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*Artwork in the cover: Organic Painting. Oil on canvas, 200 cm x 275 cm.
This article is a translation of the original interview
We closed the summer by traveling to eastern Andalusia in the south of Spain to meet with painter Thomas Neukirch (Aufsess, Germany, 1961) in an abandoned olive press.
The German artist, who has lived in Spain for over 25 years, has found a perfect place to think and paint in this quiet and beat-up building. Here, where we would have never expected to find an artist—among tractors, stone grinding wheels, and wicker mats—we find the “inner workings” of Thomas Neukirch.
SciGlam: An old olive press is not an obvious place to find a painter.
Thomas Neukirch: Yes, I guess so (laughs). But, as you can see, I have lots of large paintings, so I had to look for a bigger space than what I had at home.
The owner of the press is a friend of mine; he has lent me the space with the condition that I take care of keeping the building in good shape. For me, it’s a perfect space; it has high ceilings and the light is not bad.
Let’s talk about your education as an artist in France, first at the National Art School of Lyon, and later at the St. Roch academy in Paris. How was that period of your life? What from that time has stayed with you?
Moving from Germany to France was a fundamental step in my life. France represented a more sensual way of living than what I had in Germany.
Before moving to France, I was living in Berlin where I was studying philosophy, but it was the early ’80s and the political tension was palpable. Berlin was a demilitarize area, and we had the wall… I spent more time on the streets (in demonstrations) than attending classes in university. I used to live in a squat—more than 3,000 people, mainly students, had occupied and renovated abandoned buildings across the city.
Moving from Germany to France was a fundamental step in my life. France represented a more sensual way of living than what I had in Germany.
I never finished my studies in philosophy because I passed the test for the National Art School of Lyon and I moved to France. But I only stayed at that school for two years.
At the time, the academicism of contemporary art was focused on ideas and research. For example, [one of the artworks was] a collection of videos and pictures of a 30 meter length of kraft paper with notes and drawings about the history of art with the landscape of Auvergne (historical and cultural region of France known for its natural hot springs) in the background. All under the topic “nature-culture tension.” I was a bit tired of so much intellectualism in the search for vanguardism. I just wanted to learn painting—a more sensual and spiritual act.
After two years at the school, they told me I had to retake a year because I hadn’t understood a thing. I was supposed to investigate not learn to paint. To them, classic art was kind of “seedy” (laughs). And according to them, if at that point in your career you hadn’t been able to find your place, you were already lost to the art world. And 37 years later I am here; they were quite right! (Laughs).
To learn to paint and enjoy painting, I started going to museums to reproduce the classic artists (Titian, Rembrandt, Delacroix…). But the professor who taught me all this was Bertholle, in Paris. (Painter Jean Bertholle [Dijon 1909 – Paris 1996] was honorary professor in the National School of Fine-Arts of Paris and a member of the so-called New School of Paris, an intellectual and artistic movement lead by artists who remained in Paris during World War II). Bertholle had taken some distance from the world of art critics himself, and had left the school of fine-arts because he disagreed with their policy, which also focused on intellectualism and avant-garde research.
Bertholle brought all his knowledge regarding the fundamentals of composition, and all the perspectives one can have regarding techniques, materials, and subjects to St. Roch.
Once I became independent, I started exhibiting my work, first in a cultural association and afterwards in some art galleries. By that time, an interesting artistic movement had emerged near the Bastille—a bit of hope for a more figurative and humanistic trend—and several galleries opened in the area. It was there where I first had an exhibition with Frédérique (Neukirch’s wife, sculptor Frédérique Edy). Unfortunately, the movement didn’t last long and all those galleries closed soon after.
My generation always worked in that tense atmosphere between modern art and contemporary art. The period when the essayist [Jean-Philippe] Domecq wrote Artists without art? (Artistes sans art?, 1994), criticizing conceptual art. Or when the sociologist and art critic Nathalie Heinich wrote The paradigm of contemporary art (Le paradigme de l’art contemporain, article published in Le Début, 1999), which stated that modern art and contemporary art are clearly different paradigms and that there are clear boundaries between them.
My generation always worked in that tense atmosphere between modern art and contemporary art.
At that time, my work was considered more within the bounds of modern art, but I got out of that. My work Black Box, for example, shows a more intellectual and explanatory piece on the outside and a pure painting on the inside. Bringing these two worlds together has given me great satisfaction.
Since you mention it, let’s talk a little more about Black Box, that octagonal structure where you invite us to pass through a door. Stepping on one of your paintings when entering the Black Box generates a feeling of shame and guilt that makes you feel vulnerable. Was it your initial intention to put the viewer in that state of vulnerability?
The center of the Black Box is an intimate space that must be guarded and protected at any cost and that each one must defend. I like that it has generated that feeling of vulnerability because it means surprise; you ask yourself things, and you are in a process of reflection. Fragility must be accepted—it is part of intimacy. What I meant with this space was that you have to take care of it and protect yourself from the outside world, which is full of tension and problems and takes away your will to live.
