Timeless London #4 Euan Evans
- wendyy0
- 9月24日
- 讀畢需時 26 分鐘
好的作品，能盛載當下的聲音，同時又有永恆的意味。
時：2025年6月28日，下午五時
地：Stoke Newington, London
人：Euan Evans
跟第一位嘉賓Karsan一樣，Euan是另一位以前曾經跟我在店鋪工作的同事，會訪問他，其實是由我們那位很會看人的店鋪經理Felix所提議。而在跟Euan訪談後，我非常、非常地感激這個提議。只因我在這短短一小時半內所學到的藝術知識，和受Euan啟發的種種思想衝擊，讓我心中一直激動至今。我甚至跟Euan戲言：這個訪問，根本就比我那個非常昂貴的博物館學碩士學位要珍貴許多許多倍（！）。
在我眼中（相信也是大家眼中），Euan為人沉靜內斂，非常的溫柔而謙虛，跟他談天本來就很舒服，我絕對不需要擔心他會嫌我的問題太初階太簡單（因為視覺藝術是我很不熟悉，卻又很想理解的東西！）；這天我來到他在Stoke Newington的工作室，剛好是他在這個工作室的最後一天，他請我在附近的貝果店吃過午餐之後，我們就在他的Studio談著關於他的種種。
這是第一次，一位藝術家在我眼前，親身向我展示他的作品，並且解釋它們的概念和製作過程，而我更可以不斷隨之提問、跟他互相討論。Euan形容我的這個訪談讓他對這最後的studio day感到圓滿，我想說的是，他才是令我對視覺藝術總是覺得有甚麼缺少的那塊空白，趨向圓滿。
你從哪裡來？為什麼會在倫敦生活？
我在英國西南面Cornwall一個很小的村莊St Cleer出生和長大，那裡的荒野非常廣闊，有很多小小的樹，有山丘，有野馬，還有新石器時代的石圈，其中一塊比較著名的叫做King Doniert’s Stone；整個村莊都很小，小學放學後我喜歡跟同學在荒野附近遊玩。人人都走路上學放學，孩子最大的娛樂就是野外活動，有些人甚至會帶著他們的狗來，我們就跟著一起散步。我一直在Cornwall直到二十歲，才離開到Leeds讀大學。我是讀爵士樂的，有結他表演的學位，後來輾轉才到倫敦讀藝術，現在有自己的art studio。
我很驚訝你是讀音樂出身的，我還以為你的背景一直是視覺藝術。你最初是怎樣接觸藝術的呢？之後又怎樣發展到現在的專長？
我一直就很喜歡畫畫，即使在我讀音樂的時候，我也有帶著Sketchbooks一有空就畫。讀大學的時候我認識了我的伴侶Claire Shakespeare，她當時在Brighton讀藝術大學，那時我在她的大學聽了一個關於Royal Drawing School的課程講座，我就報名了；那是一個很小的機構，每年都有二十到三十個學生，是免費的，不用錢便有十八個月的教學。除了學習繪畫技術之外，更要你不停在倫敦不同的地方畫畫，想起來真的很Intense。不過那真的讓我的技術有改進，而且對於認識倫敦更非常不錯，尤其是當時我第一次搬到倫敦。那時我住在Brick Lane，那是一個很好的社區，亦是我真正開始創作藝術作品的地方；我現在仍然會彈結他，我剛剛才跟朋友一起完成一張新專輯。有趣的是，樂隊的鼓手Toby Mathews正是我在Drawing School的朋友 Ella Write 的伴侶，所以其實畫畫和音樂是互為相通的，連社群也是一樣。
完成Drawing School之後，我在 Royal College of Arts 讀 Print Making 的碩士，那時我開始做版畫。版畫是一種以非直接的方式去把作品做出來的藝術，畫畫是很直接的，但版畫呢，你雕刻一塊木板或者金屬模板，加上墨，再把它放進 Print Press ── 一切的魔法就在這裡開始。當你把紙慢慢從模板剝出來，你才終於看到作品最後的模樣，但在此之前你不是對作品擁有完全的控制權的，你不知道出來的效果會是如何，因為不同材料的模板，配合不同的Chemicals，會得到不同的材質，一幅作品可以由多於一塊模板組成。而我，非常非常享受這種製作過程。
我叔叔Melvyn Evans是一位印刷師，我們曾經一起創作過一些作品，他也是很重視製作過程的一位藝術家。我自己是個比較有耐性的人吧，所以這種事前構想作品會怎樣產生、材料會怎樣出現在紙上、要怎樣把時間把握好這樣的程序很適合我。說起來有些飲烹飪，我正好也非常喜歡烹飪。
你會怎樣形容現在這一刻的你？
目前這刻的我，正在搬Studio，我所在的Stoke Newington是很重社區性的一個地方，我自己也因著這裡的日子而改變了很多。我覺得現在的自己能夠專注得多了，以前總是想快點做出一些作品，好把它們交到小畫廊去展出；現在反而是真正放慢下來，讓自己有時間去思考、去對自己正在做的東西感到滿意。我可以說，這刻的我是興奮的、是期待的，我正處於要完成很多事情的關鍵時刻。我覺得我已經探索到一定程度了，我準備好去開始一些東西，一些在我腦海中一直想去做的東西，例如我仍在做的編織系列（Weaving）的作品：我做了很多編織物，有點像不同的小模型，但我真正想要的是成品。我花了大概幾年才弄清楚這些東西到底是怎麼組裝起來的，以及應該用甚麼材料去把它們織出來，例如你剛才看到、摸到，但猜不到的（我喜歡別人猜不到），就是一種像描圖紙的紙質，但看上去並不像紙。我正在這個項目上努力著。
