TRANSGRESSING REALITY
In his striking oil-on-canvas paintings, oscillating between sophistication and absurdity, MICHAËL BORREMANS reflects on the contemporary human condition. Fluent in the vocabulary of Old Masters, the Belgian artist reconsiders formats and genres from the history of painting to evoke the anxieties of modernity. Fascinated by a centuries-old desire to depict an image of reality by reconstructing it, Borremans diverts this notion through his staging methods and use of eccentric dress, situating it in another realm. In doing so, he prioritizes nuanced psychological and romantic impacts over naturalistic tendencies. A couple of days after the opening of his new solo exhibition A Confrontation at the Zoo at the Museum Voorlinden in Wassenaar, Netherlands, the artist sat down with us to talk about his approach to figurative painting, recent experimentations with sculpture, and his cameo in Luca Guadagnino’s new film, Queer.
Left The Lid, 2011, Michaël Borremans, oil on canvas, collection museum Voorlinden
I wanted to start by asking you about something from outside of your practice. Recently, you appeared in a small cameo in Luca Guadagnino’s latest film, Queer. What made you want to participate in this project?
The film was shot in Rome and I took advantage of the occasion – there are always things you can see there and I thought it would be an interesting break. On top of that, I knew the film was going to be shot on the film sets of Cinecittà, and I was very curious to see the process of building them because the way they did it was very old-fashioned. It was like old Hollywood cinema, the way that Hitchcock was working, for instance. So it was fascinating to see and very educational for me.
What’s been your biggest takeaway from seeing how Luca’s film was made?
Seeing the stages being built on such a large scale because I also do that sometimes in my work, although in a much smaller way. I have previously also visited [large] Hollywood studios like Paramount and Warner Brothers, but the way they did it in Cinecittà was incredibly charming.
I first got to see your work in person last summer during your show at David Zwirner London, and I was really struck by the dichotomy of sophistication and absurdity in your paintings. What is it about that contrast that you find intriguing?
I’m very intrigued by how in the visual culture of the West, we try to give an image of reality by reconstructing it. This has been happening for centuries; in medieval times, in Gothic art, in Renaissance art, there has always been this tendency to give an example of what the world looks like, or should look like, by rebuilding it in an image. For example, with elements of nature like plants, we still make drawings to clearly depict what they look like because they are so hard to photograph. Also, on movie and TV sets, they build environments that look like reality. So [for me] it’s all about exploring the concept behind the process of reconstructing reality in order to show it. That was a big pull for doing Queer – I was fond of the idea that everything would be staged and I wanted to see that.
The Egg, 2007-2010, oil on canvas, collection museum Voorlinden, picture by Peter Cox
That level of sophistication I mentioned comes in large part from the costumes that you “put” on your subjects. Why do you think that dress is a good storytelling tool for you in your practice?
The clothing that I use in the paintings is another element to provoke some kind of detachment from a very literal, anecdotic reality. It is also reminiscent of painted fabrics in the history of painting. I create one that is a bit different and touches us from the real world. Some clothing that I use is very mundane, like in the portrait I did titled The Witch – it’s just a guy wearing an everyday sweater. But it’s the title of the work that provokes the detachment. You could see it as a very naturalistic work but elements like that make it sit in another reality, or another realm. That’s also the reason why I paint. Painting is a very non-transparent medium – you always get multiple [pieces of] information. You’re dealing with an image, but also with the fact that it’s a painting, it’s an artefact. It’s about imagination and subconsciousness. It has very little to do with a narrative about some naturalistic or real event. It’s a transgression of reality. I make these decisions very intuitively so sometimes it’s hard to explain them. But it’s interesting when I’m pushed to try to analyse what I’m doing. So it’s very educational for me to think about it. [Laughs]
Right The Monkey, 2023, collection museum Voorlinden
You’re learning about it as you go along.
Yeah, it’s a reversed process. It’s very interesting.
The detachment in your works is also palpable through the fact that often, the subjects in your paintings are looking away or they’re in a pensive and sombre mood. Is this detachment a sign of our times?
