MAGDALENA CICHON
MAGDALENA CICHON
[Episode 2]
The artist of the second episode is Magdalena Cichon, a German painter with academic accolades and a love affair with Taoism.
Magdalena studied painting and textile arts for her undergraduate degree and since 2011, she’s been exhibiting and conferencing all over Germany. She’s also been cooking up in the iconic institution of Bauhaus University, doing her PhD on the subject of “parallels between intuitive reflection and philosophical Taoism in painting”.
To quote Magdalena on her work for this project:
“Apart from the traditional way of acting that we usually imagine as a goal-oriented process exerted by a definable subject, Taoist philosophy knows another way — some kind of conscious laissez-faire blurring the lines between an acting subject or agent on the one hand, and spontaneous impulses or external influences on the other. In my paintings, I’m striving for a balance between these two strategies — by making use of the natural traits of the painting material and selecting the outcomes of accidental processes; by playing with depiction and abstraction; by letting the unconscious form the figures without a model or photo present; by investigating human traits and behaviours unknown and strange to me, searching to distill anthropological constants. The drawings in this sketchbook were mostly studies to enhance my knowledge about bodies, their shapes and anatomy; to extend my visual vocabulary. Most are loosely based on photos, but some are freely invented.”
With that, I’m more than excited to share with you Magdalena Cichon’s notebook that she filled out so kindly for the Creative Minds Project, and the interview we did over email.
Q: Can you tell me bit about yourself? Namely, I'm very curious to know your journey through art? How did you find your artistic voice? What are your favourite media? What's your daily practice like? What do you listen to? What do you read? And who are your favourite teachers?
A: I made my first drawing a few days before my 2nd birthday! — On a more serious note: I’ve decided I want to become an artist at 17, and after graduating from a high school with specialization in Fine Art, I started studying art in the painting and textile art class in Halle.
This class was unique in many ways — the aesthetic, the sources of inspiration, and the philosophy. Many Fine Art universities draw a strict line between art on the one hand and design, handicraft, or illustration on the other, looking down on them as „decorative“, „superficial“, or „solely aesthetic“. Many German art universities focus more on theory and conceptual art, which is more digestible for art historians and way easier to put into words. The approach, however, is different in Halle. In my class, we’d learn weaving, calligraphy, anatomy, perspective, painting technique, video art, and a few more. It was a conscious choice from my side — I could absolutely feel that there is a LOT of meaning in the material side of making art, too.
I’m working mostly on canvas, and I love playing around with different painting techniques and material. In the University, we learned to make our own paint, which allows me to play a lot with texture, transparency, and viscosity. Taking into account the traits of the material, modify them and allow them to influence the outcome is a huge factor in my work. Materials I’ve included so far were not only oil and acrylic, but also glue, egg, gummi arabicum, shellac, wax, ashes, dirt, marble powder, earth, chalk, sand, and wool. I’ve sewn canvases together, embroidered them, attacked them with sand paper, nailed through them, washed them, and smoked them. However, I like to mostly stay within the frame of what could still be considered traditional painting techniques or a happy accident here or there — I’d never, say, stick an old paintbrush to the canvas, it’d be too obvious and corny from my perspective.
But still, by starting the studies, I struggled a bit: my inner critic was too loud and prevented me from developing my voice. So, my professor gave me the task to make 30 paintings in one month, which meant I had to accept every weird, stupid, or seemingly naive idea that came to my mind. It was like breaking down a wall by running through it, but also, it felt great! When I did the presentation of the paintings, however, I was still scared — I was about to bare my soul, being completely open and vulnerable, and I didn’t expect my professor to be any less judgmental than he had oftentimes been. But seeing those paintings, he wasn’t. He gave me praise, asked questions, and listened. Seeing another painting a year later, he’d even say: “What is that? This is totally weird. I’ve never seen anything like this before.” and I was super proud.
At the time, I started having exhibitions, met my gallerists, sold my first paintings. Three years later, I gave my diploma presentation.
On what I read and listen to:
I LOVE Siri Hustvedt, and this year have read A Woman Looking At Men Looking At Women, also Harari’s 21 Lessons for the 21st Century, Tupoka Ogette’s exit RACISM, Carolin Emcke’s Ja heißt Ja und … on #metoo, Edith Sitwell’s autobiography, Key To Happiness by Michail Sotschenko, a forgotten 20th century Russian author (who claims to have healed his death drive/depression by applying Pawlow’s principles) and a small book by Gerald Hüther, a brain scientist. My favourite book of all time (and I didnt think it was possible to have a favourite author, let alone a favourite book!) is Siri Hustvedt’s The Blazing World.
For fun, I have a stack of old novels (many from GDR or Sovjet authors, others newer) that people would put out on the street for others to take with them, or that I bought in our local antique book store. (Where I live, many people don’t just throw things in the trash, but instead put them into cardboard boxes out on their doorstep if they’re still in good condition.) I have a soft spot for old, forgotten and sometimes even a little trashy novels that, from a contemporary perspective, are pretty weird (unless the racism or misogyny is too unbearable!), for example some Russian and Sovjet authors, most of all Gorki and Tchingis Aitmatov. And I love Chinese authors and literature, both E– and U–category!
This year, I’ve also become a podcast addict, mostly on politics, lifestyle and pop culture, both in English and German. It’s too distracting for when I’m painting, but ideal for doodling and sketches!
