“I grew up on a kiwi fruit farm, so I was always surrounded by tractors, mud and hay bales. I am used to working with the ground. That kind of practical connection to the land has stayed with me and is a part of how I work now.
For years I was travelling, snowboarding, moving from one slope to the next. I never really found a place in cities. But when I visited my sister in the Netherlands in the 2000s, I fell in love with this country and I decided to stay. Amsterdam felt livable to me, with its parks and bikes. It was during that time that I realised I wanted to make art. It was also because I didn’t want to have to obey anyone and within art I felt like I could reclaim my own sovereignty. Which is why I ended up applying to the Rietveld, simply because I didn’t want to obey anyone anymore.
At Rietveld I tried all kinds of things, from video and drawing to installation. I invented an alter ego, the compost fairy queen, who wandered around Beatrixpark at night. I made a dress out of broken red bike lights I collected. It felt completely free. I wasn’t trying to be anything for anyone, I was just trying to understand how to be with myself.
I did a short stint at DAI in 2009, directly after finishing my bachelors, but it was too much. I wasn’t ready for a master's. Many years later I found my way to the Frank Mohr Institute in Groningen, where they offered me a studio. That was a turning point. I had worked with textiles for years yet had not considered them “Art”; I was making big quilts and textile drawings. A fellow student looked at my pencil drawings and asked if I sewed. I said yes and she encouraged me to bring my sewing machine to my studio, which I did.
That was around the time my father died. I made a piece from his old work shirts, an ode to him, and it became a totem in my studio. I realised I could draw with the sewing machine, and I realised textiles could be art. It felt amazing to have found that freedom.
My work now is about questions that keep returning. What does sovereignty really mean? Not just in a political sense, but as a way of living. I want to propose something different. Life is too big for all the categories we try to force it into and we need something to shake that up.
Textiles are my main material and flags play an important role in my practice. I love that flags carry meaning just by existing. Raising a flag is an act, and especially a political one. It is a medium that always performs. My paintings are linked to the body. They show something that’s happening in me, but that also has collective value.
Performance has become a big part of my work. Since 2017 I’ve been working with a conductor, (Jan Verbogt) and our performances are largely improvised. We never quite know what’s going to happen. That’s important to me. I don’t like following recipes. It feels dishonest. I’d rather respond to what’s real in the moment. That’s where something true can emerge.
Farm Art is a natural continuation of my practice. I started it because I wanted to offer something real and human, especially for people coming from the city, and simultaneously it informs me as a person and as an artist.
Farm Art is a place where I offer artists space for a artists in residence (AIR). Artists are encouraged to slow down, get bored, and cleanc out the noise from the city. I believe boredom can stimulate creativity. Some people need to lie in the sun for a week, and that’s okay. Doing nothing can be the most creative act of your life. I don’t put conditions on what people should do here. Everyone comes with different needs and they bring something to the table. The place does something to you. It has shaped me, both as an artist and a person. It keeps me active and tuned in to the elements. The residency was partly inspired by a rural AIR space in Bulgaria called Tsarino. There, I had to work with whatever was available. That spirit really stuck with me, art is making do with what there is and this attitude is very empowering in a way that you could never get in the city.
Running a residency is not easy as building this place takes time and a lot of effort, which I need help with as well. I do a lot of the physical work myself, like plumbing and setting up water systems for the garden. I grew up with those kinds of tasks, they make me feel strong. They’re part of the work.
Sometimes I don’t fully know why I’m doing this. I just know it makes me happy to see people doing creative things. I’m not sure what I’m investing in. It’s not about career ambition. It’s about life. If we can be okay with ourselves, maybe that’s what really changes things.”
ℹ️ Curious about Farm Art and how to book an Artist in Residence?
🌐 Find more information on our open calls page. 👉 Open calls for artists
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