Miriam Lenk

Tell me something about your 11-foot nude sculpture, Janus Fairy. How did you come up with the idea for this sculpture, and what does it stand for? 

The Janus Fairy became a fertility goddess similar to the Indian goddess, Kali, who represents not only fertility but also natural disasters. One side of this sculpture is inviting and zen, and the other side is angry and excited. 

The sculpture is a mixture of all my previous figures. When I studied polytheism, the idea that a goddess manifests herself from a playful nature-inspired me when I created this work.

What are the recurring themes in your art?

The central figure in my conceptual world is a female archetype, an outsized, expansive body that emerges from nature - wild and flourishing. This figure is intertwined with Eros and centered in an eternally pregnant and impregnating environment. She is a modern vision of our prehistoric female idols.

Something I also focus on is the process of accumulation and combination. For instance, the Janus Fairy was inspired by, and was, a combination of smaller figures and fragments of previous sculptures of female figures and metamorphoses. 

Additionally, I focus on surfaces for my work. My first group of works, The Great Women, The Goddesses, and my columns, have smoothly modeled surfaces. And in 2017, when I made Madame Collage, I started to add traces of plaster, Acrystal, and epoxy resin, and I also began to deal with negative forms.

Have you ever depicted a man in your art? 

Only one. It was the Newt, a 6 foot, frog-like creature. He was a mixture of a dirty, old man who stares at your breasts on the subway and a gluttonous couch potato. His counterpart is the ‘Ostrich,’ a 10 foot, curvy female with flowing feathers and a wild look. The two sculptures are made out of bronze, and they are permanent sculptures within a Southern German pedestrian zone that follows the theme of excavations. In evolutionary history, there are numerous discoveries about the Swabian Alb from the Stone Age. One line of evolution is amphibians, which is why I created the Newt. figure. Additionally, birds are the direct descendants of dinosaurs, so I paired the Newt with the Ostrich sculpture. Both of these figures are formal translations as they represent two sides of one personality. For me, the two are like a double portrait, and they were the precursor to the Janus Fairy.

What parameters define your materials for your sculptures and collages? 

I prefer to make the small models out of clay or, when I'm on the road, out of polymer clay to harden them in an oven. These materials usually have a smooth surface. With the collages, I began to work with fragments of plaster, ceramics, and epoxy resin, which is a different approach: it is much faster, more spontaneous, and therefore wilder. I am particularly interested in the contrast between the smooth surfaces and the rough edges of the fractures.

What does it mean to be a German artist to you?

First, I am incredibly lucky to be an artist in Germany. Studying is free and there are special conditions for artists in our social security system. That creates a feeling of basic security for me. 

Nevertheless, German reunification and its consequences for Berlin have shaped my life. I grew up in a small, idyllic village on the Lake of Constance, went to school in Baden-Baden, studied in Dresden, and finally, I ended up in Berlin for my work. In 2000, the German reunification had already been 11 years ago, but there were still rifts between the East and West. It took decades to mend the division between the East and West. 

The move from Lake of Constance to Dresden was a culture shock for me. In southern Germany, besides my work as a goldsmith, I was mainly busy socializing and trying to look as slim and beautiful as possible. I come from an artist family and was always fascinated by the bourgeois lifestyle. My friends tended to be entrepreneurs and lawyers and I  had little to do with artists of my generation. The mentality in SouthWest Germany is very open and cordial, but somewhat noncommittal. Dresden was the exact opposite: at the academy, I was just one of many artists, I wasn’t someone special. I was questioned and had to prove myself artistically. I got into my first creative frenzy and spent my days in the studio.

At the time, there existed many old, unrenovated houses, exhibition spaces, and wild parties in Dresden; I was able to reinvent myself. At the end of my studies, Dresden spaces became too cramped, and I moved to Berlin, like many artists at the time. I found a studio in the former Stasi headquarters in Hohenschönhausen, which is Northeast of Berlin. Everything was ugly and barren, but I transformed my studio into a cave of female forms, plants, and ornaments, which allowed me to create my inner world or transform my studio into my personal reality. This is when my first columns and collages emerged.

You have one artist studio in a quaint, German village called Bodman, at the Lake of Constance, and an additional one in Berlin in a building that used to be a GDR prison. How does each location influence your work in particular?

For me, this is the perfect contrast between the north and south; With one studio in the big city and the other one in a village. The first 10 years in Berlin, my sculptures were like fortresses: smooth surfaces, self-contained, modeled as perfectly as possible. The first model for my ceramic Big sister, actually on display at BCMA gallery in Berlin, was directly inspired by the Building's past. When I started building my Bodman studio, I built my first collage, Madame Collage. To me, it was a great adventure to work with fragments of my previous works, with my ‘everyday objects,’ which are parts of the figures I create.

Later, I finally took my long-planned trip to Los Angeles and got a scholarship at Eastside International in Downtown, where I made my first paper installation and started painting. In Berlin, I travel a lot, take in the city, and it’s all about art. At the Lake of Constance, I build the big sculptures and experience direct contact with nature and the lake.

Recently, you showed your work at the large open-air art fair, Wiedererwachen, that I curated in Berlin Gleisdreieck, former home to the ABC contemporary art fair. Talk to me about that experience during the COVID-19 pandemic.

The open-air exhibition, Wiedererwachen, was a massive statement for the vitality of the Berlin art scene in times of crisis. I was delighted to show my goddess sculpture as the temple of a polytheistic, sensual counterculture after the battle of the sexes. I found this show’s organization to be very refreshing and encouraging, especially during this difficult time. It was a fantastic atmosphere, in which there were strict protocols set by the Berlin Senate, the visitors had to follow. Visitors of your open-air art fair had to register in advance within time slots, and from the 1st floor of the three buildings showing art, security personnel equipped with megaphones made sure the distances were kept. Fortunately, most visitors were very reasonable, and we also had great press with Arte TV, Tagesspiegel, Berliner Zeitung, and many more. We had visitors from all backgrounds and layers of society, and the press, Berliners, and artists loved the concept. Art, typically shown in museums and galleries, was curated in three buildings and two large parking lots, and a large-scale light sculpture on a massive terrace for subway riders to see.