I’m sitting on my childhood bed in Boorloo (Perth), reflecting on a WhatsApp conversation with Maija Fox, Vesa Rahikainen, and Man Yau about their collaborative exhibition wip, that I’m encountering through documentation. Maija has just shared some work-in-process images of how she uses eucalyptus seeds as fixtures to secure tools, and I’m marvelling at that ingenuity, and also the weirdness of those objects resonating at different registers in my present. She reflects on how using natural materials to adapt to the often-volatile dynamics of the casting process can create imaginative possibilities. Maija uses the word “wobble” to describe the relationship between natural ecosystems and the foundry process, and I’m thinking of molecules vibrating faster when heated, the heaviness of hot air, the immediacy that molten metal demands, and how unpredictability forces responsiveness. When bathed in red light in the evenings, the installation seems to take on an almost-feverish state. Though given the season, I could also playfully interpret it as a humorous nod to the artists’ jokes about how opening moulds in the foundry “feels like Christmas”.
wip speaks to the importance of trust in relation to spontaneity. From our conversation, I glean that activation by fire—and the camaraderie, collectivity, and shared frequencies that necessitate a casting success—creates bodily thrills that enhance the making process. Spontaneous tools need to be made, and intellectually, in these intense moments, pathways naturally open for speculating about historical-material knowledges that can now be applied to a contemporary approach to craft. Even though there is danger and uncertainty, there’s also a dynamic that develops through needing to read colleagues through their actions. Vesa stresses the need to be “present and observe and react” because practically, you can’t really hear much in the foundry. Man notes that “it felt empowering to lose control, to rely completely on the input of another”. We agree that the solitary artistic genius served by anonymous technicians is an outdated mode for framing artistic work, and that it’s inspiring to see how collective practice is being celebrated in many contemporary art contexts.
For Man and Maija, an additional closeness has developed in the working process and their challenging of “the physical limitations a female body supposedly has”. Man notes that many crafting techniques and knowledges, such as those grounded in mediaeval and gothic masonry, were traditionally given only to men. Working together is a way to collectively refute these traditions, and challenge the assumptions they regularly face about their skills and capabilities. Along with Vesa, they are calmed by the rituals of assisting each other to put on protective clothing, prepare the workflow, and assign tasks and responsibilities. This balances the nerves and thrills, with Maija noting that “preparing for danger is some kind of mental meditation, and brings your mindset into the casting situation”. For Vesa, it aligns it with a broader Daoist meditation practice that informs his approach to existence. While Man enjoys the idea of mental meditation, she also loves “living on the edge”, stressing that the “unpredictable aspect of casting is the treat!”
They leave me with this cute pic of Maija and Man in their casting kits, and a deep appreciation of the commitment it takes to work together. I sometimes wonder about urgency in relation to the making process—why this object now, from these materials, in this moment—and it’s comforting to be reminded again that doing is learning (and thinking and knowing), and that doing together is so much more than a physical act.
Katie Lenanton is a Helsinki-based curator. Thank you to Taike for supporting the writing of this text.
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See below for more images of the exhibition. Photography: Emma Sarpaniemi
