THISS 2025 artists on the theme… adaptable matter
Ahead of The Hide Installation and Sculpture Showcase in the garden, the exhibiting artists have been reflecting on their relationship with materials and their ‘adaptability’.
Can you talk about how you arrived at making the material choices you have for the artworks that will be on show? How do you interpret the phrase ‘adaptable matter'?
Valentino Vannini: My material choices engage with the tension between societal or material expectations — how objects are anticipated to perform or be perceived, and the actual experience of engaging with them. Drawing from both urban and natural environments, I queer (challenge and reshape) familiar forms. I am drawn to materials that carry weight: physical, symbolic, and cultural. In this work, I employ concrete, mild steel, as well as grass and synthetic fibres, celebrating vulnerability and fragility rather than strength, thereby subverting their typical associations with rigidity, power, and masculinity. This approach enables me to treat material expectations as stereotypes; concepts to be questioned, bent, or undone. I am particularly interested in what seeps through the cracks: the viscous, the dirty, the slippery spaces where boundaries dissolve and meaning becomes unstable. In this way, I regard materials as adaptable matter — open to transformation, ambiguity, and resistance.
Jessica Akerman: I have embraced my inner magpie - my approach to materials is non-hierarchical; cardboard and porcelain mix with scrap buoys and unwanted lino flooring. I combine modes of making - provisional and DIY meets hand built ceramics and wood turning. I am thinking about transforming something beyond its immediate surface, and reusing objects, repurposing their power.
Liz Elton: At the core of my practice is the recycling of all materials, the breakdown and re-use of everything. I like to use everyday materials, often waste, particularly materials related to food, nourishment and care, materials that remind us that life is a briefly held arrangement of atoms, matter is in constant flow, always adapting.
Chantal Powell: Using transparent photographic vinyl adhered to clear glass, I collaged fragments from the Pergamon Altar’s frieze of gods and giants, which I photographed in Berlin. These broken mythic bodies, suspended in layers of glass, evoke the dismembered archetypes I return to throughout my work. The use of transparent vinyl allowed me to layer mythic fragments, creating a space of projection and reflection. The mirrored base acts as both ground and underworld, catching and refracting not only the fractured deities above but also the viewer and the shifting environment. Installed outdoors, the piece enters into dynamic dialogue with light and landscape — \what’s visible from one angle becomes hidden from another, echoing the nature of the unconscious and the cyclical return of buried memory. In this context, ‘adaptable matter’ speaks to how materials can be both physically and psychologically porous: responsive to light, weather, context, and the presence of the viewer.
Andrea v Wright: I’ve recently relocated to a house that needs renovation and it was my intention to reuse/recycle as much as the materials removed from the property as possible. My material choices are made up of scrap leftovers destined for landfill adapted and reimagined as sculpture.
Flora Bradwell: Ripstop is used for kites and has that lightness, showerproof durability to it. I love the acidic neon colours you can get it in and how it holds acrylic paint. I first came to use the material for inflatable sculpture, but also like how it holds stuffing and can puncture the landscape with its vibrancy. It can be solid form or flowing flag, but is always unapologetic.
Barbara Beyer: I am not dogmatic about the the longevity nor the material. I believe we should work and test and allow ourselves to work with the full range of material and time. Something that vanishes almost as it appears and something that is here to stay for a long time. The same goes for material — work with the precious, work with most mundane available, and everything in between. Through the engagement with the material we encounter an entirely different timeline — the one of process, the one of trial and error. Skill, muscle memory, call it tradition that goes back and forth through generations comparable to oral histories- think of the way a handle is made or a saw is used, wood split, or in this case cob is mixed and applied to a structure. The visceral sense from an object like this doesn’t only stem from the material itself, but some deep down memories, a kind of knowing that the use and application of this particular material reaches a long way back. So I am talking about a different sense of time, not how long this structure will last, but how far back does it reach... And if it can reach back how does it reach forward, into the future? So I like the thought for some artworks to be seen by someone in the future and to fall apart and deteriorate in their own time.
How do you approach the environmental implications of materials you use? Does it stop you from making certain objects, or require more creativity to make something sustainable?