In my diploma thesis, I didn’t just include a list of books, but also a list of music I listened to, because that had influenced my art just as much. It was appreciated by the professors and includes:
— Godspeed You! Black Emperor
— Jeff Buckley
— Händel, Messiah
— Beethoven, piano sonatas
— Moby
— Pina Soundtrack
— Blow! Soundtrack
— Hrsta
— Silver Mt. Zion
— Nigel Kennedy
— Lhasa de Sela
Q: You're doing a PhD in my dream subject. I specifically know nothing about Taoism, but I had an episode in my life where I was seriously contemplating on doing a PhD in art and spiritual practices, specifically from the eastern tradition, like sufism. So my eyes lit up when I read about your studies. Can you please tell me a bit about your research? How did you get into all of this? How far along are you? And how is it going?
A: Unfortunately, I quit for several reasons, most of them being my own fault:
First, I was unable to link my own material to the academic world I found at the university in Weimar. During my diploma year in Halle, I had discovered Taoism as a theoretical system that described large parts of how I made art very precisely, as opposed to any Western theory I had been recommended — be it Gombrich, Benjamin, or Arnheim (amongst others). My artistic practice was very non-conceptual, intuitive, and without a straight planning process, and the books on Taoism described just that as a preferred way to move through the world (the concept of Wu Wei). These works, however, were nowhere linked to the discourses in the academic environment of the university, which focused on French philosophers and sociologists on the one hand (think Foucault, Deleuze, Foucault, Derrida, Foucault, Rancière and Foucault again, with a little bit of Luhmann sprinkled on top) and on media philosophy/sign theory on the other.
Second, there was the larger discourse on how artistic research was even a thing, and that a larger feud was taking place between artists/art historians and natural scientists, which were also present in the faculty. This was something I had experienced for the first time at the age of 14-17, when I visited a high school with a specialization in natural science and had unfruitful disputes with classmates who refused to understand how art has value as a research practice in itself, except one that was very different from scientific research.
I failed to bring into a system/put into words how what I did was artistic research, as in, how what I did was a way of transforming information. I always knew it was, but I didn’t find a way to make it communicable to someone who thinks of scientific research, only believes in the epistemological system behind it (intersubjectivity/objectivity; formalizing; operationalization), and needs to be convinced that making art can be researched, too — just under completely different conditions and pre-assumptions.
Also, both academic conflicts made me overthink my own art too much, which killed rather than sparked any inspiration! When I’d read any books on art, philosophy, or the like, my thinking automatically went to whether I could fit the content into the theoretical system I was trying to build, rather than freely exploring the thoughts and creating new ones for myself.
Third, besides being the breadwinner and caretaker for my family, I didn’t find enough time to dive into these questions. I’d have loved to solely spend my days reading huge stacks of books, developing waterproof logic, and working in the studio — but it just wasn’t possible with a near-full-time day job including spontaneous emergencies, commute, daycare, and household, so it slowly slipped away. In the end, I was also wondering whether this super specific academic endeavour was a dead-end, like an expensive hobby, something keeping me busy without ever generating any gain for me, or whether I would professionally benefit from it one day.
Q: I’m sorry for your breakup and although I’m sure it has been a painful one, I can still relate to your dilemmas. In retrospect, how do you think your academic career has effected your art practice?
A: In Weimar, I’ve met many amazing artists; however, since we only met twice a semester and only for talking about theory, there was no real practical outcome like exhibitions or other projects. However, it seems like having the PhD on my CV seems to have sparked interest and impressed others who then were maybe more eager to work with me.
Q: Is art a spiritual path for you, or is it more of a methodical, craft-like practice towards perfection?
A: It’s both in one! By practicing, I’m expanding my skill set, and have more tools to express something, so I can express it more precisely. Like, my subconscious (that knows way more than I do) has more paths to show its knowledge, and this can feel numinous.
Q: Do you have a spiritual practice? If so, what does it look like? And how does it feed into your art?
A: Making art is my spiritual practice! It’s a way of transforming the things in my life that I can’t grasp, that are overwhelming, scary, or wasteful, into beauty, meaning, and power. It’s the same process like when other artists are using literal waste and transform it into art, except with energy instead of material.
Q: You're currently studying in Bauhaus University in Weimar. Back when I was an architecture student, I might have been brainwashed by the glamorisation of modernism. It represents to me an unattainable, perfect nostalgia. And Bauhaus University as an iconic institution is a utopic place that embodies that in its architectural aura and intellectual legacy. I'm really curious to know what your experience has been like. How do you think this place has influenced your academic and artistic work?
A: I have to admit I have a strained relationship with Bauhaus, since I was born in GDR and saw how it had shaped architecture and design in a significant and not always beautiful way. I see the utopian potential in removing ornament and making things accessible via mass production, and how the original thought was a democratic one — the downside of it, at least in Eastern Germany, is oftentimes just plain ugliness … the large suburbs that were built for the workers now have become ghettos, and the aesthetic is now associated with efficiency, sobriety, a secular lack of joy and beauty.
The university still remembers and celebrates its heritage, but — at least in the Ph.D. program — doesn’t push its agenda onto the students. (I don’t know a lot about the „regular“ students though!)
Q: Finally, can you tell me a bit about the notebook you filled out for Creative Minds Project?
A: Yes, it kind of „forced“ me to practice drawing again, which helps me „stay in training“, like an athlete or a musician who has to practice daily, too, to keep their level of quality. I have to admit that I’m not super into drawing and tend to avoid it, but it’s just necessary for a better outcome in my paintings! So, having to fill a page regularly was a wonderful way to 1. practice 2. find creative ways to turn it from duty into more of a joyful activity, so I had to explore other ways of expressing myself, apart from neat, accurate graphic studies. This made me take both my doodling and my photography more seriously, include them, and combine them with the more serious drawings, which I really liked!
