Constance Tenvik is a Norwegian multi-media artist with a background in 2D and 3D mediums as well as performance art. Born in 1990, she has always expressed herself through a teeming paracosm underpinned by dance, music, and visuals. Initially dabbling in philosophy and journalism in the Georgia Rotary Student Program, the Oslo native went on to complete her undergraduate career at the Art Academy of Oslo and an M.F.A. in the Yale Sculpture Department, but brings a critical edge telling of her academic origins.
I first FaceTimed Constance a week ago. When the call connected, she grinned sheepishly, panning the camera to a chic velvet couch in the corner. A woman in a black corset was sprawled across it, bathing in the light flooding through the tall windows of the Berlin studio. In a flash, her haughty gaze dissipated and she gave a wave “hello”.
Inspiration had struck- Constance was pre-occupied with a model. She gave me a sneak preview of a sketch—a small number dominated by deep purple— then cut the line with a mouthed “bye”.
Today, it’s just me and Constance.
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Tell us a little bit about yourself and your work.
I’ve kind of gone from orienting myself in the world of flat things like printmaking and drawing into performance- for a while I was almost exclusively doing performance, and then I moved into video stuff. But then at one point I wanted to make art that could stand in a room without me activating it. So that’s kind of why I went to Yale; because I wanted to get better at thinking spatially and to make installation pieces especially.
I’ve done some major exhibitions where I’ve made total worlds and it kind of makes sense that, after all of this time picking up different mediums and also having wide interests academically, I make worlds within worlds. Traditionally speaking, I’ve actually picked up very specific narratives. Like “Tristan and Isolde” or the Eglinton Tournament, coming from history or from literature.
But every time I find something external, I also kind of make it my own. So overall, I’d say I have my own universe going on. In 2017, I started doing portraits as well. At first I thought I was doing this as an extension of my diary and just for me, but it has also become a public practice. So some people know me for that, too— the portraits— which are quite stylized and often depict my queer community and my surroundings. So they kind of document the time that we live in now whereas some of the references used in my work otherwise are hundreds of years old.
I’ve definitely seen those older references all over your Instagram! It was really interesting to hear how your academic interests have shaped your work, too. As you know, this interview is for a school assignment, so I was wondering if you could tell me about any teachers that have had a very influential role in your evolution as an artist.
For sure. I think it’s always important to be “seen” by someone. In the Art Academy of Oslo, I was very connected to Susanne Winterling and Dag Erik Elgin. And, funnily enough, I got the chance to curate a show a couple of years ago at Loyal Gallery who represents me in Stockholm and I actually decided to include the teachers that have meant the most to me and I also included some of my peers from school both from Oslo and New Haven. I make a lot of mindmaps too, and I not only care about the state of my life when I find references, but I also care about who gave me those references, you know? So I definitely pay attention to like, “oh, Susanne Winterling was the professor that invited Chris Kraus to come to my school.” And Chris Kraus has kept in contact with me. I invited her for a talk last year that we did together. And she also wrote one of my recommendation letters for Yale. I’m very grateful for those people who have taught me something. And I think the world is so, so rich with things to discuss, but I think to truly access a painting or a book or something, you need the right entrance—someone to kind of make you see.
It sounds like the various artistic communities that you’ve worked in have given you a lot. If you could give just one thing to the artistic community, what would you say that is?
I have heard from others that they can find a sense of freedom in my work, and I hope that that’s going to encourage other people to also dare to express themselves in the way they really want to and not be restricted by expectations or rules or whatever it is that is holding people back. There’s also sincerity. I’m pretty open about my references and what I’m interested in. I usually feel that if I’m putting something out, it’s something that’s there to possibly find— something to be inspired by, hopefully. But, I mean, to give something back can take a while. Sometimes I’ve done things like the lecture I mentioned briefly that I did with Chris Kraus last year. That was also with a woman called Wencke Mühleisen and our talk was about communities. I did that for a queer club in Oslo that does lectures and parties and stuff. Sometimes instead of being in the studio for a couple of weeks I will prepare to host something like that. Or I will sometimes introduce a movie, or once I interviewed Marina Abramovic— sometimes I will do something that is not about my own artistic practice, but that has to do with communicating within the cultural field. So yeah, I take my voice seriously. I also sometimes just want to be a vessel for other voices to come through.