我一直很好奇作為藝術家，怎樣才能讓自己被看見，讓作品參與展覽，甚至開設個人展覽？到底這一切背後是怎樣運作的呢？
以我自己來說，當我在Royal Drawing School畢業後，因為他們和不同畫廊建立了非常好的聯繫，所以從那時起，我就和參觀過我工作室的畫廊進行交流。他們會定期來看我的作品，了解我的創作進度。現在他們很感興趣，但他們只需要多些作品，這樣我才能舉辦個人展覽；此外當然還有我的朋友圈，在倫敦，我們可以舉辦齊集藝術人士的種種活動，我想這也是倫敦的吸引力之一。我更容易接觸這些活動，但如果我還在Cornwall而嘗試做同樣的事情，那真的會很難，甚至幾乎是不可能的。這些社交活動，說實話，我並不特別喜歡。但現實是，很多事情確實發生在社群的基礎上，尤其是社交媒體，我想至少一開始是這樣，這是我獲得機會的方式。
不過，就如你的寫作一樣，你會忍不住寫作，即使什麼回報都沒有，你可能也是會寫。我想我就是這麼想的。我想做藝術，因為我有一些關於它的問題，我想自己去回答，我需要把這個問題看穿。如果有人想展示我的作品，那很好，但沒有的話，我也不太在意。
你對於出售自己的作品有甚麼看法？
有時候我很難過呢（笑）。但是我覺得有一些工作可以維持生計，這是很好的。在倫敦要租一個Studio並不易，但你需要它來完成工作，它是必須的，但它總是很貴。我很幸運，有一些線上畫廊喜歡我的作品，還有一些代理商擁有我的作品，他們用我的作品來做商業化的事情，例如把一些版畫用於室內設計、酒店等等的東西，我做得還不錯，這些部分可以賺錢，即使商業，它們也是我作品的一部分。
（筆者：我覺得這些商業的作品感覺比較「友好」）
是的，這些作品是跟一家專營藝術品購買的公司合作的，他們在這方面很專業，也專門為那些想為新房子做整體室內設計的人提供服務。而我的角色，就是為他們提供一些圖案，他們會再把這些圖案印在譬如杯子上。我只要買一個好的掃描器去提供圖案就可以了，這很好，因為這意味著我不需要花太多額外的錢去完成我的作品。
跟你一樣，我因為在這家大型文化藝術中心工作，而每天都接觸到很多來自不同範疇的藝術人士。但我唯獨覺得在視覺藝術圈裏，大家都好像特別驕傲。有時我會被這樣的驕傲所刺傷，但更多的是不解。你覺得為甚麼會這樣？
我覺得這和教育有關係。譬如我以前在 Royal College of Arts 讀版畫的時候，繪畫系的一些同學就覺得自己的科目比其他科目更高人一等。當然不是所有人，但確實有這種氣氛，好像繪畫是「整個樂團裡的小提琴」。我覺得這和藝術世界的精英主義分不開，因為這個圈子很多時候是由富有的人、藍籌畫廊、社會上層等等來主導的，藝術品常常被視為奢侈品，於是難免會有比較、競爭和虛榮。（筆者：但藝術不應該是把人拉近，而不是用來彰顯優越感嗎？）
我當然也這樣覺得，真正的藝術應該是共享的，是對所有人都開放的。但現實中，這個行業裏的確存在這些現象。跟很多畢生都過得很貧困的藝術大師相反，這行業也有很多出身很優渥的人，他們天生就比別人佔了便宜，但這種不公平，其實在任何行業都會存在，只是藝術世界也不能倖免而已。
可以很詳細地說說你怎樣創作一件作品嗎？我很喜歡你這件藝術品，中間的球體看上去好像一個星球，但卻藏於一個四方箱子之中，不如你用它做例子，說說整個過程？
這個作品分成幾個部分，我把它組裝起來掛在牆上讓你看：它是銅做的，上面覆了一層石膏，再加上蝕刻的工序而成。雖是石膏，但它也是印刷的，而且是動態的，其實這個設計就像複製品一樣，因為它的靈感是來自於我在父母家的花園裡發現的東西。我父母的房子是一幢兩百年歷史的小屋，前院很漂亮。某日我父親在花園做園藝時，挖出了一塊花崗岩，這塊石頭上被鑿出了半圓的弧面，看上去像某種模具的一半。後來我們才知道，那是製作鉛錘（以前人們建教堂時用來測水平的工具）的模具。村子裡的教堂，便是靠著這樣的工具一點一點建起來的，這麼多年後卻在我們家的花園被發現。但更奇妙的是，後來我們在翻新屋子時，把一堵牆拆開，竟然發現了另一半模具。花園裡的那半塊因為風雨侵蝕，邊角早已殘缺，但牆裡的卻保存得幾乎完整。兩塊石頭湊在一起，恰好合成一個整體 —— 我正被這樣的偶然所啟發，做了這件藝術品。我覺得物件本身已經存在，自有其歷史和位置，但創作的過程，則是另一個層次。就像我在花園裡發現的石頭，它存在，很好，但當你創作一件擁有自身意義的藝術品時，它是兩者的結合。它們不一定是同一回事，但你必須同時擁有它們，它們之間有對話，才能構成一幅圖像，一個新的藝術品。這讓我想起藝術家 Richard Aldrich 的一段文字，大意是說：「想法與作品太常被放在同一個層面上。我想把它們拉開 —— 想法是根，作品則自成一體。」我很喜歡這種說法。就像我在花園裡發現的兩塊各自一半的石模，它存在，它有意義，它啟發了我的作品，但我的作品是另一回事。而當兩者相遇時，才真正生成了屬於「我」的東西。
