March 2023
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I have it in my brainText written by Helena Mutanen Layers of thoughts. The brain tries to process and connect different subjects, mirror them. Outwardly, at first glance, they are not visible.
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I have it in my brain.
Text written by Helena Mutanen
Layers of thoughts. The brain tries to process and connect different subjects, mirror them. Outwardly, at first glance, they are not visible. But they are there in the details. Cleans, minimizes and tries to place them in an internal order, like a map.
Each portrait or object has been given time. A new layer of colored papier-mâché is spread on. Slow movements with a butter knife. It is a meditative work. The choice of attributes and details, which will reinforce expression or content, is going on in the back of the mind. The object grows, is rejected and reconsidered. The broken colors, which can be varied infinitely, give the taste for more.
I started working with papier-mâché without any preconceptions. Partly because I am interested in finding materials that contribute to a smaller climate footprint. The technique, which after many different recipes and trials, gives an egg carton-like structure. But much harder, smoother and thicker. The technique appeals to me with its simplicity and slowness.
The nervous system is connected to the brain and is a receiver. The hanging work “receiver” is an antenna picked down from the roof of my childhood home. It is padded and sewn with sheet fabric, then waxed.
The work on these works began in the pandemic year of 2020 and has continued through 2022. It has been a special and different time. During these two years, while working, I have listened to factual e-books, radio news and biographies. I have been like a receiver, like an antenna. What has been received has left its mark on the works on display.
It's like dipping a toe in a lake. So little of the meaning should come through. A balancing act between clarity and ambiguity.
I have asked myself why I generally have difficulty depicting faces. Is it because a stylized facial expression is difficult to look at when it does not change or move? Or is it because the depicted faces can become too expressive? Or is it about the encounter with the “other”? The question remains.
Is this a face?
Helena Mutanen
Helena Mutanen (b. 1965) lives and works in Stockholm. She is educated at the Royal Academy of Fine Arts in Stockholm where she graduated in 1998. She has received several scholarships such as the Maria Bonnier Dahlin Scholarship in 1998 and the Stockholm City Cultural Scholarship in 2000. Helena Mutanen has had a large number of solo exhibitions at galleries and art halls in Sweden, but also in Helsinki. She has participated in several group exhibitions, including at Pilane Sculpture Park 2016, Bonniers Konsthall 2016, Sven Harrys Konstmuseum 2017–18. She has also taught both at Konstfack; master's project 2009 and at the Bergen Academy of Fine Arts as a guest lecturer 2010.
In 2021, Helena Mutanen received the Academy of Fine Arts' exhibition scholarship from the Gerard Bonnier Fund. The scholarship includes an exhibition at the Academy of Fine Arts, funds to carry out the exhibition, and an exhibition catalogue.
Caption: Helena Mutanen "Lace Skull (Lying Black)", 2022. Papier-mâché, textile.
Photo: Prallan Allsten © Helena Mutanen/BUS 2023
Excerpt from Sven-Olov Wallenstein's text entitled Face, head
The face meets us, it carries the gaze, the expression, the personality, and in the portrait we are faced with another person who sometimes addresses us, sometimes seems to turn inward and neglect us, sometimes, as in what is traditionally called profil perdu, turns away from us to further emphasize that the person we are looking at is somewhere else, in their own thoughts, in another world. The face thus gives rise to an allure: who is it that we are seeing, can we imagine the life of another reflected in the gaze and facial expressions?
Excerpt from Anders Olofsson's text entitled A bridge between memory and oblivion
In the works created over the past decade, Helena Mutanen's objects have become increasingly corporeal and organic. Her installations – even entire exhibitions – take the form of a kind of anatomical study with art as a scalpel. Surfaces reminiscent of skin bear scars and cracks, openings that lead down into the darkness of oblivion. Sprawling root systems grasp at the air for soil to settle in, and boulders turn out to have an intricate pattern that resembles the convolutions of the brain.