Alice Sheppard Fidler: I use found materials throughout my practice. This approach to making comes from a concern for environmental impacts, and also from my tendency to work site-specifically, utilising materials that are to hand and that belong to a place. Some of my works are temporary because the materials are borrowed and then returned. There’s a tension between the desire to make something that endures, and the acceptance of impermanence. I specifically work with found materials that bring histories with them, so my use of the material becomes just one episode in its lifespan.
Flora: My sculptures are often embellished or stuffed with old sculptures and offcuts from previous projects. Having said that, they are for the most part synthetic and not in sync with the planet’s needs. The calico I use for making large scale painting is far more caring and respectful.
Andrea: I take very seriously the environmental implications of the work I make and have moved toward more sustainable methods. It was during lockdown, when fly-tipping had increased as recycling centres were closed that I noticed more and more discarded furniture en-route to my studio, unwanted or broken, whose usefulness had supposedly been reached or were no longer fashionable. I began to actively seek out these redundant objects - I wanted to rework them as found fragments alongside materials and offcuts that I already had hoarded in the studio, put aside but saved to be utilised another time. I can no longer look at certain scrap materials and objects and not see the potential for something else.
Liz: I use a range of materials, some that are thought of as waste, and others which are part of managing waste. I prefer to use light materials that are easy to transport and store, abject materials that are widely and easily available, and I often use materials that are intended to not last.
Chantal: It’s something I’m thinking about more when working with materials like blown glass that come with a heavier environmental footprint. I try to approach each new project with an awareness of longevity and value of what the object will do in the world over time.
Jessica: I often use scrap materials, keep offcuts and make them into something else, and think carefully if I want to make something that has more of an environmental impact. I also don’t want to add more and more stuff to the world for the sake of it, despite the fact that I love the world of objects.
Barbara: The material choice for this work is a total love affair. Clay fresh from the ground, slate and wood. I love handling all of those, they all have their own story and they all require or rather allow for different processes. They all are naturally formed materials, in completely different time dimensions.
Adaptable matter all of those.
The wood I used is picked up from skips, the branches waste material after pruning the garden. The slate are recycled Welsh roof tiles.
It’s been a special moment to dig up the clay mixed with earth directly from a plant bed in The Hide, take it to my studio to work it into the sculpture to return it back to The Hide.
I left the hole in the ground , the upturned heaps of the top layer, where the clay had been dug out . Alice and I planted Phacelia seeds over the whole dig and I am excited to see how the overgrown earth work will look like when I return in the summer for the exhibition.
Valentino: I approach the environmental implications of my materials with care and critical attention. Many of the materials I use are harvested directly from my surroundings—both urban and natural—and often sourced through relationships I’ve built with people in the building industry and my neighbourhood. I collect and repurpose their offcuts and refuse, giving new life to what would otherwise become waste. This practice is not only sustainable but also rich in narrative and texture.
While I sometimes use new materials, I try to be as conscious and intentional as possible in those choices. Sustainability is important to me, but so is maintaining the freedom to respond meaningfully to the world around me. I believe that creativity and responsibility can coexist—and that sustainable practice doesn’t always mean strict limitation, but rather a deeper engagement with material histories, contexts, and potential. My aim is to work in ways that are aware and responsive, without becoming rigid or prescriptive.
Left to right: Alice Sheppard Fidler, The Point at Which, 2020; Liz Elton: Field 2 (remains), 2022; Barbara Beyer, Capacity, 2023. Photo: Julia Lametta.
Do you make objects with permanence in mind?
Liz: I make objects that are ephemeral, designed to break down, so yes I always have permanence in mind, but not as a quality that is necessarily desirable
Alice: Permanence is on my mind as a perpetual question. My practice is process-oriented, so sometimes there is no real permanence to the work – it may only exist as a live action or intervention, and then as documentation. Other works exist as blueprints or ongoing experiments, so they can be made and remade, sometimes temporarily, perhaps permanently. I often combine materials in ways that suggest permanence but also undermine it, like using powdered stone with paper. There is an open, active question for me about when and/or where “the work” is – is it within the process, or does it exist in outcomes? Although I use my body in my practice, I’m not a live performer. I make, use, and activate objects with my body, and later the objects take on the performance. I create something beyond myself that exists without me, but is replete with bodily actions.