我想我要提出那個我一直很想問，但又知道很難答的「終極問題」了：藝術到底是甚麼？它有甚麼意義？如果我本身並沒有接受藝術訓練，我可以做些甚麼，去讓自己跟藝術更親近一些？
我覺得藝術是一種很人性的東西，它是一種表達。
（筆者：像是一種從生活中抽取出來的東西，我可以這樣形容嗎？）
可以啊！我覺得好的作品，都表達了時代的一些特質，都能帶著一種當下的聲音，但同時又有永恆的意味。它應該能打動你，但不一定是以悲傷的方式，而是，它讓你對身邊的事物生出更多的好奇，它讓你質疑你對某個事物的看法。好的音樂或藝術應該做到這一點，它會讓你重新思考你所相信的美學、價值，甚至你是怎樣的一個人。
至於怎樣進入藝術，我認為最簡單的方法反而是：不用做太多！就算你對一件作品感到困惑、不喜歡，這其實也是一種有效的回應；我記得我們在學校第一次聽Shostakovich的交響曲時，他的音樂裡有很多不協調和尖銳的地方，一開始是很難聽得下去的。但隨著時間，你會在當中找到一些你喜歡的元素，無論是聲音的質感、畫面的線條、題材，還是某段文字的味道。雖然一開始可能不懂它的脈絡，但隨著一次又一次的接觸，你慢慢會喜歡上那些原本覺得艱澀的部分。就像小時候第一次試吃一種不喜歡的食物，但後來就愛上一樣。（筆者：Shostakovich我第一次聽就愛上了，甚至不知道那是他的音樂；至於不喜歡的食物，則是到現在仍不愛吃（笑）。）
你常問我，「這個作品在告訴我們甚麼？」但有時候，就像你去餐廳，當侍應送上食物時，你只會好好的吃它，而不會問「這道菜在告訴我甚麼?」吧？藝術也是一樣，就是那種Gut feeling，你會覺得嘩，很動人，就是這樣而已。就像人與人之間那種互相吸引一樣，我們是無法言明的，那無法用理性或者邏輯去解釋，那幾乎只是Chemistry而已。（筆者：不需言語就知道的那種心有靈犀。）沒錯，跟藝術之間也可以是這樣。（筆者：我好像從來沒有對藝術動心過呢！） 那只是你未遇到對的藝術品而已（笑）！
如果可以的話，你會想改變甚麼？可以是你自己，也可以是社會，或者任何東西。
我想還是在社會層面上吧，現在的世界簡直瘋狂、荒謬得很。這種缺乏人性的狀態，好像前所未見。
（筆者：但世界一直以來都是這樣嗎？還是只是現在？抑或只是我們長大了，所以覺得世界變壞？）
可能世界一直如此吧，只是我們長大了，才看得更清楚。尤其是住在倫敦，你會見到身邊的朋友真實地被這些事情影響着日常生活。還有現在的新聞資訊太多，我們每天接觸到的東西讓我們意識到世界到底多糟糕，也看見人性在消失。很多強權政府都只是在玩自己的遊戲，最後犧牲的永遠是無辜的平民。我想最理想的是至少不要再讓平民捲入其中吧，身為大國領袖，本來就應該有相應的責任。現在的問題是，他們根本不具備這樣的資格，也沒有承擔，他們的位置和權力其實配不上。結果就是，需要付出人命的代價。（筆者：面對這些混亂，你會怎樣令自己好過一點？）
老實說，我其實很幸運，生在這樣富裕的國家。要說「這些事影響到我」，好像也有點「第一世界的煩惱」吧。不過，我覺得至少我們要保持關心，去了解、去知道這些事情。住在倫敦，來自英國，如果還選擇完全不去理會周遭發生的事，這也不是理想的狀態。所以我努力提醒自己，至少要對一切保持覺知。
明年今日，你覺得你會在做甚麼？
我想我應該會繼續Weaving吧，也希望可以多點去游泳。我最期待的，是我將會搬到Bow的新工作室，在那裡會我和幾位舊同學一起，他們是我讀書時曾經合租過工作室的朋友，其中還有一位我很欣賞的畫家Raha Farazmand會在我隔壁的房間。想到又能和這些熟悉又有才華的朋友一起工作，我覺得非常興奮。總之，明年應該還是以我的編織作品為主，同時希望也能多玩音樂。
（筆者：如果更實際一點，你能不能分享一些未來的挑戰，或者你想在作品上嘗試甚麼方向？）
我現在的編織作品，大多都是從繪畫延伸出來的，所以形狀比較方正，都是長方形或正方形。但我一直在想，總有一天要打破這個框架，讓它們不再局限於矩形。我希望它們能夠變成一組更有雕塑感的作品。這些材料本身拿起來是柔軟、可以彎折的，我還沒有完全想通怎樣把這個特質用到作品裡。未來我很想嘗試給它們一種結構性，像在你看到外面那些橋樑的支架，或者辦公室大樓裏的鋁材結構，這些元素一直在吸引我。我希望找到方法，把這些結構性的東西和我繪畫、編織物的形式結合起來，讓作品有新的延伸。
