Johanna Strachwitz

Johanna; Germany, South Tyrol and Great Britain: three very different places, languages and landscapes where you grew up. How are these experiences reflected in your artistic work?
Growing up in different places made the world a little smaller and therefore more tangible for me; at the same time, however, there's no geographical location where I can say “this is home.” Up to now, every place has seemed rather fleeting and often elusive, which also makes sense in my work, in which I reflect a lot on transience. The many new beginnings have given me the ability to easily adapt to situations, yet through my work, I often try to do the opposite.

Desire, strangeness, and intuitive memory are also central themes in your exhibition “We Go Where We Never Belonged.” What does belonging mean to you, as a person and as an artist?
The project emerged during a period of depression that stayed with me for four months last year. During that time, I felt as if all ties to family and friends had been severed and I was floating in the void—without direction, unable to distinguish between above and below. “We Go Where We Never Belonged” thus became a process of rediscovering my body and feeling connected to my life again. At the same time, I wondered how I could reject the automatic belonging to the role of woman, which is so often defined through the male gaze. If women are defined primarily in relation to the male subject, they are denied the space to authentically connect with themselves; there is little left with which to perceive their bodies as truly their own. I hope that in the future, as a person, I will always be able to feel part of someone or something—and that the emptiness of the last year will not return. My artistic practice consists of critically distancing myself from this imposed belonging and creating an in-between space: far from the direct male gaze, a place in which the body is both boundary and dissolution, a space of intermingling, fluidity and permeability.

How does the transition between body and object, between proximity and distance—from the personal to the material, from the subject to the sculpture—arise in your work?
Contrary to the Cartesian dualism between mind and body, I do not see the body as a passive container, but as an active and dynamic site of lived experience. In my project, I explore bodily experiences and the truths of myself, and thus automatically those of the people closest to me. Through this process of self-exploration and the pursuit of emotional liberation, I have experimented with very different materials and media, through which my self has been able to expand. Parts of myself that I was not allowed to feel or express due to social conditioning continue to live both in my works, and also in the relationships that are so dear to me. My work does not make the body static, nor controllable, and therefore not consumable.

In addition to painting, sculpture, photography and film, you're also a set designer in the fashion world, a field strongly influenced by the idea of “mise-en-scène.” How does this experience influence your artistic practice?
Sometimes I'm happy to be able to work in a more superficial context, because my work is quite profound. It's less emotionally demanding! Working on your own thoughts and projects in the studio is extremely rewarding, but it can also be lonely. As an assistant on set, I spend a lot of time with new and very interesting people, and I enjoy the combination of the two worlds. On set, I follow other people's instructions and can completely switch off, which is very beneficial.

You grew up in Lana. Are there places here that have influenced your perspective on art or that still resonate in your work today?
I remember a specific exhibition at Kunst Meran Merano Arte on the feminist avant-garde, featuring artists like Cindy Sherman, Marina Abramović, and Francesca Woodman. I had never seen art in this form and was deeply moved by it. From that moment on, a whole new and inspiring world opened up to me. The Ost West Club, the Beach Bar at Meteo in Merano, and of course the Kränzelhof in my late teens were places where I truly felt at home. In a region like South Tyrol, rather conservative and sometimes closed, it was nice to have institutions that valued openness, respectful exchange and creativity. Those moments spent at the Kränzelhof, the Meteo and the Ost West Club were filled with chaos - chaos that is certainly reflected in my work today.

When you return to South Tyrol from London, what do you notice differently from your “outside view”? Are there aspects of the landscape or local life that influence your artistic practice?
When I return to South Tyrol today, I often feel like I can finally breathe again, for the first time in a long time. The vastness of the mountains, the almost always bright blue sky, the air that has a sense of clarity: all of this seems surreal and for me, it represents a special place in which I can retreat and find peace. In this sense, my homeland gives me so much. My ideas have room to expand here, something that isn't possible in the city. I believe that the vastness, this clear light, and even certain smells and sounds—the water, the wind, the gravel underfoot—subconsciously insert themselves in my work.

Your film for the exhibition was shot largely in South Tyrol. What inspired you to film here? And what does the region reveal about yourself that remains hidden elsewhere?
First, the people in front of the camera who live here. Second, I was a bit lost myself, too, so it was important, through the filmmaking process—and in reconnecting with my family and friends—to try to see and get to know South Tyrol in a new light and thus close the circle. This region holds so many memories for me, both beautiful and difficult. Filming here was a way of holding onto them, move them, and perhaps even heal them.

The exhibition also featured the publication “We Go Where We Never Belonged” featuring images from both worlds—the one you come from and the one you've built. How are they connected?
For me, South Tyrol and London are stark contrasts. Both are frenetic in their own way, while South Tyrol also represents my past, and London my future. I wouldn't want to give up either. The decision to shoot most of the scenes in South Tyrol wasn't really a choice, but rather almost instinctive. On the one hand it was, of course, about the people portrayed in the book; on the other, it was also a way to prove to myself that I can return, confront the memories of the last year, and not lose myself again, but rather, rediscover myself within.