Archives: Artists

33 is GlogauAIR resident from April 2026 to June 2026. Q2

33 (Zixuan Wang) creates paper-based works and installations through a practice of memory poetics, exploring the flows of memory and existence. Rooted in the softness, vulnerability, and viscosity of materials, her work investigates cross-sensory perception and resonance, pointing toward a drifting poetics of memory suspended between what is delayed and what remains unwritten. As a sound artist, she works with modular synthesizers to explore sound within temporal and linguistic gaps, navigating between historical narratives and spectral territories. DJ33de9 is her club alter ego.

Meet the Artist

Do you want to start by telling me a little bit about yourself and what you’re working on while you’re here at GlogauAIR?

My name is Zixuan Wang and I go by the artist name (33). My practice spans paper-based works, installations, and sound, exploring the flow of memory, existence, and myth. It is grounded in the softness, vulnerability, and viscosity of the intangible, and gestures toward a poetics of memory that drifts between what is deferred and what remains unwritten. Besides that, I also work with synthesizers and DJ.

My project here began with a video installation called Shu Feng (淑凤). The video features me and my grandmother playing a childhood game of cat’s cradle. It was the first time we had played together a game we both knew from childhood. She was better than me, gently guiding the patterns—such as “noodles” and “eggplant”—as we moved along. It is a practice of co-weaving; a connection carried forward through touch and memory. Unexpected forms appear along the way—fragile, fleeting, but luminous.

During the residency, I’ve been exploring the space between childhood games, collective memory and post-nostalgia. Childhood memory has always been really important to me, because it feels like the starting point for how we perceive the world. Over the past few weeks, I’ve been trying to approach my work with a more playful sensibility, reimagining childhood memory through tenderness, dark humor, and estrangement. At the same time, I’m interested in a post-nostalgic condition, where memory is not something we can return to, but something unstable and constantly rewritten in the present.

You work with a variety of different mediums. How do you combine your mediums to create a final project?

I love to work across different media to enrich the visual experience of the art work. For my installations, I mostly gather materials through thrifting and stopping. I often combine soft and hard materials to create a sense of balance, such as stainless steel and sheer fabric. Since my project at GlogauAIR is based on childhood memories, I’ve been using beads, marbles, teddy bears, and slime as entry points into the “fossilization” of childhood memory.

For the final project, I want to position memory as mediated, unstable, and continuously rewritten, rather than framing nostalgia as a return to authenticity. Through processes of recollection, distortion, and forgetting, I seek to sculpt time itself and reshape a fragile castle of memory. A cat’s cradle video and a few installations will be included. I’m still considering creating a swing or carousel structure where I could project videos onto fabric.

When you try to convey memory, what are you trying to capture?

For me, memory in general is quite difficult to describe. Sometimes it feels really heavy, yet also weightless at the same time. It exists like a dream in my head, never entirely truthful. Memory is how we sculpt time. I’m interested in what Mark Fisher describes as a kind of haunted nostalgia—not a return to the past, but something fragmented that keeps resurfacing in the present. At the same time, I’m also thinking about a kind of post-nostalgia condition, where memory is no longer about longing for a lost origin, but about living with its instability, distortion, and constant rewriting in the present.

In Apichatpong’s film Memoria, Tilda Swinton plays Jessica Holland, who wakes up one night to a loud sound she describes as a giant concrete ball dropped down a metal well. That ghost sound stays with her, and she keeps trying to trace where it came from. For me, the process of wandering and wondering is really compelling, and that’s what I’m trying to capture.

What do you want people to feel when they see your work?

I hope people feel a sense of love, instability and tenderness at the same time. I don’t want memory to appear as something fixed or purely nostalgic, but more like something fragile, shifting, and slightly out of reach. There’s often a strange coexistence of heaviness and weightless in my work—like something familiar that has already started to fade.