It sounds like you’re a really social, community-driven person. COVID-19 has really limited the opportunities for social interaction, so I’ve been wondering how you’ve been innovating your practice to maintain that community when there is more physical space between us.
I remember in the very beginning of COVID I was actually stranded in New York. I went there to reconnect with my community there, which totally failed, of course. I didn’t see anyone. The only person who bothered to see me was Kenny Schachter, who writes for Artnet. He took some walks with me, like twice or something. And then for the rest of the time, I (was) isolated. And then I was starting to make some portraits over WhatsApp as kind of a compromise. But I feel that at least some people have been available during this time who maybe normally wouldn’t be available. So I feel that it’s been a good time to just, like, message people I admire on Instagram and stuff and reach out. However, by the time that I got to Berlin, I got a pretty amazing studio and I’ve been focusing on reading and painting and making shows and stuff.
So I’ve had plenty to do. I also have a little group of people here in Berlin that I interact with. So I haven’t been completely isolated. I’ve had a couple of people that, you know, we do our (COVID) tests every now and then and we see each other. So I don’t feel as badly affected right now as I was last year. But of course, I really miss going to museums, I miss going to restaurants and having more of this kind of social life. And I can also tell that (from) what I’m making exhibitions about. Right now I’m making a show that is about my dreams. Since there isn’t much stimulation outside, I ended up going a bit more inward into my own world. Usually I am more interested in historical references or literature to kick up my imagination, but right now I’m definitely looking into stuff that’s a bit far out or way up in the clouds kind of less of right here and right now. ‘Cause there’s so much here now— you know what I mean?
Yeah, exactly. I totally get that. I’m happy to hear that you can kind of still interact with people in your circle. I mean, Berlin is such a huge magnet for artists. What kind of influence do you draw from your peers? It sounds like you have a pretty good base of peers that you work with and talk to.
I think it’s important also to have some friends who are in different creative fields, too. Some are philosophers, some are journalists, or jewelry makers or designers or perfumers. And I think it’s important to be in dialogue with them. Even my friend who’s a material engineer can sometimes have these very aesthetic experiences at her work. So I like to be somewhat plugged in and I also like to have a variety of discussions with some people around me so I don’t lose touch. Even talking to my brothers who are in totally different fields can be helpful because I think every artist is always reflecting on their own time. So I think it’s important to have a wide range of sources; not to just be in one world. I mean, when life was more normal, I would even see someone with fantastic style at, like, Berghain and l would take them to my studio to paint them. I would be quite involved in and very excited to meet people and to see how people express themselves with their clothes and everything. There’s definitely a lot of interaction in my work. And even if I make a music video or whatever, how you communicate and who you’re around matters a lot. I think to make your vision come true, you have to have people on your side to make that happen. So I think it’s super important to be a part of a community somehow.
I can definitely see that interdisciplinarity in your work. You’ve worked across a really wide range of mediums— you paint, do sculpture, photography, you’ve done music videos. What drew you to do all of these different things?
I feel that I have a quite rich inner world, or imaginative part of me that feels more like an ambiance or vibe than just one thing. For me it’s important for that multitude to come out and I think also I have a way of being that’s a little bit fluid, so I don’t want to feel exactly the same every day or to always be the same. I’ve always needed to free myself from being one thing. I’ve never wanted to be “the painter, Constance” or “the performance artist, Constance.” Every time I’ve been close to being cornered like that, I’ve always done my best to get out of that. For me, it just makes more sense to explore a lot of different things, both in terms of content and in terms of mediums.
