Art Installations
The Wasteland
In Greek mythology, when Hades abducts Persephone, Demeter—goddess of agriculture, fertility, and the life cycle—abandons her duties in grief and fury. As a result, the earth becomes barren, the streams dry in their beds, the corn dies in the fields, the fruit shrivels on the trees. Just as Demeter ends up between worlds, the earth transitions into liminality. A field where something new might begin, or nothing at all…
Like most myths, this story mirrors inner states. The wasteland is not just a place, but a state of mind: where the familiar becomes strange, and time loses its shape. The wasteland is the reflection of a mourning and fractured soul.
Today, in the corridors of the abandoned asylum at Dikemark, the theme of the wasteland resonates not only with the inner landscapes once treated within its walls, but with the building’s own condition. It now stands silent, and waiting.
The Sound
A the entrance, a single piece—Wasteland— is heard in its full, undivided form.As you move through the rooms, the music is disassembled and spatially redirected: each room receives a fragment, a motif, or a texture. Each room performs a specific role in the composition, like instruments in an orchestra. One room might carry the skeletal rhythm, another a dissolving harmony, another remnents of a melody. This is music as cartography: you move through sound as much as space, and the act of walking becomes a form of listening. But the map keeps on changing. Through generative processes, all of the sounds are continually evolving, ensuring no two moments are ever the same.
When you exit and hear the full piece again, and each sound now carries a spatial, emotional memory—that whisper came from the green room, that beat belonged to the beetle, that nostalgic calling from the golden monster. The composition becomes retroactively reassembled in your mind, enriched with context and texture.
I see my art as an experience that people can step into. It often takes over the space in which it’s displayed, incorporating elements like sound, lighting, and atmosphere to create an immersive environment. One example is a recent installation titled The Wasteland.
The Wasteland - 10 Rooms
Scroll down to see all 10 installations
WASTELAND unfolds as a site-specific, multi-room installation. Through sculpture, painting, collage, weaving, sowing, and sound, we explore the collapse of meaning, coherence, and order, miming organic processes of decay… and renewal.
Room 1 - Penthesilea
Torsos and shattered forms with classical references lie in ruin—echoes of a once-coherent vision of humanity. These sculptural fragments evoke the ideals of ancient Greek statuary, yet they also speak to the brutality of war. Cast in concrete, they capture the irreversibly fragile nature of life—a kind of Pompeian moment frozen in time. Here, perfection is broken, the body dismembered, ideals violently undone. What does it mean to hold onto pieces when the whole is lost? These body parts were originally created for a production at Bielefeld Theater in Germany in the spring of 2025, for a small experimental stage in the old theatre building. Penthesilea explores the clash between heroes and tyrants, the war between Troy and the Greeks—raw power struggles entangled with desire and destruction.
Sound: The sound in this room was created with a granular synthesizer: human voices are shattered into fragments, scattered across silence, while another process imitates the sound of cracking marble—or perhaps the fluttering of wings.
Room 2 - Route Orange
Bits of old garments, inherited from my English grandmother, are sewn into new forms—new grammars. Each fabric fragment comes from undergarments: silk worn closest to the skin, a thin, intimate layer of protection. Hand-stitched with care, these garments are fragile—worn thin, fraying, on the edge of dissolution. My grandmother is gone now, but the stories linger a little longer. Stories of wartime youth, of brothers lost to senseless accidents, of a child born out of wedlock and given away to adoption, another adopted in his place. These stitches become three-dimensional drawings—a quiet alphabet, a wardrobe of raw seams, rotting silk, and threadbare narratives. What is passed down? What is reassembled? And what, in the slow unraveling, becomes illegible?
Sound: In this room, an algorithm stitches together words and syllables like mismatched scraps of fabric—assembling a voice that almost resembles speech, but can you understand what is being said?
Room 3 - The desert
This is a space where meaning drifts, and time has settled into the stillness of trees. A curtain made of cork—wood transformed into textile—hangs with improbable lightness. It is at once heavy and delicate, natural and abstract. These sheets of cork were originally created for the performance Requiem in 2021, inspired by Anna Akhmatova’s poetry cycle. This is a form of material research: a process of discovery, where something unexpected comes into being.
Sound: In this room, Chopin’s Nocturne is slowed to an extreme—its melodies drawn out into long, near-static tonal fields. A tune you’ve likely heard before, but now... heard in the time of trees.
Room 4 - Elytra
A blackened beetle rests in a dark room—burned, fossilized, yet faintly pulsing. This is the first inhabitant of the wasteland, a harbinger of survival. Death or hibernation? Is this the end, or the deep sleep before awakening? Some encounters are decisive. In this curating of objects and collaborators, the beetle has been present throughout the process. It has never been exhibited—until now. But it belongs here, unmistakably. Like all the fragments scattered through the wasteland, it is both a trace of what once was and a suggestion of what might still become.