I also hope there’s a moment of recognition, but not resolution. Something that feels almost like a memory, or a half-remembered dream, where meaning is constantly slipping. In a way, I’m interested in where you’re not returning to a past, but staying with its distortion in the present

Interview Jo Birdsell (jobirdsell.com)

Photos Raviva Nsiama (@raviva.ziama)

Arnika is GlogauAIR resident from April 2026 to June 2026. Q2

Ashleigh Hobbs, known by her artist name, Arnika (b. Australia) is a multidisciplinary artist and musician working across sound, performance, and lens-based media. Her practice explores feminine identity, bodily autonomy, and emotional extremity through self-portraiture, experimental music, and performative image-making. Drawing on personal narrative and embodied experience, her work collapses the boundary between subject and spectacle, examining how identity is shaped, distorted, and reclaimed under the gaze. Through sound, movement, and visual language, Arnika transforms vulnerability and exposure into sites of tension, catharsis, and reclamation.

Meet the Artist

Tell me about yourself and what you’re working on during your residency at GlogauAIR.

I’m a multidisciplinary artist, so my practice is very hybrid. Most of my work begins with a concept or narrative, and from there I build a world using performance, sculpture, photography, video, sound, and writing.

I work a lot with the body and with ideas of femininity, trauma, and transformation.

During my residency at GlogauAIR, I’m developing a new body of work called Hunger as Inheritance. The project explores the feminine relationship to the body, and the ways shame and survival strategies are passed down through families and culture.

The work combines sculpture, photography, video, performance, and music.

While the project draws from my own experiences, it speaks to something many people carry: inherited relationships to hunger, beauty, and self worth.

Since you’re working in so many different mediums, how do you bring them all together? How do you feel like they interact with one another?

I’m essentially articulating the same idea across different mediums. They don’t really feel separate to me, even though they are technically different forms. I’ve worked across them for so long that if I hear something, I can usually see it. If I see something, I can often hear it. And from there, a story begins to take shape.

The concept almost always comes first. Once I have that, I usually have a strong sense of where the work wants to go, and each medium becomes another way of expressing the same underlying idea.

Movement is the one part of my practice that feels more intuitive and less controlled. When I’m choreographing or using my body as the medium, I don’t always know exactly how something will be interpreted. It’s the most improvisational part of my work, and I guess that’s why, in part, I’m so drawn to it. It allows me to step out of my head and respond more instinctively.

Where does the drive to work with your body and make work about your body come from?

I started making art about my body when I began therapy and started working through complex trauma. I had been through a series of experiences that left me with a very strange and fragmented relationship to my body. For a long time, it honestly felt like I didn’t have one at all. I lived almost entirely in my head, with this huge inner world, but I felt trapped inside it and disconnected from my physical self.

At some point, working with my body became both a cry for help and an act of bravery. I needed my body to be seen. I needed to place myself in the work and become the subject rather than being disparate. It felt necessary for my own survival and healing.

Performance is still incredibly vulnerable. After a performance, I often feel raw and shaken because I am expressing something deeply true. But when that truth is held in the right space, the experience can be incredibly beautiful and magnetic. Through making this work, I’ve been able to reconnect with my body and begin to feel fully present within it.

How does gender play into all of this for you?

I think gender is much more fluid than many people are comfortable admitting. At some point, most people are forced to question what femininity and masculinity actually mean, and I think there is far more nuance and grey area than we’re often taught to believe.

That’s why I’m interested in distorting and disrupting femininity in my work. I often present as hyper-sexual and hyper-feminine, but it is very consciously a performance. By exaggerating these qualities, they become something to examine rather than simply consume.

The most important thing for me is showing that people are allowed to be contradictory. We are complex, layered beings, and those contradictions are part of what makes us human. I find that really exciting.

I think the more comfortable we become with contradiction, fluidity, and experimentation, the safer the world becomes for everyone. When people feel free to express themselves without fear, there is more space for honesty, empathy, and connection.

