Carpets of light

Richard Wright has chosen glass for a new site-specific installation at the Gagosian gallery in Rome; a material that has a particular reaction to the impact of light, absorbing it or letting it through.

Richard Wright, <i>No title</i>, 2015, vetro piombato, 460 × 174 cm. Photo Matteo D'Eletto M3 Studio
The dialogue with architecture lies at the heart of Richard Wright’s work. In the 1980s, the British artist rejected canvases and took his painting directly onto the architecture of various spaces. He used wall painting to redesign and redefine space, giving it new connotations and offering observers a chance to see it from a new perspective.
The work was no longer safely contained within the static confines of a frame but placed in a transitory position that reflected the mutability of life; it is exposed to every possible change affecting the architecture of which it has become a part. Fragility but also the openness of the work was what was new in Wright’s approach and in 2009 he won the coveted Turner Prize for a large work in gold leaf applied directly to a wall at Tate Britain. This choice of material introduced another important feature of Wright’s work – the use of light. The light exalted but also annulled the gold; it lost its physical connotations and turned into a blurred glow.
Richard Wright
Richard Wright, No title, 2015, Gagosian Gallery Rome. Photo Matteo D’Eletto M3 Studio. Image courtesy Gagosian Gallery and the artist
Wright has chosen glass for a new site-specific installation at the Gagosian gallery in Rome (see Domus 995, October 2015); this is another material that has a particular reaction to the impact of light, absorbing it or letting it through and the artist has been experimenting with it since the late 1990s. In the elliptical gallery, he has created three monumental leaded-glass windows, placed over the existing ones that light the large space. The natural light filters through these complex structures and is projected onto the surrounding space, marking the different hours of the day like an hourglass. In the morning, the gallery walls appear set with tiny, elaborate gems of light which, in the hours of full sunshine, turn into large multicolour carpets before then going back to small sparkles at sunset and disappearing.
Richard Wright, <i>No title</i>, 2015, Galleria Gagosian Roma. Photo Matteo D'Eletto M3 Studio
Richard Wright, No title, 2015, work in progress at Gagosian Gallery Rome. Photo Matteo D'Eletto M3 Studio

Your reflection on the fragility of artwork sometimes goes as far as destroying your works at the end of an exhibition. Why is this?

It’s my desire to position the work in a context where it is totally vulnerable and it is highly unlikely to be preserved. One of my favourite pieces is a 1970s’ work by Chris Burden in which two large wooden crosses in the form of an X were placed in the middle of a road and set on fire. This work had a single spectator, the person who had to drive the lorry to the location chosen for the performance. In my vision, a work is created to be experienced at a precise moment.

Richard Wright
Richard Wright, No title, 2015, work in progress at Gagosian Gallery Rome. Photo Matteo D'Eletto M3 Studio

Craft is hugely important in your research and for your glass-works you have collaborated for several years with York Glaziers Trust, one of the oldest stained-glass conservation workshops in Europe.

I’m extremely interested in the manual aspect of a work. I believe that everything handmade has a memory of its own and can trap time, so to say. The craft factor is also linked to the importance of the design. I think structure is key, especially in these three windows. Working with a material like glass prompts you to adhere to precise design rules, to make the work solid and stable, which addresses architectural issues.

Richard Wright, <i>No title</i>, 2015, work in progress alla Galleria Gagosian Roma. Photo Matteo D'Eletto M3 Studio
Richard Wright, No title, 2015, work in progress at Gagosian Gallery Rome. Photo Matteo D'Eletto M3 Studio

Your work with glass also seems to have tangential links with music and mathematics. As in an algorithm or a score, the sequence of the single pieces follows a very precise plan.

Music interests me a great deal and I have played for several years. Some instruments, such as the piano, fascinate me for the way they absorb an artist’s performance and changing from being a machine to an organism. I think the same applies to material during the creation process of an artwork. It absorbs the artist’s performance. Mathematics is another one of my interests but I am not an expert in it. I have quite a simple and empirical relationship with the subject. If I find myself before an old palazzo, I always try and understand how the joiners resolved many of the structural issues.

Richard Wright, <i>No title</i>, 2015, work in progress alla Galleria Gagosian Roma. Photo Matteo D'Eletto M3 Studio
Richard Wright, No title, 2015, at Gagosian Gallery Rome, detail. Photo Matteo D’Eletto M3 Studio. Images courtesy Gagosian Gallery and the artist

Do you use a computer when producing your works?

I don’t use a computer during the creative phase or to build structures or sequences. The work is strictly manual. I only use one in the final phase, as an architect would, to transfer the original design into a version that can be read by all my assistants.

As you come from Glasgow, do you feel a connection between your work and the tradition of the Mackintosh school?

I have certainly been influenced by it, not in terms of aesthetic briefs traced by the Arts and Crafts movement but by the theoretical and political aims that exalted the dignity of creating though everyday work and craftsmanship. Mackintosh interests me and he was definitely a great architect. I attended the Glasgow School of Art, designed by him, and there is no question that its imposing structure had a strong impact on me. Although my first passion was painting, architecture has greatly influenced me and continues to do so.

Richard Wright, <i>No title</i>, 2015, vetro piombato, 460 × 174 cm. Photo Matteo D'Eletto M3 Studio
Richard Wright, view of the exhibition at the Galleria Gagosian Rome. The exhibition has been extended through Friday, December 18, 2015. Photo Matteo D’Eletto M3 Studio. Image courtesy Gagosian Gallery and the artist

The gold leaf and leaded glass techniques hark back to mediaeval European art but also to that of the Arab world. What impact do these cultural references have on your work?

Historically, I have always been interested in the period of cross-contamination between the Orient and the West, when European buildings started applying details of a clearly Islamic imprint. Certainly, I see the Middle Ages as a time of great interest, the painting in particular. I love the work of the Lorenzetti brothers from Siena, in which the geometry and clean lines are combined with a mystical gaze.

Leaded-glass windows were traditionally seen mainly in churches, as was gold leaf in painting and decorations with religious subjects. Is your work somehow linked to a spiritual reflection?

Rather than spiritual, I prefer the term immaterial, going back to the concept that some materials can remember or contain time, although my work has no direct religious input. I am, however, interested in the element of sacrifice and devotion when someone spends time doing something, like art, which is clearly not necessary but that nourishes the spirit.

Richard Wright, <i>No title</i>, 2015, vetro piombato, 460 × 174 cm
Richard Wright, No title, 2015, stained glass, 460 × 174 cm. Photo Matteo D’Eletto M3 Studio. Images courtesy Gagosian Gallery and the artist

Many great masterpieces of the past are in leaded glass: the Chapel of the Rosary in Vence by Matisse and the iconic rose window of Notre Dame in Paris. What is your relationship with tradition?

One of great admiration. When I observe these examples, I am always astounded by the solutions found and the success of complex dynamics. They are constant sources of ideas and inspiration. Generally speaking, my interest in the architecture of the past is not limited to observing the forms but also takes in the small actions of those who occupy these spaces, such as an elderly lady who enters a chapel to leave flowers. Actions change space, actions can enter the memory of a situation and I find this possibility hugely stimulating.

You are currently working on a major work commissioned by London’s Crossrail for Tottenham Court Road station. What can you tell us about it?

It’s a large public space crossed by thousands of people every day; a place of transit where my work, which will be on the ceiling, will be observed in movement – on an escalator or entering a lift. One of the problems of today’s art is how to engage a lay audience and I believe this is the greatest challenge of the project.

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