I AM SAFE, SO THE WORK DOESN’T HAVE TO BE: IN CONVERSATION WITH KAJA STUMPF

These past three solo shows at Blue Shop Gallery have let me slowly expand, both in my ideas and in the scale of the work. As the gallery spans two floors, my first exhibition (Pleasure Is A Far Away Land in 2024) was in the compact space downstairs and consisted mainly of small, tightly cropped works. As my canvases got bigger, I gradually worked my way up to cover both spaces for Chaos Carry Me Gently earlier this year. This move also allowed me to think about the curation differently, i.e., to create an extension of how the work explores the dark parts of ourselves we hide away. I wanted the lighter pieces to greet you as you first walked in, and then, as you moved through the space, the paintings would get increasingly dim, until, in the last painting in the basement, the figure is almost completely hidden, immersed in darkness. To be able to take part in exhibitions internationally is very exciting, and I’m looking forward to connecting with new audiences and seeing how my work evolves through these interactions.

I find that I am still interested in exploring similar ideas when painting as I was when I was making clothes. The physical body and its malleability are the obvious connection, as well as how our desire to belong and be seen plays out differently depending on external factors like culture and trends, and how our internal sense of self-worth influences behaviour.

What is left when we don’t have these socially structured codes of self-expression? To remove the clothes creates another raw canvas, stripping away the cultural signifiers in an effort to access core emotions, especially those I prefer to hide away.

When I’m in my studio, the physical act of painting relieves some of my tendencies for rumination and grants me distance from the subject. I step outside the event as a neutral observer, which in hindsight leads to a more generous and compassionate understanding of the memory. My black-and-white thinking becomes less rigid as I experience relief from the burden of preconceived ideas and the weight they carry when unresolved.

Yes, exactly! The cropping allows me to remove context, to let the image hover between time and space. I enjoy working with the surprising shapes the crop can reveal; sometimes it feels almost abstract. This way, a mouth or an eye can evolve and become something other than what you assumed when you first saw it. A cropped image will also have a level of secrecy and mystery due to the missing information, gaps that the viewer needs to fill in order to make sense of it.

This mottled technique is an effort to create a slightly dreamlike effect, blurring the lines between what is real and what exists outside of logic and reason. It sits closer to the emotional interpretation than to a strictly factual and photorealistic rendition. To achieve this, I repeatedly dab the small brushes across the surface, stippling various versions of hue and adding layers of glazing for depth.

I find myself shifting between these two approaches: to either drench the figure in colour or to nearly strip it completely. It is like a pendulum swinging. As I am currently making new works full of colour, I catch myself planning the next one, where it will again be almost gone. This keeps the process interesting to me, both technically and in trying to work out what it means symbolically. Ultimately, these decisions are very intuitive, and I trust my instinct when I have a desire to paint something.

I am drawn to the duality of interpretation of a back and the nape of a neck; if you view the image as an outside spectator looking in, it will read in a literal way as the act of turning away or someone turning their back on you. However, if you imagine yourself as the protagonist, it is the act of moving forwards, towards the future and the unknown. I think of the braid in these paintings as something powerful, with each lock of hair combined to create this structure. It becomes a symbol of unity and strength. To leave out the face from the image adds to the anonymous identity, a figure onto which you can project your own.

I like to think of the jewellery that I put in my work as extensions of the self. Jewellery is often very personal and usually has a story, offering a bridge to the anonymity of the figure. There is also something of the idea of an amulet or talisman in my depiction of jewellery, acting as protection and guidance.

I think there is a certain quiet groundedness that feels distinctly Norwegian, which enters my work subconsciously. However, the figures in my work are usually removed from any specific time or place; they exist somewhere in between. Having lived in London for the past 15 years, I do feel a strong sense of belonging here, yet the Norwegian mentality and way of life will always be at the core of what I do.

In no particular order: Rosalía, Michael Borremans, Edvard Munch and Marlene Dumas. And Fidji Lapios (IG: @fidji.lapios), a great painter whom I’m lucky to share a studio with; being able to have informal conversations about our work is priceless!

I try to push myself to make work even if I find it intimidating or too revealing. When those feelings arise, I know I am headed in the right direction. I am safe, so the work doesn’t have to be. This is, of course, easier said than done, but I hope you will find me walking in good faith towards the unknown.