Let me be honest for a second. In the three and a half years since the first email, I've never had a clear idea of what this newsletter should be about. I knew I wanted an outlet for my photography and felt like I had something of value to share, but I never managed to settle on a proper unique selling point. I don't have a 'hook'. Even the name itself, Dialogue, I've never been fully in love with. When I picked it, I imagined doing things like interviews with fellow photographers, posting chats with interesting other people in the space, or perhaps simply broadcasting parts of my internal dialogue. Only that last part is something that's come to fruition so far.
It's been a bit messy, and perhaps a little too much about myself. But, even three and a half years ago, I figured it's better to just get started and figure things out along the way than it is to meander in inertia and end up never really doing anything. But there is good news, it's all slowly starting to take shape. More and more have I managed to adhere to this newsletter's name. These photo essays I've been making for the past couple of months have been instrumental in this process.
Reincarnation
'Ahhh so this is the space? How cool, I love this vibe a lot!' I hear myself say when I follow Rein Klomp into his Utrecht-based studio. This is where the Fine Art Academy graduate produces his provocative paintings and drawings. Rein was at our home only a couple of weeks ago to personally drop off a painting we purchased from him when he first gave me a glimpse on his rapid and chaotic process of making art. I was intrigued. 'What if I pop up at the studio for a couple of hours to document your process?' is what I asked him. He kindly obliged.
'Hey, so what if I just made a painting right here on the spot so you can see what materials I use, what my process is, and I just talk you through it a little bit?' Rein casually mentions while he pours me a coffee. I look up at him: 'That's exactly what I would love you to do right now', I reply.
Rein's work is interesting because it has an air of carelessness and casual genius around it. Many of his paintings seem unfinished or perhaps overdone in some places. Or are they? Even Rein himself is unsure about some of them but at the same time, eloquently explains what exactly he likes about his favorites. His work uses a combination of many different materials and techniques with which he seems to hold no regard for conventional rules and how you 'should' use them. At the same time, there's a certain determination present that clearly communicates that nothing happening on the paper is without reason.
That's not to say his work isn't filled with happy accidents, mostly resulting from his hasty strokes and spur-of-the-moment impulses he channels while creating. Based on my conversations with him, I'm still unsure he realizes this himself (I imagine he does, though just without explicitly disclosing it to me), but the restlessness he experiences within and externalizes through his art is well-channeled into the final product. It might be the formal training at work here, but there's definitely a method to the madness going on here.
A little less words and a few more photos than usual. Is that a good thing? Or would you prefer me to go in depth a little more next time? Feel free to reply to this email directly and let me know.
May 2024 has been packed but I specifically chose to only talk about this photo essay, as I found it the most relevant for now. This comes at the price of omitting my second USA trip at the beginning of the month, and the formalization of my next long-term photography project idea. If you are curious about my US images, feel free to visit the dedicated album in my online archive. My next photo project idea is probably something I'll talk about more next month. Though, if you must know now, you can already take a peek at the project page on my website. You'll know which one it is when you see it.
Cheerio,
Mitch