But on the other hand, I also think sometimes it’s important to stick a bit with some things. So for example, drawing. I feel that I’m practicing that every day and drawing is also a tool for a lot of things. Like it can be used for designing clothes or for designing patterns and all kinds of other things, as well. This tells us something about learning how to make use of one thing you’ve learned and use it for another thing. Transferring of knowledge. If you talk to a perfumer, for example, they’re operating with base notes and top notes and this and that. I’m sure as you’re composing that you could find some of your composing abilities within this totally other field that is also quite abstract, you know?
And I would say in general I’m drawn to philosophies, smells, senses. I’m drawn to a lot of things that we don’t have an immediate language for. Even music; it’s such a mystical thing, you know what I mean? For me going into the arts had a little bit to do with this curiosity and I’m just magnetically drawn to trying to get closer to some of these things we don’t understand so well, and maybe we don’t have a language for.
You talk about how music is this thing that is entirely drawn from something that you can’t see— from just your inner mind— whereas I think a lot of visual art, while it is also drawn from this impulse in your mind, occurs from seeing things around you. The two art forms are different in this way. I’ve seen that you listen to a lot of different music that you like to share and you have some roots in music. From your Instagram, I know you also love to dance. What kind of intersection do you see between your practice as a visual artist and being a musician, music lover, and dancer?
I have a fair respect for true musicians. Like, a friend of mine literally needs to rehearse every single day just to be able to continue what he does, you know? I would never put myself in that category. I’m more dabbling with music, but it’s definitely there as a backdrop and it’s the same with the dance. A real dancer has to be honest every single day— it’s a discipline. For me, it’s more of a backdrop thing, but I’m not sure if I would have found my own language if it wasn’t for music and dance. Because that’s where I started out, you know? Even if it was as a child.
And I think in school, they don’t really emphasize the apparatus we already have. We have a very complex body and we have senses that are under-explored. Like smelling. I think there’s a lot of stuff that is being missed out a bit. And I think that we could have evolved much further if we would pay more attention. Are we aware? Because maybe if we would be more aware of what we take in, we would also be aware of what we put out, and it would overall be a better ecosystem for everybody. Because right now we’re in this kind of hyper-world of capitalist society where we are so used to a certain saturation in terms of almost everything. A lot of people are not really being aware of their bodies and how they exist in space and stuff, and yet if you go into a shopping mall or something, one is being completely manipulated by the sounds and smells that are used. And maybe you get into addiction loops with sugar or coffee and are put further and further away from your core. Yeah. I think that’s sad.
I really agree with what you said about under-using our senses. I feel like an issue in artistic communities is that a lot of people really emphasize the mind is the core of art and then forget that the mind is literally a part of your body, too. There have been artists, like Kandinsky, who confront that issue by talking about things like synesthesia. Then I look at your work and really feel the spirit of that kind of intellectual inquiry regarding the senses. I am so reminded of German expressionism by that, especially when I look at your paintings. Do you see that at all?
You know, I was never one of the “painter painters.” But for the past few years, I’ve painted so much that I’ve been included in more and more painting shows and I’m being seen more as a painter.
Sometimes I’ve referenced Otto Dix or someone within the paintings, and I certainly really love German painters. I’ve been in Berlin for three years now, so it makes sense that I’m affected by being here and the kind of beauty and harshness of this place. It’s so packed with history and brutality, but also joy. I’m not surprised that you pick up on that, but I also think there’s a mix of things. I use a lot of …honest references, in a way? Sometimes, I might make a painting of someone very iconic, but they’re still wearing their Nike socks or something. There will be some traces of our time in there, you know. I would say I draw a little bit in and out of time; so I can reference something from the past, something like the future, and above all, the now.
I’ve seen that some painters these days make paintings that almost look like they were made in Photoshop or something with very digital feeling gradients and stuff. My way of painting is more attached to the physicality. I don’t want my work to be too trapped in 2021, you know? But then again, I also don’t want to be nostalgic. I want to make some visions for the future.
