THE ART OF SHADOW AND LIGHT

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AN UNUSUAL MEDIUM

How did you become an artist? When did you start performing in the street?

It all started with a little romance about ten years ago. I was seeing a girl in Amsterdam, and for a few weeks, I lost my voice due to vocal cord inflammation. To compensate for the lack of words, I climbed the lampposts outside her apartment to hang small drawings. These were mostly sketches done with markers on acrylic glass, which I attached with tape. That's how I realized that tape itself could become an excellent medium when exposed to light. In the weeks that followed, I began incorporating the material into my sketches, cutting it into shapes, and eventually developed what you might call a technique. It was as if I had discovered a strange instrument in the street, and I simply started experimenting, without knowing what "sound" it would produce. The more I handled the tape, the more enthusiastic I became, and after a few weeks, I stuck my first artwork on one of the lampposts, made entirely with packing tape.

Why did you choose adhesive tape as your material? Is it a medium you've used before?

I love the idea of creating beauty from something as banal and ugly as brown tape. Humans are capable of atrocities, but we also have the capacity to create magnificent things from almost nothing.

THE PLAY OF LAYERS AND LIGHT

Adhesive tape is also a particularly fragile material. Given this technique, how do you perceive the ephemeral nature of urban art?

In reality, the tape is extremely robust. Some of my stickers from ten years ago are still hanging from lampposts. They've survived winters, summer heat, rain, and everything else, and they're still in good condition. If you protect the plastic and adhesive with a little know-how, it's one of the most durable materials there is. However, something else happened that I wasn't prepared for: the more popular these little works became, the more they were stolen. Part of me accepted this, because I had put them up illegally and had no right to demand they stay there, but another part was frustrated that the thieves didn't respect the spirit of this art form. It's the fate of all things to fade; with street art, it just happens faster, whether it's the city removing it, a fan, or the weather. This is a valuable lesson to learn: it forces you to anticipate your next work and not dwell too much on the past.

Like stenciling, it's a technique that plays on a large number of layers. How do you play with the different layers and the effect of transparency to create your image?

The layers provide the depth I need for my work. It took me a while to figure out how to cut the top layer without damaging the ones underneath. But like with a tool, after a few years, you get the hang of it. I use up to 15 layers, and each one creates a different nuance within the sepia tone; it's the palette I can work with.

Light also plays a key role in this process, allowing the subtlety of your compositions to be revealed.

Yes, light is absolutely crucial. It brings the magic. Without being backlit, the pieces appear rather unspectacular. But once the light is on, everything comes alive. By playing with light, my pieces emphasize the rhythm of the city and take on greater significance at night, under the glow of the streetlights. I love cities at night. The atmosphere is completely different: tranquil, mysterious, solitary, and full of intriguing whispers. It makes you wonder about the lives behind the few lit windows, the lovers in the dark streets, the last customers in the bars. The night brings an intimacy and anonymity that I also like to incorporate into my designs. When I hang them back on the lampposts, I feel like I've come full circle.

THE STREET AS A SPACE FOR CREATION

What is your relationship to illegality? Did you choose poster art to take fewer risks with the authorities?

In my early years, I enjoyed the cat-and-mouse game between us artists and the authorities. My small works, however, blend quite harmoniously into their surroundings and are meant to add something to the neighborhood. The reaction from the locals has therefore been mostly welcoming. And each time I've been caught, I've encountered rather friendly police officers. I like the idea of taking risks for one's art and what one believes in. I also enjoy finding unusual settings outside the gallery context, whether on walls, lampposts, or elsewhere.

How do you choose your original images? Where do they come from?

All my designs begin with something that interests or fascinates me: an emotion I want to explore, a scene I witnessed, or a person who intrigues me. The next step is to pinpoint that attraction. I browse through old posters, films, and the large photo library I keep on my computer. If there are elements that seem to fit the atmosphere I want to create, I use them as initial inspiration. I usually change things, inventing details and settings, and juxtaposing previous ideas and sketches until the composition feels cohesive.

The tape you use is sepia-toned, which gives your creations a particular atmosphere. How do your images reflect this?

The ribbon's color is very inspiring for film noir-style designs. I love nostalgic worlds anyway, and so the color palette and my designs blend perfectly. I'm sure that's why I quickly saw the potential of this medium once I saw its sepia tone revealed for the first time on this particular lamppost.

How do you perceive the relationship to time in the creative act, divided between a long exposure time and a rather ephemeral collage life?

I used to be process-oriented, meaning the creative journey was more important than the result. Time wasn't a factor back then; I loved to experiment and let my imagination wander. This had a lot to do with the fact that I thought I could never create anything with tape that came close to what I had in mind. But the better my technique became, the more confident I became that my fingers could actually create the images I envisioned. So now I'm much more outcome-oriented. I now measure the experience by my ability to meet my own expectations. I've lost some of that lightheartedness and become stricter with myself. Time has become a measure of my competence in achieving that goal. It might sound sad, but it actually feels like a higher level of accomplishment because I know what I want and I'm constantly trying to find ways to improve.

Do you see photography as an archive or as an important part of your final work?

Each photograph is a degradation of the artwork. This is primarily because it cannot capture the atmosphere created by the actual lighting that is integral to my pieces. Furthermore, photography makes it difficult to perceive the texture of all the layers of ribbon. Compared to the real artworks, they unfortunately appear quite flat.

In what way is the street a unique space for creation?

The streets are the lifeblood of cities, teeming with life. Think of all your ancestors who walked these same paths, each life a world unto itself. It's a perfect urban gallery. Furthermore, there's something poetic about leaving something permanent in a place where everything else is in flux.

In your opinion, is urban art an artistic movement? If so, how do you see yourself in relation to it?

I think it's the most exciting art movement of the last 20 years. It speaks of the emancipation of art from art institutions, it's notorious and hard-won, it has democratized art in a way, and it has commented through images so effectively and enduringly that many works have become iconic. I came along with the second wave of street artists. The first wave had fought for the right to express themselves and sometimes suffered harsh consequences. But they never gave up, and their bravery paved the way for all those who followed us. By then, street art was more accepted and embraced by the public and cities. We could focus more on our art and had to run from the police less often. My art has never been about making grand statements or creating a stir; they are small, hidden windows that tell stories to those who find them.

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