我花了非常非常長的時間去寫成這篇訪問。我重新把Euan的錄音好好聽了一次，整理成長達廿九頁的檔案，然後再做一些資料搜集，最後去蕪存菁。我非常享受這個過程。Euan沒有談太多圍繞藝術的地方，很多時候，他都直接到核心去談他的作品，而且談得非常的仔細，這讓我很能感受到他對藝術的熱情、專注和耐性。
我很欣賞、也羨慕他平靜滿足的生活方式，我跟他一樣也是不太喜歡社交的人，但我卻仍在掙扎於怎樣平衝「做自己」和「不失孤獨」。我彷彿從Euan身上看到這種平衡的可能：他一面專注做自己喜歡的專長，一面很珍惜跟他一直走來的社群、跟他一樣同為藝術家和音樂家的朋友們。他透過他自己本身非凡的才華，還有這些伙伴們，獲得生活中的滿足和成就。他的謙虛讓他不拒絕人群，但同時保有著一個好好的自己。在藝術知識以外，作為一個總是寂寞的書寫的人，這真是一個極為寶貴的借鏡。
專欄簡介
用心生活的人都是值得欣賞的。在倫敦，我召集了十二位用心生活的人，他們有著不同的背景、職業、愛好、生活方式，但共通的是，他們對生活有著熱情的心。我一一訪問，紀錄他們當前狀態，希望一年後，這個小小的時間囊會成為他們檢視生活的美好回憶。
作者簡介
周綺婷 (個人文字網站）香港出生長大。2018年獨自移居英國，從此在這裡生活。香港樹仁大學中文系畢業、英國University of Leicester博物館及畫廊研究碩士。目前在倫敦某大型文化藝術中心工作，並以教廣東話作為點綴；兩屆青年文學獎得主，作品曾刊《字花》、《別字》等，著有專欄〈原來都走到這裡〉刊《大頭菜文藝月刊》。喜歡村上春樹、古典音樂、伯爵茶和鄰居的貓。
Timeless London
#4 Euan Evans
Date: 28 June 2025, 5 PM
Location: Stoke Newington, London
Guest: Euan Evans
Just like my first guest Karsan, Euan is another former colleague from the shop. This interview, in fact, came about thanks to our manager Felix, someone with a keen eye for people, who suggested I should talk to him. And after my conversation with Euan, I can only say I am deeply, deeply grateful for that suggestion. In the span of just an hour and a half, the knowledge I gained about art, and the ways Euan’s insights struck me and opened up new ways of thinking, left me still quietly thrilled even now. I even joked with him that this interview was worth far more (many, many times more) than my very expensive master’s degree in Museum Studies(!).
To me (and I believe to anyone who meets him), Euan is gentle, humble, quietly thoughtful. Talking with him is immediately comfortable; I never once worried that he would dismiss my questions as too basic or naïve (since visual art is something I know little about, yet so wish to understand!). That afternoon I went to visit him at his studio in Stoke Newington. By chance, it was his very last day there. After he treated me to lunch at a nearby bagel shop, we sat down in his studio and began our conversation.
