Interview with Sebastian Menzke
A conversation about materiality, the language of painting, and the evolution of his work.
Many artists stick with traditional media such as oil or acrylic throughout their careers. How did you come to incorporate epoxy resin into your work? Was there a key experience that led you to this particular material?
Sebastian: I have always been fascinated by different materials and their specific properties—especially the question of how they can be used as a form of expression. Experimenting with a wide variety of materials has been a part of my life since my time at college. This certainly has its roots in my product design studies: inventing something new was the order of the day there. The path to the goal back then was as varied as the creative minds that gathered there—an extremely inspiring and progressive environment. So there wasn't one moment or specific key experience with epoxy resin. Rather, it was a continuous development into what it is today. You have to really get to know a material first, and that takes time.
What exactly is it that fascinates you so much about epoxy resin? Is it more the technical challenge or the visual depth?
Sebastian: At first, it was actually the plastic depth that I found so exciting about resin. It enables completely different visual worlds. What I initially used quite flatly as a layer gained more and more volume and spatiality over the years. Today, the works are more sculptural and interact strongly with color, which in turn suits my painting very well. Here, too, everything is evolving, in flux—and that's how it should be.
How does your inner mode differ when you paint classically on canvas compared to working with resin? Does the material require a different strategy?
Sebastian: The process of painting is fundamentally different from working with resin. When painting, I am very focused, reflecting a lot on composition, effect, and message. At the same time, however, I allow myself a lot of freedom when painting to simply let things happen. Gerhard Richter once put it aptly: Painting is another form of language. In my eyes, those who master this language are authentic.
With resin, on the other hand, the process is also focused, but more planned and relaxed in a different way. The material dictates certain parameters such as processing temperatures and time frames. Coloring and assembling requires a lot of tact, experience, and discipline. Of course, mistakes happen because you were too fast or lost sight of a parameter. But overall, it's more like reeling off repetitive processes. That relaxes my mind, and I don't brood so much about other things. For me, it's a very important balance to painting.
Your works seem to be in constant evolution. Do you set specific technical goals for new phases, or is this progress a purely organic process?
Sebastian: Reinvention is an absolutely natural process. I like to compare it to a rope maker: new strands are constantly being added to form a larger rope, which then becomes a thicker line and later a cable. New influences combine with my own references to create new works, resulting in ever-new cycles. Currently, light in physical form has been added as an element, reshaping my painting. Those who have followed my work over the years can recognize these connections and better understand the oeuvre as a whole. It has now become an extensive oeuvre with hundreds of paintings, objects, and graphics that give me a certain raison d'être. That reassures me. In a sense, I collect myself.
Finally, the question of intuition and control: how much “planning” goes into a new work?
Sebastian: It's always both! The rough plan comes first, usually followed by drawings and research. I often think about it for quite a while, in a kind of endless loop, until I've perhaps found a rough solution. But in the end, I often throw everything out and just start. It's only during the process that control gradually returns to me, and the work ends up resembling what I had originally imagined.
Thank you very much for your insights, Sebastian.
