Lena Marie Emrich (Göttingen, 1991) is a German artist living between Brussels and Berlin. In her artistic practice, a combination of sculptural, textual and performative elements coexist to trigger a reflection on architectural and social space.
Andrea Bardi: Starting from your artistic background, when did you feel the need to create?
Lena Marie Emrich: In my practice, I like to strengthen intuition and hypersensitivity. I enjoy manipulating our feelings toward time to work against this infinite availability we perceive as society. Because of that, my objects have a minimalist approach with a certain depth that can be discovered if we allow ourselves to go beyond the obvious.
At what age did you move to Berlin? Where did you study? And how was the social and cultural context of Berlin instrumental in the development of your practice?
I moved to Berlin in my early twenties. The city was vibrant, with many spaces for projects and a good underground music community. I chose the Weißensee Academy because it is based on Bauhaus principles and the different departments are in constant dialogue. I like to see art practice as a place to exchange knowledge, whether between designers, artisans, or scientists.
Motor racing, speed and tuning are at the heart of your work. How did you approach this particular culture?
I like to use the portrait of a man tuning a car as a symbol. Most people tend to associate it with macho behavior. What I experienced when I entered the tuning scene was that most people are driven to an object in a way not far from the definition of a contemporary artist. Tuning can be read as an act of endless dedication. I think there is a certain beauty and value hidden here.
Infinity Drift (2018) and A Total Burnout (2019) are works in which the car seems to lose its function. Can operations like these be read as reflections on the futility of the concept of progress?
In these works, I use the car as a tool, not as a symbol. In Infinity Drift we witness a car painting an infinite lace on the ground with cyan pigmented tires, leaving traces of pink in the air and on the ground. The video is taken from a drone slowly flying upward; this opposing motion results in a manipulation of our perception of time. In A Total Burnout, the car disappears in seconds in a blue cloud produced by burnout. I worked with the sensation immediately perceived by observers. The thrill, the effect, the adrenaline; something normally seen only on the screen, not in real life.
At a certain time, travel was made difficult by the restrictions due to the pandemic. The sky enters the scene, as well as airplanes or, rather, the windows of some aircraft models. Your trip to the Agafay desert in North Africa dates back to the COVID-19 period. To what extent did such an experience influence the subsequent development of your works?
In 2020 I opened the show Mainly Fair Later at Kunstverein Göttingen, which examined a specific longing as well as a certain stability through the sky. A new series was an abstraction of airplane windows; within the layered surface, the observer would encounter engravings of the human touch, as traces of the front of a person falling asleep leaning against the cold surface or someone’s fingerprint pointing towards a sunset. During the artist residency in the Agafay Desert, curated by Roxaine Alaime, being in the desert had a great impact on how I perceive the colors and movement of light. Radical landscapes help you relate to the world more sincerely. The program aims to create allyships with local artisans.
In your solo show in Berlin Soft Cruelties, the travel theme is linked to mass tourism. On that occasion, you created an installation with a parasol and a sword. Is this a reference to the ‘conquest’ of the most sought-after holiday destinations?
At the show at Kunstverein am Rosa-Luxemburg-Platz in Berlin the combination of marquetry and sculptures creates its little cosmos reflecting on contemporary topics such as mass tourism. The whole exhibition illustrates the bittersweetness one experiences when being the tourist. An example may be claiming temporary territory by stabbing a parasol in the sand or placing a towel early in the morning over a sunbed at the poolside to secure a seat in the front row.
Mass tourism, in Italy, is mainly associated with great art cities. I think of Rome, but mainly of Venice, a city that inspired The Darkest Corners. What are the “dark corners” of the town? And how did you decide to enhance them?
In 2023, with curator Marlene A. Schenk, we faced a very particular architectural anomaly in Venice: stone or metal forms made to prevent theft. Over the centuries, the forms have evolved to prevent people from urinating in corners. The sculpture series is a reinterpretation of these forms with glass, resonating with the Venetian lagoon and the Murano glass industry, relieving so-called dark corners and a forgotten piece of ancient history.
In your recent solo exhibition Brace Brace, the sleek sculptures bear traces of life missing in your past works, just as the awareness of death was probably less explicit. To what are these changes due to, if any at all?
Today we live in uncertain times where being in transit has many faces, the exhibition is symbolic of this feeling. The Back Seat series consists of sculptures that resemble airplane tables and neutral objects that, reconstructed and with the addition of personal items, become more intimate. In the photos, performer Bianca LeeVasquez recites the Brace, a pose performed during airplane emergencies. Looking closer, we see that Bianca is in her private studio. The act itself is a paradox: if one performs this position, the chances of survival remain absurdly low.
In conclusion, about your residence at Villa Lena, what atmosphere did you breathe, and what kind of projects did you get to work on during your stay?
Villa Lena is a mystical place, a safe place to recharge and rest the creative mind. I was very inspired by the multidisciplinary approach. We each had our own studios, but spent the evenings discussing art and music over communal meals. During my stay, I researched the ancient brick technique. Together with my artist friend Bianca LeeVasquez, we visited regional workshops and created our cat jumps, an ancient form of ventilation window made of terracotta bricks. In our version, we covered the bricks with a blue glaze and highlighted the artisans’ fingerprints with small metal details to emphasize regional traditions.
English translation by Costanza Ragazzini
Info:
Graduated in Conservation of Cultural Heritage, he is currently attending the master’s degree course in Visual Arts at the University of Bologna. He is part of the team that manages a well-known cultural dissemination blog and is also a contributor for Juliet Art Magazine. He believes in art as a space for recovering a lost complexity.
NO COMMENT