and love spending time with people. Depending on the case, I either listen or talk more, whatever fits best.
G.S. : You started your career early 2014 with a show called “Knifes Seller„ at an important gallery, Plan B (Berlin), how did that happen?
E.R. : Yes I’ve got some pretty memories out of this short chapter. I was still a student when, trough a friend, I ended up visiting the Paintbrush Factory which was an art hub in its early inception. There were a few galleries a few artists gathered there so I had the chance to blend in. From there on I tied up some connections and started to work in art production for a couple artists and galleries. I would help them with making of the artworks per se and assisted with installing the shows.
One of the galleries I worked with was Plan B. I don’t know for how long we did this, 2-3 years maybe? After this period I took a brake and tried oil painting (for the first time). In about 4 to 6 months I got a visit from Mihai Pop (the gallery director). He liked what he saw and invited me to show the works in Berlin. And we did…with a positive outcome.
It’s not only Plan B that should be mentioned. I did two solo shows at Suprainfinit. I think it was 2015 when I got a studio visit by Suzana Vasilescu (gallery director at Suprainfinit), we instantly clicked and kept a tight connection since then. Needless to say that the patience and financial investment this gallery made in order to present these two solo shows is remarkable. The very few people that are closely involved in my production can confirm: I have a subtle tendency of frying their brain.
G.S. : It was always about painting or you have/had other relevant interests towards different mediums, like music or poetry etc.?
E.R. : I have an interest for programming, computers and technology in general.
G.S. : I like your work, not sure I fully understand it…you seem to refer a lot to different moments in the same time in art history and also to your personal history, so what is actually your work about?
E.R. : I don’t get bothered by uncertainty in art. I’ll call it a typical situation of combining information you have at hand with what resurfaces from the subconscious (trained on your biography).
G.S. : Do you find inspiration in other painters?
E.R. : I’m agnostic.
G.S. : Are you making a lot of studies/sketches before you start a painting or the composition comes fluently from one corner to another?
E.R. : I did things in various ways in the beginning. Now I only make one digital rendition of the painting (so digital painting) as a prototype and then I paint it physically (usually oil on wood). I don’t find trial and error to be an appealing practice (in painting).
G.S. : There is certain stillness in your work, in contrast with today’s rhythm, does time stand still when you make a work?
E.R. : The technique in its self it’s quite surgical, precision oriented. I don’t like the happy accidents approach. I can’t say it’s a rule but some works have a pretty vague description of the temporal space. You can’t pinpoint when the image (not the actual painting but the image seen as time) first formed, it’s open for interpretation. Altogether in relation with time, the idea of being a very busy man that does nothing brings me satisfaction.
G.S. You refer also to beauty in your paintings, even indirectly, is that important for a work to be beautiful or not?
E.R. : No idea…I guess the amplitude of your perception is directly proportional with your capacity and enthusiasm of analyzing what you have in front of you. I would use the above ratio under this circumstance. It’s not that abstract after all, you can link it to a quite well known concept when it comes to aesthetics: the golden ratio. Let’s call our ratio the platinum one. In the end the full aesthetic spectrum should be up for consideration. Although it becomes debatable what relevance painting would have in a scenario like that? Otherwise I believe its common sense that painting has its reason, function, and intrinsic value relative to our civilization.
G.S. : Would you prefer to have lived sometime in the past as a painter, when painting was more of a slow process?
E.R. : I would rather time-travel but if that’s not an option I would choose the future. Last man on Earth or whatever we’ll become if we consider an alternative where technology advances us to a realm of existance that we can’t currently grasp. Although it becomes debatable what relevance painting would have in a scenario like that? Otherwise I believe its common sense that painting has its reason, function, and intrinsic value relative to our civilization.
G.S. : Thank you!