Sound: In this room, a muffled heartbeat pulses faintly. Nearby, the slowed crackling of the fire that burned the beetle echoes the sound of insect legs.
Room 5 - Here be monsters
Here Be Monsters has already travelled far—previously exhibited in Brussels and Aurillac, France. The concept revolves around actual cartographic material with mythical content: in the Middle Ages, the undiscovered, blank areas on maps were defined by a fear of the unknown—what lies beyond our awareness. Out there—there are monsters. The unknown and undefined were described as dangerous, frightening, and monstrous. But within this also lies a trace of the fantastic—a space of possibility where something extraordinary, something boundary-breaking, might occur. Made of hypothermia blankets and tape, it is a patchwork in search of the inner and outer monster.
Sound: In this room, whale-like vocalisations echo—deep, haunting, and alien, like the calls of sea monsters.
Room 6 - The loom
Woven stripes mimic design, control, symmetry—yet the piles beside them collapse into disorder. In this space, entropy & structure coexist as two extremes of a spectrum. The material originally comes from Amadeus at Kilden Theatre, which premiered in 2023. The material has since been in storage and briefly passed through Det Norske Teatret, with the hope that it might find new uses. Here, it is woven into picture frames that speak to the thin membrane separating one space from another—a mathematical materialization of surface. The discarded plastic material holds a kind of beauty, if one only looks closely.
Sound: In this room, complex arpeggios tease structure, mimicking the intricate patterns of discarded plastic.
Room 7 - Blueprint
Using old sewing patterns as a base, these collages break and rewrite the instructions for shaping a dress. These tailoring templates—passed down from my English grandmother—were once strict maps of domesticity. Now, they are reimagined into surreal blueprints, shifting into a playground of possibility. Through my reworking, entirely new instructions emerge—ones that require careful reading to be understood, to reveal the form’s potential. Here, freedom isn’t found in rejecting structure, but in bending it—rewriting inherited rules to allow space for the unexpected. These outlines give rise to unfamiliar silhouettes, abstracted versions of the patterns my grandmother once lived by. In this way, I hope to open new perspectives on narrow frameworks—to let them dissolve and be replaced by looser, more fluid forms. Furthermore, should we break away from the two-dimensional, the measurable, the technical? Are there stranger, more layered dimensions—impossible shapes we have yet to perceive?
Sound: In this room, the mechanical rhythm of a sewing machine, the scatter of falling buttons, and the snip of scissors build into a hypnotic pattern—before dissolving back into fragments and noise.
Room 8 - The blinds
When I first visited this place, my attention was immediately drawn to an old canopy outside. When we leave a place and do not return—when seasons cycle, years drift by, and time seems to pause—the things left behind begin to change. They decay, dissolve, crumble to dust, and drift freely. But can they also transform at a deeper level—from inert matter into a form of inner life? Will they follow nature’s logic? Will they grow? A slow metamorphosis unfolds—complexity arising from repetition, beauty emerging from neglect. Here, decay is not death; it is re-patterning.
Sound: In this room, strange, animal-like sounds echo—electronic whispers that mimic organic forms. Like the synthetic material, these sounds hover between the artificial and the living, a synthesizer’s imitation of nature’s voice.
Room 9 - Terra Incognita
Several silver barnacles—crafted from recycled insulation material—have taken root on the wall, transforming the space into a submerged seabed, a forgotten sunken world. These soft, metallic organisms hover between the artificial and the organic, the humble and the precious—industrial debris reborn as delicate life-forms. Here, we question the notion of “value”. Insulation material are inexpensive, yet their shimmering silver surface suggests something far richer. In the quiet of these underwater ruins, we ask—what do we treasure, and why?
Sound: High-frequency shimmering unfolds, like light flickering on water or glinting metal. A sweeping filter mimics waves shifting stones along the seabed, while a prepared piano adds metallic thuds and resonances, giving voice to the accordion-like tubes.
Room 10 - The moors
These fabrics were created at Riksteatret in 2023 for the production Wuthering Heights. Prepared in collaboration with the workshops, they are the result of a three-hour process I undertook alone in the studio—an immediate, visceral response to the dark and untamed landscapes of Brontë’s world. The storms that rage over the moors, the turbulent inner lives of its inhabitants, the wild shadows lurking within their souls—love intertwined with dependence, kindness twisted into brutality and hatred—all of this was woven into the very fabric of the backdrop. In this context, these fabrics embody one of the production’s darkest spaces—harboring the obscure and indefinable, just beyond the edge of perception; an immersive realm of latent wildness.