What do you want people to take away from your work?

A big part of me wants anyone who has experienced sexual violence, or who has been targeted or attacked for the way they express themselves- sexually, in terms of gender, or otherwise- to feel safe and held by the work.

I want people to feel that it is okay to be expressive, even when their body feels like a site of exposure. Even when it feels frightening because that body has been harmed before.

At its core, my work is about reclaiming the body as a place of agency rather than shame.

I don’t think I’m capable of making work that isn’t political in some way. For me, art has to mean something. My work has to ask questions, challenge assumptions, and create space for people to feel less alone.

Interview Jo Birdsell (jobirdsell.com)

Photos Raviva Nsiama (@raviva.ziama)

Jupiterfab is GlogauAIR resident from April 2026 to June 2026. Q2

Jupiterfab is a community focused multimedia artist who combines art and science in socially engaged projects. The artist has worked in over 20 countries, collaborates with international organizations, and creates site specific exhibits with visual art, audio, and video installations. Their main media are murals and paintings, using exaggerated characters to express emotion and inspire reflection, dialogue, and community transformation.

Meet the Artist

Do you want to start by telling me a bit about yourself and what you’re doing while you’re at GlogauAIR?

My name is Fabrizio. Jupiterfab is my artist name. I’m an Italian artist, but I’m based in Mexico.

I work on art projects with social impact. What does that mean? It means that I use art as a tool to create social change in communities. I normally work actively with communities, trying to connect with them and create an empathic bridge. I discuss possible problems, or issues that they have or they want to improve. Together we achieve the artistic element , which is like a translation of everything we want to stress and visualize.

In the last few years, I started working with social scientists from different universities, which allows me to approach the project through knowledge. The community has the chance to get touched by the art, through emotions, while at the same time, they have the chance to get in touch with someone who has the knowledge to help them.

In terms of media, I work mainly with visual art. Indoors, I create paintings and drawings. Outdoors, I paint murals in public spaces. I like the idea of the mural because I think it’s the most democratic form of art that exists. You just paint in a street and everybody has access to it.

I’m here to work on a couple of projects.

One is called Is This Modern Society? It’s a worldwide project that I started 10 years ago. It has been developed in 17 countries and four continents. It’s about the importance of finding a better balance with the use of digital technology in our lives.

The second project is called The Right to Protest, and it’s a project about the importance of protesting peacefully for our rights.

The idea for the project is actually new. I’m working with a team of professionals: a professor of digital art, an expert of authoritarianism and government, a journalist working in human resource, and a lawyer.

The idea in this case is to work in collaboration with several NGOs in different countries around the world to portray the importance of demonstrating peacefully in the street. We’ll link each location and each NGO with a specific right that is important in that area, then create a mural that represents people protesting peacefully. But the mural will also be activated with a series of information: video reportage about the specific case in that area, about the specific rights, and studied, deep analysis of the right to protest in the area or country we are working in.

When you’re thinking about painting something indoor versus something outdoor, how does your process change?

When you paint outside, it’s very important to prepare. Preparing the sketch, studying the architecture of a building, the possible architecture limits, and the context of the area.

And then when you paint, it’s actually the fastest part of the process. Because you paint in the street, you want to be fast. You don’t want people to see a piece of art that is not finished. At the same time, you deal with the fact that you are outside, so there are natural elements.

There’s also a difference in messaging. The way I paint murals is more accessible, easier to understand. So if someone is in front of it, they can see the message clearly. Because it’s for everyone.

When I paint inside, it’s more intimate. I’m not stressed with deadlines , generally, so I can take more time. I can leave a piece and start again after a period of time. I can use my own language and play more with my visual language, because it’s not just for everyone. I mean, it’s still accessible, but I can play a little more in terms of time and in terms of complexity.

How do you want people to feel when they see your work?

Interview Jo Birdsell (jobirdsell.com)

Photos Raviva Nsiama (@raviva.ziama)