26 September, arrival in Zeitz for IPIHAN #16:
When everything disappears beneath a thick layer of dust, it becomes part of the same history. Though I’m not entirely sure yet which history, or which story, that will turn out to be. In the meantime, I clearly belong to that story too — my own search for inspiration, which on this particular spot seems to be deafeningly absent. If I wait here long enough, perhaps everything eventually turns into fossilised traces that together sum up the whole history, my search included. Maybe that forms an image that lets you look differently at everything to be found here, or precisely what’s missing.

Photo’s: Maryna Semenkova

Inspiration can come from a can
So there I sit, behind a dusty, self-built little desk made from a greyed-green door taken from the neighbouring toilets, in a building without inspiration, in a city that is likewise searching for that same inspiration. Where fantastic spaces, wrapped in beautiful brick, built with blood, sweat and tears, could have borne witness to a history and a future with so much to tell. But they’re gone. They’ve made way for gigantic parking lots, waiting for hundreds of cars that will probably never come. Here I want to show you how I see and experience this place.
So it’s no surprise that I look for my inspiration here in the small things, the small remnants that still tell me that people once lived and worked here too, sitting there picking their noses while waiting for an inspiration that came about as often as those cars. Because that’s what I do: I search for traces of people, literal traces, but also traces of their behaviour — sociological, political, recreational, whatever. I don’t judge them, I always claim, I merely observe them, as though those were two fundamentally different things.
I look for the small deviations and interrogate them, or let you interrogate them. And as if that weren’t enough, it’s actually a bit more complicated than that. So complicated that I myself don’t always understand how it works. I carry them around in my head, sometimes for days, sometimes for years, and then bring them to my studio — or in this case: the first floor of this deathly boring, dust-filled building. The last remaining building of the old Oettler brewery, no less. It was probably so uninspiring that even the demolition contractor overlooked it. This building isn’t meant to be just my source of inspiration. For the coming weeks it’s also my temporary studio, the place where the so-called magic is supposed to happen. Where I abstract my thoughts and observations, roughly shape them into visual poetry, and eventually turn them into art — that’s the intention, anyway.
And so here I sit still, at that filthy, hastily cobbled-together desk, which is itself quite thoroughly devoid of inspiration, as if even the furniture has decided not to cooperate. With bags of M&Ms, bottles of cola and beer, and found dented cans — my very last hope of finding some inspiration in there.
Truly everything here seems to have been stripped of colour by time, as if the past, if you wait long enough, will naturally appear in black and white. More likely, it’s the thick layer of dust covering everything that binds it all together, swallowing the whole history of this place and turning it into one whole — a kind of natural preservation, like ancient fossils. The original fluorescent tubes that have flickered off the ceiling, the trampled heating elements, the graffiti, the dented beer cans — together they form a single mass under a thick, grey cloak. And now I belong to that too. To that same history of this building, where people worked, drank, fucked, and argued. If you wait long enough, everything disappears beneath the dust and eventually turns to stone — not like those fossils. Me too, if I can’t find the inspiration in time in those dented cans lying in front of me, on a desk that is slowly dissolving into that same thick layer of dust. Waiting for that one brilliant flash of insight that brings it all together: the poetry, the abstraction, the wonder.
Searching for inspiration in the fact that all inspiration is absent here.

A nice evening at Eisenturm

On Friday, October 11th, I was thrilled to open my latest exhibition, Ich wunder mich, at Kunstverein Eisenturm in Mainz. The evening began with introductions by Petra Schippers, president of the Kunstverein, and art historian Miriam Maslowski, with whom I had the pleasure of a public conversation discussing the ideas behind the exhibited works.

Ich wunder mich delves into my ongoing research on human perception and cognition, exploring the diverse ways we interpret and interact with the world around us. I am particularly drawn to the often-overlooked details that surround us daily, and the subtle beauty or poetry within elements that many might consider unattractive or mundane. This exhibition transforms these themes into poetic, narrative-driven installations that invite reflection—a quiet celebration of cognitive diversity and the richness it brings to our experience of the world.

Urban sanctuary

The first work viewers encounter is a room-sized installation, called Urban sanctuary, featuring three white platforms, each suspended at different heights from ropes attached to the ceiling. The largest platform contains a sewer lid, from which a bright, white light radiates. Scattered across the platforms are numerous ceramic birds: two are perched near the illuminated sewer lid, while the others maintain a noticeable distance, choosing the remaining platforms instead.

This work finds its origin in a seemingly insignificant moment I observed over a year ago. Leaving a park on a warm summer day, I passed the back entrance of a shopping mall where delivery trucks are unloaded. Amid the litter and on a rough concrete slab, I noticed two birds lingering near a sewer lid. This simple scene, in its unexpected beauty, inspired a reflection on the quiet, unnoticed spaces in urban life.

In this new setting, the work takes on a surreal quality, crafting a poetic narrative that deepens the beauty and mystery of the frozen moment. Rather than solving the enigma or imposing ideas, it invites the viewer to linger in the unanswered.

