10 Questions with Gís Marí

Born in the Netherlands and based in Portugal, Gís Marí [born Gijs Maris in Haarlem, 1991] paints large-scale, abstract, expressionistic oil paintings.

He was drawn into the world of painting during his study of psychology in Leiden. His apartment and its white walls increasingly served as an atelier, and instead of preparing for his exams, he was occupied with the arts.

In his early 20s, he quit university to devote his life entirely to painting. Gís Marí rented his first atelier in Amsterdam [NDSM Wharf], where he worked for two years. His increasing discomfort with the gentrifying, speedy and money-driven Amsterdam saw him move to southern Europe, where he fell in love with the city of Porto. He rented an abandoned industrial store in central Porto, which served as an atelier and house, and he worked here for four intense years. In 2019, he moved to an old rice warehouse in the port town of Figueira da Foz, where he currently lives and works. In modern times, where quantity and efficiency prevail over quality, Gís Marí believes in old-world values. He works on a painting for many months and up to years. After constant conversation with the painting, he only puts his signature under his best work and destroys the rest. As he believes in the physical power of his work, he uses no social media; the painting has to interact with the observer ‘in the flesh’.

www.gismari.com

ARTIST STATEMENT

“What I try to convey with my painting is energy. For me art is about stimulating whatever is in the beholder. One can burst into tears, scream for happiness, laugh or experience any other emotion. If one is, after encountering my work, a bit different than what they were before, I am satisfied. I see myself as a messenger traveling between two worlds: from my own ‘inner’ world to the ‘common’ world and back, see it as the character from Greek mythology, Hermes. I pick the flowers from my unique, inner world and translate them via a comprehensible medium to the outer world. The longer the journey, the more unique the flower and, therefore, the artwork. This explains why I work on a painting for a long period, in lucid concentration, and often in solitary periods. My biggest inspiration is – besides reading, interacting with other humans and observing society- without any doubt: Nature. On the entrance of the Amsterdam Zoo, where I used to go as a child, is written in big letters ‘Natura Artis Magistra’. This is Latin for 'nature is the teacher of art', and I could not agree more. As an artist I put myself in the footsteps of the all-embracing piece of art created by Mother Nature. For instance, look at the complex symmetry of a snail shell, better than a Mondrian. See the tension in the claw of an eagle, the most powerful Franz Kline; observe a bright, red berry against a green leaf; two strong complementary colours invented by Mother Nature long before Goethe or Johannes Itten wrote about them. And I could go on forever. Signing a painting for me is like cutting the naval cord; the painting is born. As a parent I can solely support it by giving it a title, writing poems on the backside, using the best materials, and conserving it in the best way possible. However, the fact that I am the painter is, for me, of secondary importance, just like the parents of a human being are to define the child. The painting now has to deal with the world and its spectators. I gave all that I could.” — Gís Marí

INTERVIEW

Please introduce yourself to our readers. Who are you, and when were you first interested in painting?

I am Gís Marí, an abstract expressionist painter born in The Netherlands but living in Portugal for the past 10 years. Usually, I paint on a large scale using oil paint, seeking strong colour combinations and shapes to make the painting as energetic as possible. I work on a painting for a long period of time, layer over layer, to achieve depth; this contributes to the personality and power of the painting. My father is an art dealer, so I grew up surrounded by paintings. I remember as a child when he would return from Paris with newly acquired art under his arm, excitedly sharing with me what he had just bought. What fascinated me as a young boy was that the artist could distill their energy into the painting; they could invest the painting with a personality that, decades or even centuries later, could speak to viewers like my father, bringing them joy or tears or reflection. It was like magic. I had this same experience when we visited art galleries or museums, and it continues to amaze me today. How magical it is that you can create something that will outlive you and that can interact with the world independently of you. 

Can you tell us more about your transition from studying psychology to becoming a full-time artist? What aspects of psychology, if any, influence your work?

