The Power Of Art, With Anna Franke

After leaving Germany and travelling through Andalusia and Morocco in a camper van, you eventually settled in Galicia. Would you say that journey influenced the way you understand artistic creation?

Yes, without a doubt. I spent all that time outdoors, immersed in nature and in extreme environments: the desert, arid landscapes, rugged coastlines. Stepping away from urban life and experiencing the cultures and landscapes of Southern Europe and North Africa broadened my perspective. For many years, I have observed textures and reflections and translated them into videos and photographs, which in turn inform my artistic practice. That practice has evolved from illustration and collage, through painting within defined formats, and ultimately into sculpture.

The Galician coastline appears repeatedly in your work. What have you found in the Atlantic that you did not encounter elsewhere?

In Galicia, I discovered a raw and mystical energy that has profoundly inspired and influenced me ever since. The immense force of the elements is felt here in an extraordinarily direct way. For me, the Costa da Morte is one of the most fascinating landscapes, especially when the sky turns black, the sun breaks through the clouds, and the colours and sea foam begin to shift. This constant variability, the powerful movement of the ocean, the mystical atmosphere and the shapes of the rocks have deeply shaped the aesthetic language of my work.

Your practice began with collage, moved through illustration and social critique, and eventually developed into a much more physical relationship with landscape and materials. What prompted that shift?

The loss of my mother, together with my travels, gradually redirected my practice towards a more direct engagement with the elements. That loss marked me profoundly and led me to reflect on matter and spirituality, as well as on rituals connected to water.

Fashion is often built around controlling fabric. Yet many of your works emerge from exposing textiles to the erosion of the elements. What have materials taught you once you stop trying to control them?

What is truly fascinating is the process itself. It is precisely there that things happen that I could never have anticipated. Those are the best moments, approaching unknown territory through experimentation. I allow myself to be guided by the behaviour of the materials and observe the relationships they establish with one another. They are an incredibly fertile source of inspiration; through their own essence, I discover new possibilities. The interplay between natural and industrial materials, earth and water, but also the remnants of post-industrial landscapes, is endlessly compelling to me.

I believe that, at the beginning of creative processes across all disciplines of the creative industries, something similar takes place in terms of idea generation and those first tentative steps, before the phase of control begins. The same is true in fashion. That is the stage of creation I choose to focus on, allowing myself to be guided by non-human elements.

You have spoken about time as an important collaborator in your work. Does your relationship with a piece change once you accept that part of the process does not belong to you?

Of course. It changes my relationship both with the work and with myself. It reminds me that, as an artist and as a person, I am no longer the centre of everything. It teaches me to be fully present in the moment. That is what we call "flow", a genuine connection. It feels like an adventure journey, where you do not yet know what awaits around the next corner.

In projects such as MERGULLO and MUDAR, the body becomes an active participant within the sculpture. When did you first feel the urge to physically enter the work?

As I interacted more closely with nature, my work became increasingly physical. Documenting the process eventually led me to see myself and my own body as part of the artwork in motion, both witness and participant at the same time.

In Friction, the installation currently exhibited at OTTODISANPIETRO, forms stretch and communicate with one another. What does the idea of "friction" mean to you?

FRICTION emerged within the arid volcanic landscape of Cabo de Gata, where I worked for several months during autumn and winter. It explores a relationship that oscillates between friction, gravity and different states of being. I am interested in the contrasts between movement and stillness, solidity and liquidity, day and night, humanity and its surroundings. Bodies, spaces and materials exist in a constant exchange: a field of proximity, resistance and transformation.

The textiles remained in the landscape for weeks, exposed to wind, rain and sunlight. Because of their scale, the work became extremely physical and demanding. I spent long periods of time there, alone with these forms, which gradually transformed into beings or bodies of their own and became part of the landscape, absorbing its energy.

When someone walks through OTTODISANPIETRO and encounters Friction for the first time, what would you like them to feel before they even begin trying to understand the work?

I hope they can sense the expressive force and energy of those ancient processes that have unfolded within these landscapes. I would like the viewer to be moved in a sublime way.