LAURA BASTERRA SANZ
Laura Basterra Sanz in her studio, October 2022
Laura Basterra Sanz is a multimedia artist based in Brussels whose work centres on an intuitive use of bold, raw materials. Influenced by her environment, daily interactions, and emotional connection, her gestural, abstract works explore a sense of being in the world—an expression of inner experience. A daily routine of journaling and interacting with nature lends itself to her practice, which draws on language and text to convey snippets of personal narrative.
Kate Mothes: How did you first start creating? Was there a moment when you discovered that art was a path for you?
Laura Basterra Sanz: I've been creating on and off since I first had physical space —"a room of my own" —and time alone. I think it started in my early twenties when I left my parents’ home.
I remember playing with tape on my living room walls, creating shapes and writing things just like I do now. At the time, my living room was more of a studio/workshop. I made clothes and collages and had notebooks where I drew and wrote. My notebooks were significant items for creating, and I was excited to buy new ones. I looked for uncommon ones or got them from my father's business in the print industry, where they had large amounts of office supplies and paper. I indulged in grabbing stuff and was never banned from doing so.
Looking back, I see that having space and quiet time has been key to creating. I don’t need to get into it; motivation arises when the conditions are good, just like a seed will only grow in the right environment. I am very concerned about my habitat because I have realized how it affects my health, happiness, and creativity.
When I moved from Barcelona to Brussels five years ago, I spent most of my time alone and had a big apartment. In addition to notebooks, I bought an iPad and Procreate, which I used to illustrate and write, and later it became my text-based art journal. I also started painting. At first, it was mostly action painting. I had such a good time that I got involved and progressed quickly.
In the fall of 2019, I got a studio in a startup community called See U in Brussels, where people started calling me an artist. I felt relieved. A few months later, I was about to enrol in Sascha's professional practice for artists group [with We, The Muse], and Covid hit at the same time. I thought to myself, this is it! Today I feel very committed to my practice because I feel great, even though it is sometimes difficult financially.
Installation view, Hello there, I just wanted to ask how you're doing at Pilar Gallery, Brussels, 2022. Photo by Silvia Cappellari
Text plays an important role in your work. Do you consider yourself a writer or a poet too, or does it defy definition?
I never considered myself a writer or a poet. I haven't been writing often for a very long time, but I came across the book The Artist’s Way, in which the author Julia Cameron offers exercises that unleash your creativity and create a positive state of mind. Her "Morning Pages" consist of handwriting three pages of whatever comes to mind. It stayed in my routine, so when I wake up, I fill three pages with mostly nonsense. I try to do it in the park or forest if the weather permits.
I see writing as another medium or tool. It often connects to something profound. I believe writing is a practice, like painting, gardening, mindfulness, and many others, and the more I do it, the closer I get to something that I imagine to be my truth. It's satisfying.
A couple of years ago, someone recommended Clarice Lispector. The novelist and painter opened a new path for me; she made me realise I could find my voice. She throws together all those thoughts beautifully and comes to conclusions as if she really understood it all.
So far, I have mostly written short texts and sentences. I write to note down ideas, play with language, and soften that intense mental activity. [WTM founder] Sascha has also been very supportive. She once told me I was a wordsmith—a compliment I never expected to receive. I'm excited to follow this path and see where it leads.
It’s New, 2022, Acrylic on Belgian linen, 95 x 95 centimeters
You have previously interviewed artists and written a blog too. How important is sharing ideas with other artists for your practice?
I feel accompanied when I meet or talk to someone that's on the same page—it’s fulfilling. I work alone, and it’s how I want it. To balance that out, I relish sharing time. Sometimes you come across people who can put words to ideas you couldn't express. We inspire one another in ways we can't control. We meet those who connect with us in certain moments for certain reasons.
A studio neighbour recently walked into my space and said, "Light! You work from the inside, don't you?”. That's what I do! It's heartwarming when someone understands it at a glance.
It is also important that I keep a certain distance from the work of others. I don't usually look at a lot of work by other artists. My practice must have its way and its development. I try not to be influenced by other works of art.
