Nest Tarik Kiswanson

Nest
Tarik Kiswanson
04 ABR 2023 - 18 JUN 2023
Curaduría: Magalí Arriola
→ Patio
¡HOY!
The work of Tarik Kiswanson (Halmstad, Sweden, 1986) explores moments and spaces of transition that often become milestones in human lives: the passage from childhood to adolescence, the displacement from one context to another, the fluctuation of territories and geopolitical borders, as well as transformative phenomena such as nomadism, diaspora and migration.
Nest brings together a series of pieces that engage in dialogue with the architecture of the museum, with its lighting and its vestibules and thresholds. Essentially participatory, the artist’s practice also seeks to build metaphorical bridges between the work and the spectator by activating—and fracturing—the reflective surface of his sculptures to tackle notions such as selfhood and detachment.

In both form and concept, your practice adheres to the “poetics of relation” as Édouard Glissant expressed in his poems and essays. This fixation can be traced back to your own experience as the son of parents who emigrated from Palestine to Sweden, as well as other experiences of transition in a personal and cultural sense.
Your work in itself has a transdisciplinary quality where you travel from the written word, to the sculpted piece and the act of performance. How do you think that the poetics and ethics of thinking and acting relationally operate in your process as you move from one medium to another?

I often use the word cosmology to speak of my different families of works. As to say that a single work isn’t a fixed or isolated idea but always exist in relation to other works. I don’t feel limited to one specific medium, because it isn’t the choice of medium itself that I am concerned with but rather how ideas can assemble in space. I don’t strive to work in a “transdisciplinary” way, its rather the subjects that lay at the heart of my practice that move me in different directions. 

Though my art and writing do not co-exist together in a literal sense, they are both very important to me. As a student I felt the need to make art because words seemed insufficient, I felt that through art I could reach depths impossible to attain with words. This was also the period I discovered the work of Glissant. Many of the words he employs to speak of the world like opacity, transparency, weave, or trembling had a very visceral effect on me and particularly on my work in sculpture. The idea of the weave was not just a metaphor to think of the world, but the word also resonated profoundly with my own condition, my own reality and existence. I do think that when we are borderless in our thinking, when guided not by the medium itself but by our experience of living, new language is possible. This language inevitably carries many layers.

Rather than conceiving identity as something static, you are interested in articulating a fluid ‘politics of identity’ that personal, cultural, and political collisions are constantly feeding. What would you say is the role of perception here? And why do you think the visual arts are a fertile space for this exploration (if you do)?

The way we often reduce people to nationality, community, gender, and race often makes me feel uncomfortable. Certainly, because I feel like my own existence cannot be resumed to one simple definition. I have been shaped by many contradictory things. I see the self as a highly unstable entity, always subject to change and redefinition. We are in constant states of metamorphosis. We live in relation to each other but also in relation to time. While we try to understand where we come from by looking to the past, the present constantly reshape us. This instability of the self is something I constantly come back to in my writing and my work as an artist. 

As I mentioned earlier, Glissant uses very formal words, always linked to perception, to speak of identity and the world. This was something I also took with me into sculpture. In my work the body is never complete but blurred, fragmented, shattered even elevated. We are constantly incomplete, always in the making. I try to make work that reflect this. 

In my metal works everything becomes part of the artwork: the spectator looking at the work, the surrounding architecture and the everchanging light of the day constantly transform the work which exists only in relation to everything that surrounds it. 

Inside a Father Form we see ourselves reflected infinitely, and when activated the border between our own body and work becomes a blur.

Delving into a question on form, think there is a certain ambivalence in the tangible nature of your pieces. On the one hand, they show themselves as simple, reduced to the most essential forms and elements; while, on the other hand, there appears to be an imminent porosity to them, for example their edges were never clearly defined from the space that surrounds them. How do you think that simplicity and complexity relate to each other?

Through sparse language I try to obtain an openness, something vast. I think of how the one and same form, like our bodies, can inhabit a multitude of layers. To create works that resist simple categorization. Forms that have no final destination nor a closed definition but are constantly in transit. I think of how a multitude of reference move inside the same reduced form and how this gives birth to many different interpretations. It’s the perceptive effects that interest me. How sculpture can alter our relationship to the world and to our own bodies. 

There seems to be a constant search in your practice -sometimes literal, sometimes metaphorical, sometimes both- for the original source: the seed, the cocoon, the essence, the point zero. Nonetheless, rather than identifying this origin as a particular point in time and space, you seem to conceive the origin as a vessel through which we dwell in a word of ‘infinite difference’. Could you expand on this idea?

Art and life are not two separate entities, what you see in my art is the result of my own trajectory, my own multicultural condition. I operate in a grey zone, somewhere in between the western society I was born into and the culture I carry within myself, passed on to me by my parents. The question of loss has always been a driving force in my work. I think of words like rootlessness or memory loss. Though the word inevitably relates to notions of pain, it also speaks of the necessity to regenerate: To possibly find what’s been lost and if impossible, rebuild. This is why the subject of rebirth is so important to me. I think of this notion through the prism of migration. I think of my own condition and that of my parents. It is through the void produced by loss that I navigate and create work.  

The idea is not to “search for an original source.” It’s quite the contrary: make evident the impossibility of one common original source. To create a body of work that is “transparent”, levitating above or below simple definitions. The sculpture Nest moves, as you mention, between many different interpretations. It hosts many different ideas and must carry on doing so.