This was the first time an artist had ever shown me their works in person, explaining not only their concepts but also their processes, while I could ask and respond, again and again. Euan said my visit made his last studio day feel complete. What I want to say is this: he was the one who made me feel a missing piece in my understanding of visual art had finally begun to fall into place.
Where are you from? And what brought you to London?
I was born and raised in St Cleer, a tiny village in Cornwall in the southwest of England. The moors there stretch out endlessly, dotted with small trees, hills, wild ponies, and even Neolithic stone circles. One of the better-known ones is called King Doniert’s Stone. The whole village was very small. After school, I loved playing on the moors with my classmates. Everyone walked to and from school, and the biggest entertainment for children was being outdoors. Some people would bring their dogs along, and we would just follow and walk together.
I stayed in Cornwall until I was twenty, and then left for Leeds to study at university. I studied jazz music, with a degree in guitar performance. Later, I somehow found my way to London to study art, and now I have my own art studio.
I was surprised to hear you trained in music. I had always assumed your background was in visual art. How did you first get into art? And how did that develop into the work you do now?
I’ve always loved drawing. Even when I was studying music, I carried sketchbooks with me, and whenever I had time, I would draw. After university I met my partner Claire Shakespeare, who was studying painting at Brighton at the time. Through her, I attended a talk about the Royal Drawing School. I signed up for it. It was a very small institution, each year there were only twenty to thirty students, and it was free, eighteen months of teaching at no cost. Besides learning drawing techniques, they required you to keep drawing all over London. Thinking back, it was really intense. But it improved my technique, and it was also a wonderful way to get to know the city, especially since it was my first time living in London.