During my time at school I was a dreamer, mostly thinking about other subjects during classes, pondering the world around me, and questioning what others saw as facts. After graduating from high school, when I started studying, I experienced more freedom in planning my own time and diving into worlds that attracted me. I soon became obsessed with the world of the arts, where the dreaming and desire to abstract—which was seen as a flaw before—was now a power and source of creation. I started buying paint and spent long nights painting in my student apartment, experimenting with the structure of the paint and the interaction between the paint and the canvas, and looking for strong shapes and colour combinations. This was a world where nobody taught me what to do or think, a world with endless possibilities. Freedom. I started missing classes and lost the motivation to study, and by my early 20s, I had dedicated my life to painting. The influence studying psychology has on my work mostly relates to the use and exploration of empathy. As an artist, being empathetic is important; a piece of art doesn't come from yourself alone but is an accumulation of infinite factors from the world around you, too. It is valuable to interact with people with different ideologies as well as to learn about other views through books, music, or other media. Weigh their thoughts, explore them, and eventually compose your own. 

You are originally from the Netherlands and lived in Amsterdam for a while before moving to Portugal. What did you learn in Amsterdam, and how did moving to southern Europe change your work?

When I lived in the Netherlands in my early 20s, I was restless. I was constantly on the move, changing houses every few months and living in many different cities and places, from an anti-squat house to an old boat. The frequent change made me feel alive and lucid. After discovering painting, I always made sure that I had a place where I could paint—first in the living room of my current apartment and eventually in my first atelier in an old shack at the NDSM wharf in Amsterdam. Still, there were always distractions. When I moved to Portugal, I was able to concentrate better. For me, life in Southern Europe is more physical and morereal. People are less rushed and more respectful towards each other. I think one should not create in a rush; you should work through and contemplate your work. I think this is reflected in my work now. I take a long period of time to work on and mull over a painting. What I also like about living abroad is being an outsider. I observe life with fresh eyes, and my curiosity and drive to explore are stimulated. 

As you mention in your statement, your paintings take many months, even years, to complete. Can you describe your process from the initial concept to the final brushstroke?

When I start, I am energetic and eager to create. I see painting as a conversation between me and the canvas. I make sureall the distractions around me are eliminated so that I can focus fully on the conversation I want to have. I start by applying thin, diluted paint, looking for a strong shape and colour combination. I apply a stroke of paint and listen to the reaction, then the next stroke. I watch the development, and the conversation continues for hours to days. It is a process of exploring and feeling. In the development period, the line between mistake and success is extremely thin.I try to find what the canvas has to offer, and along the way, the canvas becomes more profound and gains personality. I use oil paint, so a layer of paint takes time to dry. I let the canvas rest for a few weeks and start working on another painting in the meantime. As the painting grows more mature over time, the intensity and risk I take when applying brushstrokes need to be the same as in the beginning. This is why I disagree with the cliché story that a painter is scared of a blank canvas—it's when the canvas is blank that there is nothing to lose. The more personality the painting develops, the harder it becomes to take risks because you have this already half-existing personality to lose. If I make a mistake, even in the last phase after months of work, I cut the canvas into pieces. But if there is no mistake, there is a time when, after weeks of contemplating, I decide that the painting is finished. I add my signature and never repaint the work again; it is born. 

You mentioned that you destroy pieces that don't meet your standards. Can you elaborate on determining if a painting is worthy of your signature?

The fascinating thing about abstract art is that there is no reference. If you make a portrait of someone, you can refer to that person and compare it to the representation on the canvas. For example, the nose should be bigger, the eyes should be darker, etc. But in the world of abstraction, there are no comparisons, no rules, and no referents. It is absolute freedom and a void at the same time because you have to make your own order and rules. The word 'abstract' comes from Latin and literally means 'drawn away', that is, drawn away for a comparison, drawn away from a reference. The most important element for me to understand if a painting is finished is by taking time away from the work and looking profoundly. There is a moment when you feel that a brushstroke does not add to the painting but makes it less. By observing, contemplating, adding, and erasing for weeks, my feeling about the painting—if good—becomes stronger. I start to remember every detail of it, and it stays in my head all day. I even dream of it. Then, if the painting is good enough and survives this period of weighing and doubt, there is a lucid moment when I decide that the painting is finished, and I add my signature. This is a ritual for me. I think carefully about the title, sometimes put poems on the back of the canvas, and think through every detail. After adding my signature, the painting is born for me. I never repaint it again. Moreover, the fact that I am the one who painted it is not that relevant anymore. The umbilical cord is cut. I am merely the parent who can help blow the painting in the right direction, but it now has to interact with the world by itself.

