Fakewhale in dialogue with Benjamin Schoones
Benjamin Schoones’ artistic practice intertwines materiality, obsolescence, and the ambiguous line between functionality and artistry. His reflections extend from the influence of urban infrastructures to the delicate balance between control and unpredictability in his installations. His current journey at the Piet Zwart Institute, along with his deep involvement in sculpture, provides profound insights into his evolving methodology and conceptual frameworks. At Fakewhale, we are always fascinated by such practices that reinterpret objects and revolutionize sculpture using uncommon materials. Thus, we engaged in a conversation, and with this brief interview, we seized the opportunity to further explore his path!
Fakewhale: In your artistic journey, what have been the most significant influences that have shaped your work?
Benjamin Schoones: It might not be so easy to pinpoint exactly where these influences come from. But I do feel these influences are layered within the mundane constellations of spontaneous encounters. They emerge at different phases and paces, entering the room at varying speeds. Sometimes, they need to linger for a while before it becomes clear what captures the attention. They often manifest in unassuming solutions expressed through nifty DIY constructions, unintentional material clashes in public infrastructure, or sheer feats of engineering. For example; I find immense joy in wandering through messy cities like Antwerp or Rotterdam, where disruptions in infrastructure create unexpected encounters. These influences often reside in atmospheres; it’s almost more about the events surrounding them. Remembering my past experiences working in distribution centers. I like to immerse myself in these environments, taking notes on occurrences that can shift from a hyper-focused, almost microscopic perspective to a broader, aerial view—moving from object interactions to purely internal, somatic processing. These influences may not always directly manifest in my practice, but they inevitably become a part of my daily life.
I understand you’re pursuing an MFA at the Piet Zwart Institute. How is this experience influencing your work?
After graduating my fine art bachelor in 2022, I felt I had a certain grasp of my practice, but I also felt the need to delve deeper into the themes I was (slightly) touching upon. I needed more time and space for digestion and development. Therefore, pursuing an MFA at The Piet Zwart Institute seemed like the most suitable place to continue my research.
The new environment took me some time to adjust to and get back into the routine of working within an institute. This initially led me to consider completely abandoning the ways I was approaching my practice and making work. However, I quickly realized that this was an unrealistic expectation to place on myself. Instead, it became clear that it was more suitable to establish a foundation for a new testing ground based on existing concepts, allowing new ideas and methodologies to develop over time.
This process has led me to explore new fields of material experimentation and discover ways to articulate and harmonize the concepts, ultimately generating a “set of tools” to build upon. The supportive guidance from my peers and fellow students has also been incredibly valuable. It is a fantastic environment to be part of and one that continually challenges me.
When did you start integrating self-produced and ready-made objects into your installations? What’s your relationship with the medium of sculpture, and why do you consistently choose it in your work?
The integration of ready-mades has gradually emerged over the years as I began reflecting on the commodities needed to develop such works. There lies an interesting question of authorship in production of these materials before it becomes an art object.
Sculpture has always been a central medium in my practice, spanning ceramics, castings, silicone rubber, sound, assemblage, and (spatial) intervention. I feel an urge for my hands to move, often surpassing my brain’s desire to engage in written research. My material experiments often go through multiple layers of filtration before they are eventually shown—if they ever make it to that point. What draws me to sculpture is its ability to physically encapsulate a momentary recording that holds space for reinterpretation, balancing stillness with forward-thinking potential. I’m constantly considering materiality and how material can metaphorically hold tension. As a result, I collect materials that can be adjusted, reformed, and placed into new constellations. These pre-fabricated objects are often found, purchased new, or sourced from second-hand stores. I look for qualities that allow for construction, modularity, or the potential to exist in multiplicity.
In many of your pieces, you use common objects linked to now-obsolete manufacturing processes. What fascinates you about this obsolescence, and how do you think it affects the conversation around consumer culture in your installations?
Maybe there is no way to exclude these themes from the context of manufacturing and consumerism if ready-made objects are part of one’s practice, especially not in our current mundane times. This made me reflect on our present era of constant production and the pursuit of thriving innovations. Particularly for a generation where constant performance is the measure of worth, it feels inevitable that this relentless drive will lead to some form of backlash—whether through burnout, both physically and materially, or by creating estranged relationships between objects and consumers in new situations. These situations may demand more adaptability from us than we have generated through direct material interactions. I’m not sure if this is always directly tied to consumer culture, but there seems to be a paradox of material codependency, with consumerism undeniably playing a role. I think what I’m trying to achieve with the objects I produce is to create a certain cold distance while simultaneously aiming to establish a visceral relationship.
We notice that objects in your installations often don’t immediately reveal their function, creating a sense of mystery. Why do you choose to leave these functionalities undefined, and how do you think this influences the interpretation of your work?
Where things get exciting is when the art object reaches a threshold where the metaphor is just about to kick in. It could still be a product. On some level, in terms of its physicality, it’s barely distinguishable from something that could be sold for functional purposes. It’s this metaphorical shift—from product to art object—that defines a line to walk regarding the status of the object. Is it a functional object or an art piece? What does it commodify? I’m not really sure. Tracing back every origin of an object can, in that sense, become very overwhelming.
In regard to things with an unclear status, that ambiguity also allows for a shifting status. This ties into confidence in sculpture and public infrastructure. In other words, trying to identify a position from which to speak that frees you off the heavy weight of having to pump interpretations into pieces that are actually quite happy on their own. Sometimes they are multi-functional, sometimes they tell a very clear story, and sometimes they don’t. Sometimes they are even too far removed to be recognized as something functional.
There’s an interesting balance between control and spontaneity in your work, especially when you create environments where objects interact in unexpected ways. How do you manage this balance in your creative process, and what role does unpredictability play in the final outcome of your installations?
Unpredictability can eventually be mapped in many ways, but these constructions are often put together in such a way that you might expect a hidden logic behind them—sometimes, that is the case. There are works that have only existed as sketches until they are given a position in the space or that are maybe 90 percent finished. This leaves room for spontaneity. It also reveals the modularity and adaptability of the work, allowing it to take on a pragmatic quality in the way it is constructed.
A clear method I apply when installing in art spaces, especially when there is no external curation, is to leave room for finding interactions that the space allows. Perhaps there’s a pleasant nook, a beam that fits, an unscrewed hook that’s been used before, or a gap that invites something new. It’s like playing with the earlier logistics of the space. Sometimes I think about navigating the boundaries of a space, trying to find the ultimate edge or testing how the space can be approached as a body—seeking interaction with it and discovering what will eventually work. Or can it even extend beyond the space? For example, opening a hidden compartment where a work could expand from or into.
What are your plans for the future?
For now, my main focus is on the final year of my MFA study. I’m currently in the early phase of writing my thesis and developing my graduation project, which will be completed and shown in June 2025. After that, I’m open to new endeavors. Since I’m still relatively new to the art field, I feel very receptive to what’s to come. Of course, there are personal ambitions and perhaps some expectations to find ways to sustain my practice and continue developing it—hopefully through residencies and new collaborations. Lately, I’ve been feeling the urge to leave The Netherlands for a while… but what do I do with all this stuff?
fakewhale
Founded in 2021, Fakewhale advocates the digital art market's evolution. Viewing NFT technology as a container for art, and leveraging the expansive scope of digital culture, Fakewhale strives to shape a new ecosystem in which art and technology become the starting point, rather than the final destination.
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