Barbara: I think the call for a more sustainable use of material for artists is largely a symbolic one. Artists can set a sign here and address the imperative need for sustainability and fair resourcing through their practices and by example. In terms of measurable impact I feel we are small fish compared to infrastructure projects, industry, trade and conflict, but the impact lies in the message we send.
Change is possible and has started in many areas and in many artists’ practice already; we all need to be part of this change. In my case mining and source of material comes to mind and certainly my carbon footprint, as I often fire my work.
Jessica: Sort of - although it often happens that things get remade into something else.
Flora: I do intend for my work to withstand some elements of time. I want my sculptures to be around to give hugs for the foreseeable future, although when they get well-fondled they do require repair.
Andrea: I consider permanence/impermanence and the transformation that takes place between these states in my practice depending on what ideas and concepts I am working through and researching. Some materials I have worked intensely with such as liquid latex degrade naturally over time however my use of the medium is fully invested in the context from which it is drawn such as extracting traces of buildings destined for demolition. It seems appropriate that the works should fade and fall apart much like the matter and memory of such places.
Left to right: Andrea v Wright, A Smile for a Veil (2021). Photo: Léna Lewis-King; Flora Bradwell, Worm, 2024; Jessica Akerman, Stopper, 2022. Photo: Jo Hounsome Photography.
Valentino: Rooted in a sense of anti-monumentality, my work resists permanence. Instead, I’m interested in how objects exist within cycles of transformation and decay. My installations are often site-specific, shaped by and responding to the materials and context of a particular place. Many of the materials I use—such as steel, concrete, and organic matter—are intentionally chosen for their responsiveness to time and environment. They oxidize, unravel, and develop patinas; they change in relation to weather, wildlife, and human touch. I’m drawn to how materials misbehave—how they shift, deteriorate, or respond unpredictably—as a way of resisting control and embracing the organic, living nature of the work. In this way, the work embraces impermanence, reflecting the transient and shifting nature of landscapes—and of our own human condition. Rather than resisting decay, I see it as part of the work’s life, inviting ongoing interaction and reinterpretation over time.
Chantal: Not exactly. I think I make objects with transformation in mind. I’m drawn to materials and processes that suggest cycles—of breaking and mending, revealing and hiding. The glass cube, for instance, reflects and refracts depending on the weather, time of day, or viewer’s position. It’s not about fixity but about experience unfolding over time.
Luke Chin-Joseph: I’m interested in traces and evidence of time. Found materials that show marks of their history are reinterpreted and reused to create a new narrative. Some of the work’s feature found objects and metal that show signs of weathering and erosion. I’m a metalworker and enjoy working with the material, bending, and shaping what is characteristically a dense, rigid material. I feel the sculptures are light and contradict the usual connotations of the material.
With my practice, I use materials which are either scrap, waste or found. Using off-cuts, which I find at work or reusing objects that exist but no longer serve their initial function. I also like to reuse objects that I have used previously in earlier sculptures/installations, and they are motifs within my work. I like to use materials that are at hand and easily accessible.
Metal is an inherently permanent material with robust qualities. I’m enjoying thinking about making sculpture in this way. At the same time, I’m interested in the tension between permanence and fragility and displaying both qualities in a work.
Will Cruickshank: A lot of the work comes about from responding to possibilities, and these often arise when things don’t go to plan. The plaster and yarn material used in the work used here, really came about through a series of accidents. I’m fascinated by the way the two materials combined create a hybrid full of contradictions, with both a hardness and softness at the same time.
For me the phrase ‘adaptable matter’ implies the possibility of material properties being in flux, both physically and visually.
There is a lot of re-appropriation of equipment and also material reuse in how I make. This can be driven by financial constraints, but also a sense that there is a possibility within something in front of me. There’s a satisfying serendipity in allowing creative decisions to be guided by whatever is close to hand. This approach also adds a kind of circularity to work, as the waste of one object can guide the nature of the next. When I do need to buy materials, I try to make the most sustainable choices I can.
With my current work, I hope that it will last. There have been objects that I know I will have to destroy after an exhibition because of their size. I keep the materials from them so they can appear somewhere else.