This interview was conducted by Livia Klein.
Capsules of Elsa Salonen & João Freitas
This year, you are both presenting your work as part of the Capsules section at Luxembourg Art Week. Could you tell us what you are showing there?
João: I'm presenting Traces in Suspension, an installation with materials that show the effects of wear, gesture, and time, in collaboration with curator Atena Abrahimia. It looks at how memory and materiality interact, letting remnants of past activities persist in the present. Untitled (Studio View), a piece made of wooden floor panels from my old studio, is on the floor. They bear the marks of movement, work, and the rhythms of creation; they were painted white when I first moved in and have been worn down by years of use. Above them hang pieces from the Les Échappées series, which feature abrasive fabrics stripped of graining that expose a delicate, unstable form. As a backdrop, a weathered facade tarpaulin that is typically found on building sites is put up, redefining its purpose indoors. Collectively, these pieces turn functional or overlooked materials into carriers for potential, resilience, and history.
And what about you, Elsa?
Elsa: I present works from two different series. Plants, Healers: Deep Sleep consists of sleep-inducing medicinal plants that I collected over the course of two summers in my home region, the Turku archipelago, and around my studio in Berlin. I extracted colours from the herbs, leaving them pale and colourless. The distilled colour pigments were then conserved in transparent isomalt and displayed in laboratory glass vessels alongside the now-white, pressed plants. Healers have relied on herbs for centuries. In the Finnish tradition of tietäjät (seers/healers), the knowledge of the required medicinal plant was often obtained from a sprite during sleep. Heavenly Wooded Area (Coloursheds), instead, shows fragments of trees and animal bones collected from the Finnish forests and colours distilled or ground from them. In Finnish nature worship, many old, large, or oddly shaped trees were considered sacred. They were thought to act as mediators between this world and the afterlife. Sacred trees were believed to be connected to the spirits of both lost loved ones and hunted animals. The series marks my first note—a kind of colour study—into this vast subject.
I see that both of your practices engage with materials that carry their own histories. What role does memory in material play for you?
Elsa: One of the main roles. I distil colours from flowers, leaving them pale and colourless. The extracted colour pigments I preserve in various ways and display them alongside the white flowers. I also paint with natural pigments, which define the conceptual message of each work. I prepare the pigments by grinding a wide variety of raw materials, such as meteorites, animal bones, and seashells, as well as by extracting colours from medicinal herbs, mushrooms, and algae. Each material holds unique knowledge—its individual ‘experiences’ define the artwork’s conceptual message.
João: I feel close to that way of thinking. I believe that memory and the act of making are closely related. Materials are not neutral. They possess distinct histories, encompassing their methods of production, the processes that created them, their origins, or the imprints left by usage and time. Like Elsa said, they hold unique knowledge. When I work with these histories, I can see that I'm not starting from scratch. I'm building on what came before. This doesn't mean being nostalgic, but it means using the past of the materials to come up with new possibilities. Sometimes I try to bring out the traces that are already there, and other times I push the material into new shapes where its history is hidden. In either case, memory adds depth by connecting the work to a larger whole instead of just one moment.
So, you believe that materials possess their own agency?
João: I don’t think of materials as passive. They all have their own characteristics and tendencies. It can resist, surprise, or even redirect me. It feels like a conversation when I work with them rather than control. They guide me as much as I guide them. I bring an idea, but the material responds in its own way, and the final work grows out of that exchange. Their agency isn’t about intention, but about the ways they affect and transform the outcome. That shared process is what gives the work its vitality.
How does this play out in your practice, Elsa?
Elsa: I agree with you, João. You described the communication with the materials very well. For me, material agency is also one of the thematic cores of my practice. My works are marked by the artistic interpretation of alchemy, which explores the universe through natural materials, and animism, especially the Finnish nature worship. What alchemy and animism have in common is the perception of all surrounding nature as living and sensing. For my artistic practice, these worldviews are essential. So, I do believe that at some level, consciousness is an omnipresent quality of all physical matter.
Let’s talk more about your projects at the Capsules programme. Both of your shows are presented in a storefront. How did you approach the idea of showing your work in such a context?
João: From the very beginning, we decided not to treat the window as a white cube. The space itself is in transformation, with traces of renovation and construction visible. We wanted to embrace this in-between state, letting the works remain in a work-in-progress mode. It’s a way of acknowledging that materials themselves are in constant transition, carrying memory and potential.
Elsa: At first, I was a little hesitant, but that changed once I saw images from last year’s edition. I was impressed by how carefully everything was curated and how well each location was chosen to suit the artworks. Now I’m genuinely excited—it’s such an unusual setting.
So, what kind of encounter do you imagine for passersby who might not expect to see art there?
Elsa: For me, it could be any reaction—indifference, curiosity, surprise, delight. I don’t aim for any specific response but welcome them all. This feels even more true with Capsules, where the works are brought into a shared public space.
And what about you, João?
João: Hopefully, a small disruption of the everyday, maybe just a moment of pause. Even if people don’t step inside, they might start noticing the traces left by both natural and human processes, and reflect on how even overlooked materials carry histories.