Yeah, absolutely. I mean, a lot of people have kind of theorized that art has been over since the sixties and seventies. There’s this idea that the best art comes out of a moment. You see that with post-war art. I think in its own way COVID-19 gives us an opportunity to have an artistic moment again. I just remember there was a social media challenge where people recreated famous paintings on Instagram and stuff like that at the beginning of quarantine. I feel like people are kind of reaching into the internet more for art now and more people are getting interested in art because before, people might have thought of it as this passive thing confined to the museum institution, which a lot of people can be intimidated by. I was wondering what you think is going to occur in your art and maybe art as a whole from this moment that we’re experiencing right now.
I’m seeing now that home officing and everything is so normalized, all of a sudden a lot of people have kind of translated their work into the digital. And it can be a bit dangerous sometimes! For example, you can never, ever get the same feeling from looking at an Instagram post as from standing in front of a big painting. It’s an aesthetic experience that kind of takes you over and there’s a spiritual dimension to it, too. So I hope we will not confuse the two. And I hope we won’t think, “Oh, who needs art fairs when we can just have digital art fairs?” It’s kind of like, you can make an infinite amount of sex toys but I’ll always prefer a body. There’s a lot of people doing NFTs and stuff, too. There will definitely be some faster ways of getting our work out there, but maybe some of the ways are too fast. Some of that digital world is very flattening. I do believe that people will still want to experience dimensions and go to the theater and just turn off their phones and be present.
I think where art is going is an interesting question. And it’s funny that you mentioned the sixties because there were way fewer artists then. Most of the New York artists knew each other. Maybe some wanted more of this kind of art and some wanted another kind of art, but they would still know of each other and experiment and maybe make a name for themselves in art history. Now there are so many artists and almost too many people in general as well, and it becomes an awful squabbling in art school— “are we going to continue to paint or should it just be video art now? What’s going to be the new wave?” Honestly, I think if you’re an artist and you get together with like ten of your friends and you decide to make a movement, maybe you’ll have much more luck with that than trying to specialize in your own world.
And I think that we need to change so much in society. We need to change the way we educate ourselves and how we see each other. And we have a whole environmental challenge and so many other challenges, too. So I think that we will need real visionaries. Lately I’ve been looking a bit into Yoko Ono and some other people from the sixties that managed to have very much their own thing going on while also being able to communicate to a vast amount of people. Because I think, for me, I want to have an audience. I don’t want to be like an outsider artist that can just live in a forest, make stuff, and then it’s discovered after my death. I want to live in cities. I want to interact with people. I want to have these discussions and try to understand and bridge sides. It’s a really hard question, but I’m definitely thinking about it. For the past few years I’ve seen a lot of dystopian fashion and stuff, and I don’t know if that’s what we need right now. I think we need to see possibilities and imagine alternative ways of being than living in despair.
You did mention one a bit earlier, but are there any other projects you have in the works that you’d like to talk about?
I’m launching a shoe collaboration and I’m also participating in a group show in Stockholm and one in LA. I will have a solo show coming up at ISCA Gallery in Oslo. That show will kind of draw from my dream diary. As I’ve been working on this, I’ve looked into Jung and The Red Book. I am trying to translate my dreams into visuals in order to kind of expose a world that is almost inaccessible because there’s this liminal space where you are neither here nor there. I don’t want to be too symbolic about it. I don’t want to be Freudian about it. I’m just trying to look at what kind of space has come up in my dreams, what kind of objects, what kind of interactions, which kind of roles (I take).
And I believe that our dreams are changing as society is changing. I want to make a discussion around this strange space that we’re all experiencing and that we all have a different relationship to. For example, one of my dreams is evidence that COVID-19 has entered my subconsciousness. In it, this guy’s standing with his finger up. It’s covered with Vaseline and everyone is storming towards him to get the chunk of Vaseline to rub on their eye. Everyone’s doing this, it’s totally normalized. And I’m walking towards this guy and I’m like, “Did you remember to wash your hands?”
That being said, I’m never going to look back on this whole thing and think, “Well, it helped us. At least we learned to bake bread.”