In your works, it is predominant the influence of Surrealism. It almost seems like you are depicting ethereal dreams, where the characters find themselves in a quest to be completed. The movement of Surrealism focuses on the idea of depicting dreams, realities that could only exist in the mind and in the subconscious. Especially in ‘A Fugue’, the creature struggles to find a light, a way of escaping the purgatory. This can be interpreted as a way of escaping reality or, paradoxically, a journey into the discovery of the inner self, the unconscious mind. Do you think that there could be any connection here?

No-one can make an image or a film without dealing with illusions and unconsciousness. The moment you make a decision you are making a subject, and thus universes in image and sound are purely subjective worlds. I am attracted to poetical, sensorial, and paradoxical worlds exclusive to image and sound. A mind reads them primordially, but they are never just purely products of the mind, the physical process outside is as equally nourishing. I resonate with worlds that exist in a mirage between mind and matter, what is invisible but perceived. Both sound and image mediums tell projected realities, I don’t ever feel that reality can ever be objective, which is why I love Surrealism. My influence and love for surrealism needs no explanation, for me it is a timeless expression. Yet, I feel there’s a common misconception that surrealism is just a movement – a mark in history, and while the foundations proposed by Breton remain highly inspiring for my aesthetics and process (even if I find him very problematic), surrealism has existed longer than its name. For me surrealism is a form of life, a form of creation. Surrealism is a liberation through form, matter, and cosmos in paradoxes – which the laws of nature have always been filled with. Through a frame an eye is not only a point of view, but a point of dimension and cosmos. I like to create worlds which engage primarily with places which exist in discrete, often ephemeral moments residing within the metaphysics of spaces. I treat my characters like places, in a frame dimension landscapes are just as lively and personal. In the reality of the frames’ abstractions: a shape or a figure is subject to equal transformation – people who understand themselves through the tools of transformation, which is what I find myself returning to in liminal and surreal contexts, the tools are within every associations, an image is always pregnant with another. In ‘A Fugue’, I wanted to explore an abstract characters’ journey (‘abstract’ because they could be anyone) through the liminality of space and cycles. There is definitely a connection of a desire to reach what is inaccessible in creativity, I think that is at the core of many’s search, something unattainable, which by attempting regardless of failure or success ultimately leads to a transformation by attempting. I think this is the unconscious human quest. My art has a huge element of discovery, when I am making a photo or film I am always going to find outdoor locations, often alone. Although I think that my work tends to be about multiple selves rather than one mind, a collective network of dreamers, a place that can only exist outside of the mind, I would never say that Surrealism is about a purely mindful creation, there is a shared alchemy in a creative landscape which is inherently open to surrealism.

Both in the films ‘Keratin’ and ‘Candle’, the element of motherhood/womanhood is heavily present. ‘Keratin’ revolves around the idea of a lost child who tries to reconnect to two other bodies via a thread of hair that emerges from the mouth. Moreover, ‘Candle’ narrates about a woman trapped in an “infinitely burning waiting room”. In the short film, she embarks on a journey of harmonisation with space and her inescapable destiny through a waltz. Is there any reason why you chose these characters and themes as subjects of these works?

I welcome the reading of womanhood in my art, as you pointed out there’s a lot of associations to draw from in both films. I have been very inspired by artists who consciously explore surrealism from the feminine perspective like Penny Slinger and Jane Arden, but I never consciously think about womanhood, or even gender when making art. I have noticed that I happen to work a lot with female crews in my projects, there is no preference. In most cases, there is an attempt to make a space or world which is genderless, in dreams I feel that gender is a plasticity, which is crucial for me when dealing with the abstraction of experience. We are ultimately a body, this is shared between us, what makes us unique is our experience, which have their own characters and universes, but I think that ultimately in our most abstract form we and art are genderless. I am excited by the body as a shape, it’s an abstraction, a memory, and a landscape in an image. The body is an inherently abstract entity, because it is not an actual body but a memory of one. What you do by framing the body is explore it as an image realm, and so I view my characters and stories like this. This inspired my decision to have featureless or masked characters as my subjects. I think there is a certain abstract engagement one gains when they perceive the body as a metaphysical character – characters who in a way are more realistic than humans, because they exist through all abstract universes of artifice.

How does your process of creating a performance work? What comes into your mind? I feel you could approach the work in different ways if the media changes; could you talk about that?