Still life with bird

As you enter the second room, you encounter Still Life with Bird, positioned directly opposite the entrance. The installation consists of five wooden poles arranged in a row, evoking the quiet presence of a fence. Perched on one of the poles is a single ceramic bird, coated in concrete. This sculptural piece emanates a sense of calm and tranquillity, a stark contrast to the polarising intensity and activism often found in our surroundings and within today’s art world.

Still Life with Bird is purposefully non-political, even anti-political. It resists carrying any overt message, inviting viewers to experience it simply for what it is—a quiet scene, untouched by commentary, a still life with a bird.

All together now
(101 birds on a square meter)

In the opposite corner of the room sits a second piece called All together now: 101 ceramic birds densely packed into a single square meter. This work evokes the bustling atmosphere of a city square, where flocks of birds gather in search of food. It feels as though a slice of urban life has been cut out and placed here in the gallery.

The busy, chaotic scene within the square contrasts sharply with the room’s quiet ambiance, while the strict geometry of the installation resonates with the gallery’s architectural elements—the tiled floor, square windows, and the linear design of the radiators. This interplay of forms and energies creates a compelling visual tension within the space.

Umweltfarben (4 landwerkzeuge)

During the installation, the third room at Kunstverein Eisenturm unexpectedly took on a theme reminiscent of If Paradise Is Half As Nice—a project I’ve contributed to over the past 11 years. The works in this room were all created during the last three editions of this collaborative initiative.

Umweltfarben (4 landwerkzeuge), he first piece, positioned on the left wall as you enter, features four agricultural tools hanging from nails as they might in a traditional shed. On closer inspection, each tool reveals a unique, natural monochrome, achieved through coatings of shredded leaves or grass. This work subtly gestures toward rural life, where nature and culture seamlessly blend, and aims to evoke a poetic view of life in the countryside.

Without imposing a particular viewpoint, this piece invites viewers to contemplate life in rural settings. The tools, with their vintage feel, evoke a sense of nostalgia, hinting at a past era without asserting whether it was better or worse—leaving that interpretation open to the viewer.

Measures for a long life

Measures for a Long Life was created during If Paradise Is Half As Nice #13, held in northern Norway as part of the Salangen Biennale. For five weeks, I lived and worked in an abandoned factory building where, by law, the festival organizers were required to install smoke alarms and fire extinguishers throughout the crumbling concrete structure—a space with few windows left intact.

Intrigued by the rigidity of these regulations in such a desolate space, I collected three old fire extinguishers of different models and encased them in concrete, merging them with the stark remnants of the former factories. This work invites multiple interpretations: preserved in concrete, the extinguishers are protected yet rendered functionally obsolete. They evoke a connection to the building’s industrial past, when these factories were vibrant and active. At the same time, the piece hints at our tendency to over-regulate and minimize risk, stripping away elements of adventure and spontaneity from our lives.

In this exhibition, the work has been detached from its original surroundings, thus adding a new chapter in its story.

Could I join your party?

The third work in this room features a white plinth surrounded by white plaster casts of dented, used spray cans, scattered as if left behind after a graffiti session. Like Measures for a Long Life, this piece displays objects that appear to have absorbed the characteristics of their environment—in this case, taking on the pristine whiteness and order of the gallery space.

The title of this work holds particular importance, offering two layers of interpretation. On one hand, it suggests an invitation to enter the world of street art, a sphere quite distant from my usual practice. Alternatively, it speaks to self-doubt—questioning whether I could truly belong in that culture or if my work would ever “fit in.”

In many ways, this piece subtly questions the “white cube” gallery tradition, reflecting on my position within the art world and exploring the contrasts between the raw, expressive nature of street art and the controlled space of the gallery.

Photo’s: Maryna Semenkova, Ties Ten Bosch

Curator: Barbara Schwarz

Thanks to Petra Schippers, Miriam Maslowski, Kunstverein Eisenturm, Maryna Semenkova, Ronny Lischinski, Ceramic Kingdom and all participants of If Paradise Is Half As Nice.

All works and images © Ties Ten Bosch

If Paradise Is Half As Nice #14  in Wartenburg, Germany

From August 18 to September 23, I participated in IPIHAN #14, held in an abandoned school in the village of Wartenburg. The presentation took place over the weekend of September 21, during which I introduced a new series titled Umweltfarben. A few works from series can now be viewed on my website, with additional images and details to come soon on the IPIHAN website as well.

This year’s participating artists included Maurice Bogaert, Willem Besselink, Guus Vreeburg, Jette Kelholt, Sofie Doeland, and Mels van Zutphen.

From left to right: Guus Vreeburg, Mels van Zutphen, Maurice Bogaert, Willem Besselink, Sofie Doeland, Ties Ten Bosch, Jette Kelholt.