Nature is a significant inspiration for you. Can you give an example of how a specific natural element has influenced one of your paintings?

The first thing that comes to mind is the presence of water—rivers or oceans. I grew up in a city that was a few kilometres from the sea and never let go of having my environment near the ocean. In Figueira da Foz, where I currently live, my atelier is just a five-minute walk from the ocean, and my apartment has a view of the Mondego River. Whenever I am feeling lost in my thoughts or lack inspiration, I go to the ocean and I'm refreshed by the fresh, oxygen-rich air. I also love to observe the ever-changing reflection of the light on the water's surface. I've just finished a series of paintings that have the theme of the Mondego River. In these, I strove to capture the energy the river has during different tides, the ebb and flood. I am also very much interested in strong shapes and colour combinations, so I feel inspired, for example, when I see a bright red flower next to a green leaf when strolling down the street, the aerodynamic shape of a seagull flying over me, or the energy that is released when a wave explodes in the ocean.

You refer to yourself as a messenger travelling between two worlds. Can you explain how this concept manifests in your art?

To generate energy as an artist, I see myself as a messenger travelling between two worlds: I travel from my own 'inner' world to the 'common' world and back, seeing myself as the character from Greek mythology, Hermes. I pick the flowers from my unique inner world and translate them via a comprehensible medium to the outer world. The longer the journey, the more unique the flower and, therefore, the artwork. This is why I work on a painting for a long period, with high concentration, and often in solitude. 

How do you hope viewers will interact with your work, and what reactions are you aiming to evoke in them?

What I try to convey with my painting is simple: energy. The type of reaction is indifferent to me as long as there is a reaction. For me, art is about stimulating whatever is in the beholder. One can burst into tears, scream for happiness, become angry or experience any other emotion. If one is, after encountering my work, a bit different than what they were before, I am satisfied.

Given your preference for physical interaction with your art over digital exposure, how do you reach and engage with your audience?

First of all, I am aware that the world is beginning to favour viewing art in digital rather than physical formats. I cannot be blind to that. I have a website, and my current gallerist, Raf van Severen, who is based in Antwerp, uses Instagram to share my work. Even this interview will be published online. However, what I am aiming for and hoping for is that all those digital platforms will eventually lead to a physical encounter with my work. I hope that the digital world will act as a pathway to the physical world. Eventually a client can come to visit me at my atelier or at a gallery, or they can see a work in person on the wall of a collector. Then the observer can stand before the painting, see the whole, the texture, smell it, feel it. That is when the real magic for me happens.

Lastly, can you share any details about upcoming projects or themes you currently explore in your work? How do you see your work evolving in the next few years, especially with the ever-changing art landscape and technological advancements?

At the moment, I am working on an exhibition in an 11th-century chapel. It is a high-ceilinged, wide space situated next to a medieval castle. From the moment I saw the space, I was captivated by its ambience and soul. I am currently working on a new series of paintings that honour the personality of the chapel and forge a symbiotic relationship with the space. I have also been experimenting lately with painting on a somewhat smaller scale. Whereas my work is usually around a minimum of two meters long, I am now limiting myself to half of this size. The limited surface space makes a single brushstroke more impactful; I need more time to distance myself, observe the painting, and think through the next step. In the future, I hope to be able to paint the way I want to, as I have always done up to this point, without being disturbed by technological advancements. For me, a painter should hold a brush, smell the paint, get dirty, sweat, and engage the canvas. For me, no technology will replace that process.

Artist’s Talk

Al-Tiba9 Interviews is a promotional platform for artists to articulate their vision and engage them with our diverse readership through a published art dialogue. The artists are interviewed by Mohamed Benhadj, the founder & curator of Al-Tiba9, to highlight their artistic careers and introduce them to the international contemporary art scene across our vast network of museums, galleries, art professionals, art dealers, collectors, and art lovers across the globe.