Why did you choose these specific works for Capsules?
João: We wanted to select pieces that could respond to the space and emphasize transformation. That’s why the installation includes suspended textiles, the old studio floor panels as a kind of base, and the facade tarpaulin as a backdrop. Each of these elements already carries traces of labor and history, and together they redefine the shop window into a stage.
Elsa: For me, it was about showing works that still resonate strongly with me, but also about practical factors—the availability and dimensions of the pieces. I wanted the selection to feel both recent and personal.
You’ve both spoken about transformation and traces already. I’d like to go a bit deeper into that. How do you each approach time in your work?
Elsa: I have approached time from the deep-time point of view of stones and meteorites. Many of the stones I use as pigments in my works are far older than humankind itself. The works painted with meteorite dust, in turn, reflect on the scientific theory of the origin of the elements in living organisms, known to have formed in ancient, long-dead stars.
Joao: I view time traces as both evidence and potential. Materials or objects that have already lived and carry stories and subtle traces of their past appeal to me; they radiate a certain heat. I consider them to be almost like beings, honest, with their scars and attitudes. Perhaps the very physical way I work is also a way of experiencing time differently. A friction between the material and my body, causing fatigue and an energy exchange.
And if we think about the broader relationship between humans and the environment, do you believe that nature and culture can still be separated today, or have they become inseparably entangled?
Joao: I believe we have an impact on places we think of as natural or untouched. From climate change to urban growth, even small actions can have big effects, like the butterfly effect. This includes what we do online. Even though some places are still less affected, nature and culture are becoming more and more intertwined, constantly changing and reacting to each other. Recognizing this entanglement makes us rethink what we owe the environment and how our actions affect the world. I live in Brussels, where in recent years many initiatives have been launched to make the city greener, like creating pedestrian zones and reducing the speed limit to 30 km/h throughout the city center. These measures have significantly improved air quality, alongside the development of public gathering spaces with water points. This shift has also changed the way people interact with and care for these spaces. Or at least that's what I hope for.
And Elsa?
Elsa: It depends, of course, on how one defines the word nature. In some conversations, nature and culture are inseparable—for example, if you think about the bacteria living in our guts and how they are known to affect our mood. In other cases, nature may simply mean the forest park at the city’s edge. For me, it always comes down to context.
In what ways do you see your work as a commentary on the present?
Elsa: I believe no work of art can be created without addressing the era in which it is created—whether consciously or unconsciously. I study themes that answer my own questions, without considering how relevant they are in the present, yet they often resonate with others precisely because we all share so many of the same, current concerns. For example, to recognise the surrounding nature as living and sensing, as understood in alchemy and animism, would have a profound impact on the planetary future.
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Joao: My work is above all a dialogue with matter. I take discarded or fragile materials, for example, paper soaked by the rain, industrial leftovers such as Tetra Pak or plywood, and subject them to gestures that are both violent and delicate. Those wounds are on the surface but also give it a new skin, a second or third life. The work resists the logic of waste and overproduction. The act of recovery can be seen as practical but also symbolic. It is a way of recognizing that even the most ordinary, damaged objects retain a memory and a potential for renewal. The materials I use bear the marks of time, weather, and human intervention, echoing the way our own lives are shaped by external forces. Transfiguration, rather than destruction, is the goal of the transformation: preventing disappearance and preserving the fleeting. Perhaps it is a small hope that from what is worn, broken, or abandoned, something else can still emerge, fragile yet persistent.
So João: Looking toward the future, what role do you imagine materiality might play in art, and maybe even in thought, in the coming decades?
João: The human touch and intention in materials will, for me, stand out in a world that is becoming more and more shaped by artificial intelligence and digital fabrication. Materiality will continue to be an essential part of how we think, connect, and interact with the world. Through my personal work but also with the collective I am active with, a trio called "muesli" where we also experiment with changing, responsive materials. In an increasingly fast-paced society, materiality will continue to provide a space for presence and care by provoking contemplation on memory, change, and the nuanced relationships between people and the material world.
Would you agree on that, Elsa?
Elsa: Future is a difficult one to imagine; it keeps surprising humankind. It’s true that many emerging art trends use lots of new technologies like 3D printing and AI. So, maybe it’s safe to say the future is cyborg (laughs). More seriously, I expect to see growing progress in consciousness studies. At the moment, plant neurobiologists are finding evidence of sensory capacities in plants. Perhaps one day, next generations will see similar studies, maybe even with stones.
Finally, what would you like viewers to take away from encountering your projects here at Luxembourg Art Week?
Elsa: In the very best case, it would touch some viewers in the way that certain works by my favourite artists have touched me. But I don’t expect them to leave with any specific thought—each viewer is free to take exactly what they need from their encounter with the works.
And João?
João: I would like people to walk away with a heightened awareness of materials—noticing how even the most ordinary or overlooked objects can hold memory, carry traces of time, and be transformed into something new. If the installation can spark that kind of reflection, even briefly, it has done its work.