At that time I lived in Brick Lane, which was such a good community, and it was there that I truly began creating my own artworks. I still play guitar; I just finished a new album with friends. Interestingly, the drummer Toby Mathews in our band YOG turned out to be the partner of my friend Ella Write from the drawing school. So in a way, art and music are connected, not only in practice, but also in community.
After finishing Drawing School, I went on to do a Master’s in Printmaking at the Royal College of Art. That’s when I began working with print. Printmaking is a way of making art that is not direct: drawing is very immediate, but printmaking - you carve a block of wood or a metal plate, ink it, put it through the press, and that’s where the magic begins. Only when you slowly peel the paper back from the plate do you finally see what the work looks like. Before that, you don’t have complete control over it. You can’t be sure what effect will come out, because different plates and materials, combined with different chemicals, produce different textures. And one work can be made up of several plates. For me, I really, really enjoy this process.
My uncle, Melvyn Evans, was a print maker, and we used to create some works together. He was also an artist who valued process. I think I’m a fairly patient person, so I enjoy the kind of procedure where you plan ahead: what the work might become, how the materials will appear on the paper, how to time it all. In some ways it’s like cooking, and as it happens, I love cooking too.
How would you describe yourself at this moment?
Right now, I’m in the middle of moving studios. I’ve been based in Stoke Newington, which is a very community-oriented place, and my time there has really changed me. I feel I can focus much more now. In the past, I always wanted to quickly produce works and get them into small galleries. Now, I’ve slowed down. I give myself time to think, to feel satisfied with what I’m making.
I would say, at this moment, I feel excited, expectant. I’m at a turning point where a lot of things are coming together. I feel I’ve explored enough to be ready to begin certain things that I’ve long had in my mind. For example, the weaving series I’m still working on. I’ve made many woven pieces, almost like different small models, but what I really want is a finished work. It’s taken me a few years to figure out how exactly they should be assembled, what materials I should use. The one you saw and touched earlier, and couldn’t quite guess (I like it when people can’t guess), was made from a tracing-paper-like material, though it doesn’t look like paper. That’s the project I’m working hard on now.
I’ve always been curious: how does an artist actually get seen, get their work into exhibitions, even have a solo show? How does it really work behind the scenes?
For me, after I graduated from the Royal Drawing School, because they had strong connections with different galleries, I started to build relationships with the galleries who had visited my studio. They would come regularly to see my works and check in on what I was making. Now they’re very interested, but they just need to see more work from me before a solo show can happen. And of course, there’s also my circle of friends. In London, you can take part in all kinds of events where artists gather. That’s one of the great things about the city. Access is easier here, but if I were still in Cornwall trying to do the same thing, it would have been very hard, almost impossible.
Honestly, I don’t particularly like these social events. But the reality is that a lot does happen on the basis of community, especially through social media. At least at the beginning, that’s how I got opportunities.
But just like your writing, you can’t stop writing, even without any reward. I think I’m the same. I make art because there are questions I want to answer for myself. I need to see through those questions. If someone wants to show my work, that’s great. If not, I don’t mind too much either.
What’s your view on selling your works?
Sometimes it makes me a little sad (laughs). But I think it’s good to have some work that sustains your livelihood. Renting a studio in London isn’t easy, you need it to make the work, it’s essential, but it’s always expensive. I’m lucky that some online galleries like my work, and some agents hold my pieces and use them for more commercial purposes, for example, prints for interior design or for hotels. That side of things has worked out well, and it brings in income. Even if it’s commercial, I still see those works as part of what I do.
(Iris: To me, these commercial works feel somehow ‘friendlier’.) Yes, they’re in collaboration with a company that specialises in art buying. They’re very professional at what they do, and they focus on clients who want a complete interior design for a new home. My role is simply to provide the patterns. They’ll then apply those patterns onto objects, like cups, for example. All I need is a good scanner to produce the designs, and that’s enough. It’s great, because it means I don’t have to spend too much extra money to make the work happen.
Like you, I also work at this big cultural and arts centre, and every day I meet people from many different fields. But what strikes me is that in the visual arts circle in particular, people often seem especially proud. Sometimes that pride feels a little hurtful, but more often I just don’t understand it. Why do you think that is?
