YC: You’ve been doing performances with kombucha. How did that happen? How did you start it?

 

AT: Kombucha, as a material, inherently possesses performative qualities due to its dynamic and evolving nature. My initial approach involved documenting its rapid transformations over time and exploring its potential for animated movement. My first performance project entailed creating a costume from the kombucha SCOBY, embodying the concept of “trying on new skins, like a teenager.” 

 

This project exemplifies my working method, where I often become deeply engaged with a single idea and explore it through repeated iterations. Revisiting and expanding upon this concept is a key aspect of my practice, reflecting my ongoing fascination with the material's performative potential and its role in my artistic exploration.

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YC: When did you start researching the physicality of the body in your work?

 

AT: My interest in researching the body stems from a desire to comprehend the underlying mechanisms of our physical body. A desire to know and the need to believe, basically how things work. This quest can lead to a fractured sense of self, thereof body parts. In the process, I find a form of existence through alienation and a surrender, and the body takes on a distinct form of what is perceived as the self.

 

There remain many questions about the body that eludes complete understanding; it presents itself in ways that are often taken for granted, existing beyond mere visibility and into the realm of sensation. The skin covers and encloses what we can not see, only feel. 

 

I recall when a friend’s therapist recommended the "butterfly" pose—lying on the back with feet together and legs bent and spread outward—to alleviate hip tension and potentially address underlying mental issues. While the therapeutic advice might seem trivial, it resonated with my belief that the body stores experiences and emotions that the mind might overlook or suppress. This notion has impacted my exploration of the body as a both physical and symbolic entity.

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YC: How do you view the growing interest in biomaterials within contemporary artistic practices?

 

AT: The use of unconventional materials and methods in art is exciting. There is a certain allure in engaging with self-sufficient practices, which offer a sense of control and a connection to the natural processes of life and death. My own practice reflects this approach, resembling the cyclical nature of gardening where one is constantly reminded of these cycles. In my work, time is embedded like a ticking clock—each new “skin” harvested marks the end of one growth cycle and the onset of another.

 

In an industrial, on-demand technological culture, the act of "farming" or creating from scratch may seem almost irrational due to its slow pace and inherent unpredictability. In New York, where day and night blend seamlessly and access to resources is constant, the rhythm of natural cycles becomes less integrated into daily life. Consequently, there is a growing interest in biomaterials and natural processes as a counter-reaction to this disconnect. This trend highlights a renewed engagement with the natural world and underscores its importance in our increasingly artificial environments.

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YC: What were people’s reactions when you first started making artwork with kombucha in Sweden, especially since the material wasn’t as well-known then as it is now?

 

AT: There were mixed reactions to the work when I first started showing, depending on the audience. One of my first projects was a performance where I made a kombucha dress and put it on myself. It was at the beginning of my exploration, and at the time I didn’t really know what I was doing and I didn't know how to get rid of its pungent smell. It was so smelly! People were repulsed, which was not my initial intention, but turned out to be a compelling addition to the work. It was so intense that the result was that people would only associate my work with stickiness… I did a second project, an installation that was quite smelly too…

 

The work often triggered confusion, and I was repeatedly asked about the origin of the skin — was it from an animal, or even human? Where did it come from? Was it dangerous? The similarity in these questions, especially within the Swedish context, was striking.

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YC: How do you feel the difference between your previous practice and right now?

 

AT: The evolution in my practice is subtle and challenging to articulate precisely, but it reflects the gradual accumulation of experience over time. In Sweden, I was at the early stages of discovering my artistic expression. Now, although I feel as though I am starting anew in the U.S., the foundational experiences I have gained mean I am not starting from scratch.

 

Adapting to the artistic environment in New York compared to Stockholm has presented its own set of challenges. The contrasts are more pronounced, and the pace of life here is notably more intense, though undeniably stimulating. The diversity of New York City offers a context or many contexts I never experienced before. It is profoundly meaningful to me, prompting a willingness to adapt and forgo certain aspects of previous contexts.

 

My studio practice has inevitably shifted due to factors such as the high cost of studio space. While this adjustment has been somewhat challenging, I am trying to navigate these changes with flexibility and an open mind, continuously adapting and evolving my approach as I go along.

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YC: Has any feedback from the audience stayed with you?

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AT: One particularly memorable instance of audience feedback occurred when my undergraduate BFA Thesis work was exhibited in Sweden. A friend informed me that my work had sparked a debate in a Facebook group, prompting me to investigate further. I discovered that someone had photographed my work and shared it on the page, where it elicited a range of reactions. Some comments criticized the work as either art or trash, with one user even suggesting that I should be jailed for allegedly harming a human being, while others defended my work. This experience was significant because it demonstrated the capacity of my work to provoke and stimulate discussion and engagement among viewers, which I considered an achievement.