On the other side, I also wanted to provoke a feeling of immersion in a different world. One of the things that has moved me the most in life is being in an entirely painted room, like in the Raphael Rooms in the Vatican.
In any case, this is a work that I began 23 years ago, shortly after coming to live in Spain. At that time, I made a small model but I had to wait a few years to finish it, and it is possible that the piece will continue to evolve.
One of the works that we find outside of the box is Good life, a schematic of the philosophy “Point 0.” Could you elaborate on this?
Good life is my personal philosophy; a triangle formed by an existentialist perspective (“Point 0”), the ten senses, and the “five brains.” These three elements are the basis of the triangle of well-being, of the good life—a philosophical idea that has been here forever, since Epicurus, Spinoza…
The idea came to me after a week of fasting. (Neukirch has done four fasts, the longest one lasting 12 days). After so many days without eating—just living on water—I gave more importance to my guts. I began to feel interested in the flow of energy between what I call the “five brains;” the relationship between the guts, the stomach, the heart and the different parts of the upper brain. Who influences whom? I am interested in the flow of energy between these circuits. For me, the art of combining these circuits—of directing this flow—is the art of living.
The other base of the triangle consists of the ten senses. Science only describes nine of them, which are the five classic senses, and another four (temperature, balance, pain and proprioception). I also include pleasure as the tenth sense. For me, to lead a good life is to activate all the senses to the maximum.
And, finally, on the other side of the triangle, is the “Point 0,” which is the mental exercise of evaluating the parameters of life from 0 to 10. The idea of the “Point 0” came to me while having a chard soup after that week of fasting, because I was approaching the “Point 0,” the absence of food that can lead to death. The pleasure of the soup in front of the “Point 0” brought tears to my eyes (laughs).
Many of the problems we have as a society in western countries come from our senses becoming dull, because we are always satiated and we no longer know how to appreciate things. Mentally approaching the “Point 0” in different aspects of our lives helps us to appreciate what we have on a scale of 0 to 10. If we think of lack of food and shelter as a zero on the scale, we realize that we are doing much better off than the rest of humanity. Possibly, we are located in the 8-9 range of the scale, and therefore, we must be happy. In terms of comfort, we would also be at an 8 or 9. Western countries are living a level of comfort never seen before in history. I think that if we decrease our level of comfort to a level 5 (equivalent to the lifestyle in the ’60s) we could save the earth from climate change.
As neuroscientists, we haven’t been able to decipher the secrets of the brain, but you are already talking about “five brains.” How is that?
Well, by “five brains” I mean the neural circuits and information flow established between vital organs; the sensorial information that shapes the human being.
Are the “five brains” exclusive to human beings?
Ah, that’s a good question. Never thought about this before. Obviously, animals have the most important brains: the heart and the guts. They also have the three parts of the upper brain: the reptilian, the limbic system, and the neocortex (at least the mammals, and birds also have something equivalent…). Let’s say animals have “five brains,” yes!
Tell us about your most autobiographical works, the Thomangas. Since when have you been drawing these Chinese ink-photograms of your life?
I started about ten years ago, and they have accompanied me on a daily basis ever since. Drawing Thomangas helps me in approaching my emotions and my life. Breakfast and Thomangas help me restart my “five brains” every morning (laughs).
Do you always draw them in the morning?
Mostly yes. I start my day with a bit of sport in the mountain and then I do Thomangas. After that I am ready to go to the studio; I cannot start my day directly with a painting at the studio.
Recently, death has found a space in your most autobiographical work. Is it something that worries you?
Yes, when your parents pass away it’s a natural thing, but when the one who passes is a close friend, it’s different. I have recently lost one of my best friends, and that kind of thing concerns you directly. You could also die at any time like him, it gives you a different perspective on time. First you wonder: “why did he die?” and then the more metaphysical questions follow: “what’s after death?”
Thinking of putrefaction puts you close to a living thing, like lettuce, that becomes rotten. It brings you to a fragile mental state that is brutal.
I like to think that we unite with the cosmos, but I don’t like the intermediate steps. It’s tough to think about putrefaction, which is why I prefer cremation, you become a part of nature faster. Thinking of putrefaction puts you close to a living thing, like lettuce, that becomes rotten. It brings you to a fragile mental state that is brutal. You slowly get used to that state, but it’s hard.
Drawing death has been a personal therapy. Namely, one of my drawings has helped me a lot; once we are dead, we go back to the plants, to the Earth. I have also represented death as angels—something more in line with my education as a child— or as rabbits that already experience life after death.
If you could ask a scientist of any background a question, what would it be?
Science today considers nine senses: five “traditional” (taste, smell, sight, hearing, and touch) and also nociception (pain), proprioception, thermoception, and equilibrium perception. Why doesn’t science include pleasure as the tenth sense?
Answer by Kent C. Berridge, professor of psychology and neuroscience at the University of Michigan.