In the process of making, I generally tend to work with an ambience and image in mind, there’s a lot more trust for the materials than the meaning, because I don’t believe a piece needs to mean anything – an idea in all its abstraction creates through resonance, everything is a process including your life. The process is a nature unto itself that must be respected and let to go its way, many refuse to give explanations to their work because the process always possesses such autonomy. I believe that the narrative of a piece continues with time and process once released from the hands of the maker. The narratives create entirely new responses and associations – which even the maker is susceptible to. I have often found myself returning to an idea that had been left to become an entirely different animal with time and association, like leaving a plant to grow. Ideas and associations nourish within the progression of the intuitive through-line of creation, which can sometimes be very clear from the start or remain as ambiguous as they began. My processes are always about discovering, I always look for a project to take me on a journey, making a film for instance is always a huge commitment, engaging with film always transforms my routine, so I find making films healing. I have learnt the most from film, because the sensibilities of all mediums are tapped into film. For me, film, image, sound, and performance are essentially the same stream of medium. In a film I am often rehearsing movements like I would in a performance, engaging my body as a live tool, as much as I am with documenting and capturing performances into stills. What I find different is that photography and performance have more spontaneity than film, and so I sometimes trial an idea in a performance or photograph, to then refine it in a film. One recent instance was with my recent performance ‘Elegy of Decay’ which has transformed into a photo series. The mediums speak to each other, I am always contemplating ideas and concepts visually and sensorially, because image and ambience always come first. The aspect I concentrate on most is composition – I like to draw on the personality of the frame, to create a sense of world, time, and cosmos. In the specific case of performance, the composition needs to work in real-time, as we are dealing with a physical space which changes depending on where the performance is staged, and so there’s more room for chance and encounter, yet I am excited to work within more controlled environments in the future. In the more stationary performances like ‘Elegy of Decay’, I often treat rehearsals like elaborate statue games, where I ask a performer to remember a shape, and to paint a landscape with their body. The body is your tool, and so the frame of the body becomes a more intense subject in performing, and so you focus more on internalised processes, which liveness allows for. It’s also a medium which is built more into abstraction due to the restrictions of what can be achieved in a live space, which is always good for me, as I love sometimes making the worlds and boundaries entirely abstract or impressionist elements. I find that a good chunk of my process is initiated from self-doubt, my ideas tend to proceed once I have materials or objects in a place, this in itself is my motivation for discovery within the process. When I first started dancing and performing I was in awe of the means of energy sculpting that takes place in rehearsing a choreography, it’s an entirely unique sense of control – there’s a knowingness also that maybe unlike film and photography that I will often not have complete control over light and sound. Perhaps more than most mediums, I and my crew are most vulnerable to the shape of the space we end up performing in. So, there is a lot more release than control, but you use control to guide release. As a performer you have to allow yourself to adapt or be guided by energies, this has been the case for me in my performances due to the small time I have been given to perform. That being said, one element which always frustrates me as a visual-thinker is the scarceness of documentation in performances. I always try to get a videographer or photographer involved, there’s a tendency for theatre to be lost and preserved only as memory by those fortunate enough to see it. As someone who has working-memory, I always like to reflect on how a piece was staged at the period, how it was made, what were our circumstances, and how that performance could be improved, shaped, or continued in future projects. I can appreciate the inherent value an ephemeral moment has locked behind a description or a still, and have experienced some performances that speak more as experiences, but a performance is always a document of its time and needs to be preserved at least for me. I am hoping that for future performances that there is more of a crossing between film and performance, because these are such concrete worlds you create in your body and movements.

Your works, in terms of light, usually revolve around dark tones. Is there a specific reason why you use this colour palette? Your images, instead, are quite different. Why the sudden change of aesthetic?

You cannot have vivid bright palettes without darkness in their dimension. I think the range of a palette depends on where one sees, the sky is as bright as it can be dark, I have always looked at both in the same place, it’s where you set your tone. I have always loved dim and faded palettes, so I don’t think this is a change as it is a return, I think if anything I have become more garish with my monochrome this time around, as much as I hope to be with colour in future pieces. The visual contrast is never something I consciously contemplate, each image is its own world. I think I always respond directly to the themes and tones, I try to find the palette which best translates what I resonate the idea with in tone and emotion. In my recent work there’s more emphasis on void, which I find fittingly translates to dimmer palettes, but ultimately for me it’s the same world which I have always been attracted to. My work is attracted to spaces which connect associations which are inherently melancholic, surreal, and liminal – monochromes and dim palettes happen to work perfectly with the tone of the recent images I have captured. I initially shot in monochrome due to my insecurities of colour, but I think that dim lights and faded palettes grant an image a great textural memory in their dark tones. However, that is not to say I won’t return to garishness, as a matter of fact I am very excited to explore more garish palettes in future films, as I don’t feel my films have tapped into the same spirit and palettes as much as my photography. Lighting and tone are the most important and enabling aspects of image-making for me, because they are responsible for the emotional palette an image can articulate. Lighting has saved so many images as well as equally dampening others, a light and tone sculpt a space. Due to being reliant on tone, there is a lot of sensitivity, especially for me when wanting to tell abstract and metaphysical stories and emotions. I am attracted to how light creates liminality in a subject. Light plays an integral part in the psychology of creating dreamscapes, especially when you allow darkness or a visual grey area. I love images which have space, whether it be the grain, negative space, or shadows, they give an area for people to connect their imagination, fusing the viewers’ psychology with the image. I find that the phosphenes in my eyes generally resemble grain, so I am always viewing my images as mnemonics from my mind. Low lights are more susceptible to this dimension of visual and oneiric resonance. Because darkness is a sort of mirage, inside darkness you can imagine anything – your phosphenes gather mnemonic images in darkness. There is a conscious attempt with my imagery to push for this mnemonical side of light. I am very inspired by the methods of the puppeteers at the Puppet Barge, they deliberately make their puppets featureless to allow the light to sculpt more dynamic expressions in the character, for them the shadows and dark tones are like evocative faces. That being said, I can understand your point of view, there is a statistical tendency I have noticed for many to opt for darker palettes, but on my part I have never felt as if I have separated my world, this is not at all a conscious decision and more of happenchance of what is resonating with me currently in tones and textures.