You recently participated in a residency near the Sonian Forest in southeast Belgium. What did you explore or work on there? Was there a project in mind?
Usually, I don't have anything in mind beforehand. I only prepare what I need to take with me, such as tools and art supplies. Perhaps I could say I explore environments that I can thrive in, because one thing I do is consciously choose the studio space and environment. I believe this will lead me to my best creations.
I knew I would cycle through the Sonian Forest every morning and evening, which is something I would like to have in my routine. My senses had a great time smelling life and hearing birds. This summer the weather was fantastic and the city was calm, I couldn't have wished for better.
I work around my practice to feel good, so I can spend quality time painting and creating.
Until the Sun Sets, 2022, Acrylic on Belgian linen, 40 x 30 Untitled (Oh!), 2022, Acrylic on canvas, 80 x 60 centimeters
Many of your titles refer to the elements or senses of belonging or experience, like wind and fire or community, freedom, and newness. For you, how do these ideas connect to each other, or where do the ideas for the titles come from?
Usually, titles come instantly from whatever is on my mind at that moment. Other times, I stare at the painting for days before I come up with something.
They speak about the sensations I get from people and my immediate environment. It's called environmental sensitivity or sensory processing sensitivity, a biologically-based trait characterized by increased awareness and sensitivity to the environment. A highly sensitive person processes sensory stimuli and information more strongly and deeply than others do. I can't escape this.
These ideas are connected because they relate to nature, be it human nature or the natural environment, which is my primary interest. I paint and speak about impressions I get from individuals. I sometimes—never intentionally—paint my organs. Perhaps also abstract space created by animal movement, wind, or sunbeams.
References that often come to mind are Rudolf Steiner and Johann Wolfgang von Goethe's ideas about nature. Neither were strictly scientists or philosophers, but they developed theories and practices that were attacked as too inaccurate or just a misuse of metaphors. These ideas, to me, feel a more complete and holistic understanding of nature. And Joan Miró said that through painting, he tried to say what he thought and felt, what he thought he needed to say. I relate to this.
Installation view of exhibition at See U, Brussels, May 2021. Photo by Andrea Handl
Bright, luminescent colour is also a central focus of your paintings—how do you feel when you work with these colours?
I feel radiant and luminescent too! I merge with them. No, seriously, I like bright colours; they generally cheer me up. It's as if it's my way of seeing things and experiencing life—in an exaggerated or saturated way. I am convinced it has to do with being highly sensitive.
I love the colour, and I think it gives a lot of information, like food for my senses. It was already very important to me when I was studying fashion design, and maybe even before.
How do you begin a new piece? Is there a kind of research that goes into choosing forms or words, or is it largely intuitive?
I’m in constant research because I have many interests, however, I do not plan any paintings in advance. I set up my studio with canvas, and paint. I start to do, not so much to think. Thoughts come during or after the practice.
Working instinctively is brave, I reckon. It means that I trust what I do and not what I see, at least at first. What I'm doing becomes the right thing to do even if, in the end, I'd rather not sell what I've painted. It all adds up to my practice. It's about having confidence that something wonderful will happen. Very often I am surprised and feel joyful.
I would never have imagined that I would paint what I do, from of my imagination. I understand that my mind is limited, and I don't want to get stuck in it. I favour exploring body knowledge instead.
Studio view, December 2021
What are you reading right now?
I’m halfway through the book How To Write About Contemporary Art, which fellow We, The Muse member Jennifer Printz has repeatedly recommended.
The book is revealing and funny at the same time, and it’s helped me out. A few ideas have already sunk into the depths of my memory. Plus, now I have a list of jazzy verbs, prize adjectives and meaty—or concrete—nouns for writing.
I’m also reading Ninth Street Women. I'm taking my time reading this one, savouring every page. I recommend it to any lover of abstraction. It changes the perspective of what is most commonly said about Abstract Expressionism, as it focuses on the female painters rather than the most renowned males. I love the work of these ladies and I feel a connection with them.
See more from Laura Basterra Sanz:
Painting • Text based art
Originally from Northeast Wisconsin, Kate Mothes is an independent contemporary art writer and organizer based in Edinburgh, Scotland.