The abandoned school where we lived and worked for five weeks is located in a small German village along the river Elbe—the same village where I bought an old farmhouse two years ago. Being immersed in this environment, I was inspired by the close relationship between culture and nature here and how they constantly influence each other; the local people adapt to the natural landscape while also shaping it to meet their needs. This shaping often happens in ways that feel traditional or even old-fashioned, evoking a sense of nostalgia. I realized how this resonates with many people in a romanticized way, calling to mind an idealized past—one that perhaps never truly existed.

Umweltfarben (3 Säge)

The works all share the title Umweltfarben, a term that connects to the colours of nature. The German word Umwelt, meaning “environment,” translates literally to “the world around”—a phrase I find both poetic and deeply meaningful.

All but one of the pieces in this series are created from agricultural hand tools, generously donated by local villagers. These are mostly older tools, broken or replaced by more modern, motorized versions. I’ve coated each tool in a unique layer of shredded leaves or grass, giving each a distinct natural colour and connecting it back to the environment for where its purpose lies.

Umweltfarben (4 landwerkzeuge)

The IPIHAN project consistently offers me the chance to work on a larger scale and to create site-specific installations. For the 14th edition, I sought to explore these possibilities again, inspired by the subtle ways in which nature has influenced local culture here—especially in the colors chosen for the old school building’s interior, which featured numerous shades of green and brown.

For this piece, I used a large, donated tractor tire from the village, fully covering it—inside and out—with shredded leaves from a single type of tree. Installed upright in one of the old classrooms, the green-coated tire harmonized with the interior’s muted green shades, blending into the space almost like camouflage. Despite this harmony, the tire’s massive presence dominates the empty room.

Behind the tire, a faint trail of green leaves suggests its movement into the room, as if it left its own natural marks upon arrival. This track hints at a larger story that began before and may continue after this moment, inviting viewers to interpret and imagine their own narratives within the scene.

https://tiestenbosch.com/umweltfarben-traktorreifen/Umweltfarben (Traktorreife)

A nondescript game, consisting of 35 numbered, concrete cubes, spread out over the area of the ruins of an iron factory at Salangsverket Norway.

During If Paradise Is Half As Nice #13, which took place at the Salangen Biennale II, this work was one of my contributions to the presentation weekend. 35 concrete cubes, all with a number imprinted in them, were lying in a line to begin with. Most of them were later spread over the area of the old ruins of the old factory. Why they were places and what they seemed to point out stays ambiguous. The work challenges the viewer to come up with their own reasons, rules or meanings.

year: 2023
material: 35 concrete cubes of 12x12x12 cm

year: 2023
what: Room filling installation at Kiosk24, Herford.
material: 4 objects, lacquer, ground charcoal, carpet

Three square meters of wall, removed plaster, pencil, white paint.

A work made on location, reflecting on the history of an old artist’s studio represented by a wall. Three square meters: one square where the top layer of plaster has been carefully removed, one square as it is now, accented by a simple pencil line, and the last one where the plaster has been painted white again as it once used to be, accenting the cracks and damages.

A site specific work made during If Paradise Is Half As Nice #10 in Rotterdam. 

The annual IPIHAN project took place this year on an extensive abandoned deserted concrete slab (betonplaat) in Rotterdam.
Compared to the indoor derelict industrial buildings of former editions, this open-air site offered the IPIHAN participants a new challenge. On top of that it enabled the project to be compliant with Covid-19 regulations.

One of the few constructions that were present on the concrete slab was a an old concrete water tank that consisted of 3 big parts and and 3 small parts. I decided to explore the possibilities and properties of one of the three big parts, starting by letting the water out and entering the space by a self made ladder. It gave me an enormous sense of solitude and concentration.

After letting the water out, all that was left was a bad smelling, watery sand substance with water plants and a lot of salamanders and empty concrete walls. During 4 weeks I explored the different elements. I tried to make tiles out of the sandy mud, plastered parts of the concrete walls with the mud and rescued a lot of salamanders out of the drying mud. It turned out to be an ongoing fight with the muddy sand which resulted in very weak tiles and a plaster that cracks and crumbles very easily.

After 4 weeks I presented my endeavors by making the tank accessible for the visitors of IPIHAN #10. I build a stairs out of wood on the inside and a gangway to a small platform in the middle of the tank. Also I put back a little water in the tank, helped by the rain in the last week of the project. This regenerated the life in the tank. All the salamanders came back to life and the plants started to become green again. The stairs and the platform gave the viewer a unique experience. The solitude and silence, the viewers were only allowed to go in one at the time, made you aware of every little detail in the tank: the cracked mud on the wall and the very subtle placed tiles made out of mud in the corners, the salamanders and plants in the water and the clouds moving by in the sky. The sounds of the immediate surroundings where muted and only distant sounds of the city and the wind where audible. Of the outside world, only the sky was visible.

title: Pavilion
year: 2020
size: 11 x 8 x 4 meter
materials: Betonnen waterreservoir, modder, hout
photo: Aad Hoogendoorn