In the portraits, the subjects don’t really avoid the viewer’s eye, it’s not about that. But if they would look [directly] at the viewer then you get a very traditional portrait, and immediately, you are confronted with the psyche of the sitter. And that’s not what I’m interested in. I use formats (like a portrait) and genres from the history of painting and try to divert them, or even pervert them sometimes. I try to twist them to give them a different psychological, even romantic effect. There’s always a reflection on our visual culture in my paintings. First, I try to access my own psyche and personality, and secondly, reflect on today’s world. It’s [often] a reflection of the anxiety that we have today about events happening [all around the world]. I suffer a lot from the digital world, I think it’s very inhumane because we lose touch with reality, with the outside and with each other. I’m truly grateful that I got to experience the analogue world and that I’ve seen both worlds. It’s not about nostalgia, but the digital stuff comes with a certain kind of anxiety. It’s used in warfare, it’s used to manipulate… But of course, you cannot withhold or stop progress. My work is also about reflecting, very implicitly, on the tensions in the world surrounding the “cannibalistic” nature of the economic system or the oversaturation of all the news. I think that it’s much easier to see how the works are reflecting the environment if you go back in time. When you’re in the middle of it, it’s like being in the middle of the storm. It’s only when the storm has passed that we’re able to see what happened [clearly].
Left Fire from the Sun (Four Figures), 2017, oil on canvas, collection museum Voorlinden, picture by Peter Cox
Right Fire from the Sun, 2017, oil on canvas, collection museum Voorlinden, picture by Peter Cox
I read that you have recently tried out working in California because you found it simultaneously fascinating and repulsive. How do you look back on that experience?
Well, I was considering staying there for a longer while but I actually didn’t find it so inspiring after all. There’s the film industry and the superficiality of that… Also, when it comes to the outside, there’s the glam, the colours, the blue sky, but it’s a boring place. People are very isolated, only connecting when it comes to business or work. And they also have very large footprints on the environment: they drive electric cars but they have swimming pools that are constantly heated. There are air purifiers everywhere, things like that.
[Laughs]
It’s very funny. It’s tragic but it’s also funny. Also, Las Vegas is totally repulsive. [Laughs] There is nothing fascinating about that place, it’s the ugliest place in the world. [Laughs] I had to leave right away, I spent there only one night.
So, it’s really bad! I’ve never been.
You should see it once. But only for one day. That said, I would like to go back to America and admire its nature in places like Montana.
But you’re much happier in Ghent…
Well, I have my home here and my daughter. But I’m considering moving to Italy someday. I feel like a proper European, like I’m rooted in Europe. I could live anywhere in the western part of Europe. I like Switzerland. I like France. I like Italy. I like Spain. I also like Sweden.
Maybe you can ask Luca for some ideas about where to go.
Yeah. I’ve been to Italy many times and I think one day, I will buy a house there. But I have to fall in love with a place first. I look at real estate from time to time, but I’m not in a hurry.
Right Large Rocket, 2019, oil on canvas, collection museum Voorlinden, picture by Peter Cox, courtesy of Zeno X Gallery, Antwerp
You said somewhere previously that you have a fetish for real estate.
Yeah, but once you have the house, the misery starts. [Laughs] I like houses and buildings, that’s why I have four different studios, it inspires me.
That actually connects to my next question. I read that you like to leave unfinished works and then travel over to one of the other studios to begin a new painting. Why is it important for you to be away from your works? What does that distance allow you for?
It makes me able to always continue working. Otherwise, when you have no luck and you’re blocked with the work, you have to wait. But if it’s not working [out] for me, I just take my car and go to another place.
You’re currently focused on the painting realm of your practice, but you have also previously done photography, sculpture and film. Is there a medium you want to experiment more with?
Yes, sculpture is something that’s a fascination of mine. But it’s also a trouble point for me. With painting, the space that you create is a different realm, it’s a window to the imagination. Whereas sculptures are part of our reality, you can touch them. I have been recently developing some sculptures, but they are still in progress. They are made of wood and are meant to be painted. It'll take a few more years before I show them because they’re very time-consuming, and also, I feel like I have to still mature and convince myself that I have credibility as a sculptor.
Interview by Martin Onufrowicz
Photography by Charlie de Keersmaecker