I think it has a lot to do with education. For example, when I was at the Royal College of Arts doing printmaking, some people on the painting course behaved as if their discipline was somehow superior to others. Not everyone, but there was definitely that atmosphere, like painting is ‘the violin of the orchestra’. I think it ties into elitism in the art world: a lot of the scene is driven by wealthy people, blue-chip galleries and the social upper classes. Art often gets treated as a luxury item, so comparisons, competition and vanity sneak in.
(Iris: But shouldn’t art bring people together rather than being a vehicle for superiority?)
I agree. True art should be shared and open to everyone. But the reality is those elitist dynamics exist. Contrast that with artists who lived in poverty their whole lives; the art world also has plenty of people born with advantages. That unfairness exists in lots of fields, art isn’t immune.
Can you walk me through how you make a piece? I love this work of yours, a sphere that looks like a planet enclosed in a box. Could you use this as an example?
Like the two halves of the mould: they exist and mean something, they inspire, but the artwork is different. When they meet, something that’s truly mine emerges.
This piece is made of several parts. Let me assemble it and hang it on the wall for you: It’s copper, covered with a layer of plaster, and then etched. Although it’s plaster, it’s also printed and can be moved via hinges. The design is effectively a replica, the idea came from something I found in my parents’ garden. They live in a small, two-hundred-year-old cottage with a lovely front garden. One day my dad was gardening and dug up a piece of granite that had a half-round carved surface, like half of a mould. Later we learned it was half a mould for a plumb weight, the kind of tool historically used to check levels when villagers built the church. The church in the village was gradually built using tools like that; centuries later, one half of the mould turned up in our garden.
The stranger part was that when we were renovating the house and knocked down an internal wall, we found the other half of the mould inside the wall. The garden half had been eroded, but the one inside the wall was almost pristine. They fit together perfectly. That coincidence inspired the work. The found object already existed with its own history and place. The creative process is another layer: the thing is there, but when you make an artwork that has its own meaning, it’s the union of idea and object. They aren’t the same thing, but you need both. They have a dialogue that produces an image, a new object.
That reminds me of a line I like from Richard Aldrich: ‘Too often ideas and the work exist on the same plane. I want to pull them apart: ideas are the roots, the work stands on its own.’ I really like that. Like the two halves of the mould: they exist and mean something, they inspire, but the artwork is different. When they meet, something that’s truly mine emerges.
Okay — now for the big question I’ve wanted to ask but knew would be hard: what is art? What does it mean? If someone hasn’t been trained in art, how can they get closer to it?
I think art is a very human thing - a form of expression. (Iris: Like something you extract from life?) Yes. Good work often expresses qualities of its time; it carries a voice of the moment but also something timeless. It should move you, not necessarily by sadness, but by making you more curious about what’s around you. Good music or good art should question you: your aesthetics, your values, even who you are.
As for getting into art, my advice is simple: don’t do too much. It’s valid to respond with confusion or dislike. I remember the first time we heard Shostakovich at school… Dissonant and angular, it was hard to sit through at first. But over time you might find small elements you like, a certain sound, a texture, a line, a passage of writing. Repeated exposure makes those difficult bits familiar, it’s like when you’re a child and try a food you don’t like for the first time, but then later grow to love it. (Iris: With Shostakovich, I fell in love right from the first listen, without even knowing it was his music; as for foods I don’t like… well, some I still don’t eat to this day [laughs].)
You often ask, ‘What is this piece telling us?’ But sometimes it’s like being in a restaurant: when the waiter brings your dish, you just eat it. You don’t ask what the dish is telling you. Art can be the same: it’s a gut feeling. You’re moved, that’s it. It’s like chemistry between people: there’s an attraction that can’t be fully explained by logic. (Iris: That unspoken mutual understanding.) Exactly. And if you haven’t fallen for a piece yet, it just means you haven’t met the right one (laughs).
If you could, what would you want to change? It could be yourself, society, or anything at all.
I think it would have to be society. The world right now just feels insane, absurd even. This kind of lack of humanity feels almost unprecedented. (Iris: But hasn’t the world always been like this? Or is it just now? Or maybe it’s simply that we’ve grown up, so we see it differently?) Perhaps the world has always been this way. It’s only when you grow up that you start to see it more clearly. Especially living in London, you witness how friends around you are directly affected in their everyday lives. And then with the sheer flood of news we consume, we’re constantly confronted with how bad things are, and how much humanity seems to be vanishing. So many powerful governments are just playing their own games, and the ones who always pay the price are ordinary civilians. Ideally, at the very least, they shouldn’t have to be dragged into it. Leaders of powerful nations should shoulder that responsibility. The problem now is, they’re simply not qualified, they lack both the responsibility and the capacity for the positions they hold. And the result is that lives are lost.
(Iris: When you’re faced with all this chaos, how do you make yourself feel better?) Honestly, I’m very lucky to have been born in such a wealthy country. To even say, ‘all this affects me,’ feels a bit like a first-world complaint. But I do think at the very least we need to keep caring, to stay informed, to know what’s happening. Living in London, being from the UK, if you still choose to completely ignore what’s going on around you, that really isn’t ideal. So I try to remind myself: at the very least, I should stay aware.
One year from today, what do you think you’ll be doing?
I imagine I’ll still be weaving, and hopefully swimming more as well. What I’m most excited about is moving into a new studio in Bow, where I’ll be with some of the friends I used to share a studio with as a student. One of them is Raha Farazmand, a painter I really admire, and she’ll be in the room next door. Just the thought of working alongside such familiar and talented friends again is thrilling. So yes, I think a year from now weaving will still be the focus, but I also hope there’ll be more music-making too.
(Iris: To be a bit more concrete - could you share what challenges lie ahead, or what new directions you’d like to try with your work?) Most of my weaving works so far have come directly from drawings, which means they’ve tended to stay square or rectangular in shape. But I’ve always felt that at some point, I need to break out of that frame, to let them move beyond rectangles. I’d love to see them develop into a group of works that feel more sculptural. The materials themselves are soft, bendy, and flexible when you pick them up, and I haven’t yet figured out how to really use that quality in the work. What I’d like is to bring in more structure, like the scaffolding you see around bridges, or the aluminium frameworks in office buildings. These elements keep catching my attention. I want to find a way to merge that sense of structure with the forms of my drawings and weavings, and see how the work can extend into something new.
It took me an extraordinarily long time to write this interview. I listened carefully through Euan’s recording again, transcribed it into a twenty-nine-page document, did some extra research, and then slowly pared it down to the essence. I enjoyed every step of that process. What struck me was that Euan didn’t dwell too much on the outer layers of art; more often, he went straight to the core of his work, speaking in detail and with such clarity. It allowed me to truly feel his passion, his focus, and his patience for art.
I admire, and perhaps even envy, his calm and contented way of living. Like him, I’m not someone who enjoys too much socialising, yet I’m still struggling with how to balance ‘being myself’ with ‘not losing touch with others.’ In Euan, I caught a glimpse of what that balance might look like: he dedicates himself to the craft he loves, while also treasuring the community that has grown with him over the years - fellow artists, fellow musicians, companions who walk the same path. Through his extraordinary talent, and through these friendships, he finds both fulfilment and achievement in life. His humility keeps him open to people, yet at the same time he holds firmly onto his sense of self. Beyond the knowledge I’ve gained about art, as someone who writes and often feels lonely in that act, I find in him a quiet reminder that it is possible to live with both solitude and connection.
(Originally written in Traditional Chinese.)
About This Column
People who live mindfully are always worth appreciating. In London, I gathered twelve individuals who each live with intention. They come from different backgrounds, careers, interests, and lifestyles, but they all share a passion for life. I sat down with each of them to capture a snapshot of where they are right now. A year from now, I hope this little time capsule brings them warm memories as they reflect on how far they’ve come.
About the Author
Iris Yee-Ting Chow, (Official Website) born and raised in pre-1997 Hong Kong. Moved to the UK in 2018 and has been here ever since. Holds a degree in Chinese Language and Literature from Hong Kong, and a master’s in Art Museum and Gallery Studies from the University of Leicester, UK. Currently works at a major art and culture centre in London and moonlights as a Cantonese teacher.
Twice awarded the Hong Kong Youth Literature Award. Work has appeared in Fleurs des Lettres and Typo. Writes the column ‘So This Is Where I’ve Come To‘ for The Turnip Arts Journal. A lover of Haruki Murakami, classical music, Earl Grey tea, and the neighbour’s cat.
