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Entrée
Markeveien 4b
5012 Bergen, Norway
Thursday 12-4pm
Friday 12-4pm
Saturday 12-4pm
Sunday 12-4pm
entree.randi@gmail.com
Newsletter




Kristen Keegan
The mutual work


//

Lars Korff Lofthus
- ATTRÅ


//


Past Projects  
— 2024



Han Bo
T-Yard Residency



Max Paul
True Feeling



Ask Bjørlo
Livets kraft



Sveinung Rudjord Unneland
NA


T-Yard Residency
w/ Eric Otieno Sumba

Writer in Residency April

 
Liu Yujia, Ji Jia

Entrée Cinema


Past Projects  
— 2023


Tanya Busse
Wind Sings to Wire



Louise Sidelmann
Loss



T-Yard Residency
w/ Isabel Baboun Garib

Writer in Residency



Flex Point w/ Northing Space
Naeun Kang, Lydia Soo Jin Park, Tansiyu Chen, Dominique Nachi, Kaho Suzuki, Kuan-Cheng Yeh, Lexy Liangzi Xiao, Jia Ji, Carmilly Yeung, Su Liao, Yun Hao


Kim Hankyul
( ͡°( ͡° ͜ʖ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)ʖ ͡°) ͡°)


 
Entrée Cinema
Marthe Thorshaug,
Esteban Rivera
, curated by Tatiana Lozano



Kunstbokhandel Under Press
- Kristen Keegan
- Kurt Johannessen

How Artists’ Books Live, by Heather Jones
Bjørn Mortensen 
Ciara Phillips
Mari Kanstad Johnsen
- David Horvitz

Mari Kvien Brunvoll & Elida Brenna Linge
Lars Korff Lofthus


Emily Weiner
I took my lyre and said



Past Projects  
— 2022

Cato Løland
Turning Strangers Into Family



T-Yard Residency
w/ Yara Nakahanda Monteiro Writer in Residency



T-Yard Residency
w/ Kalaf Epalanga
Writer in Residency



Andrea Spreafico
Poor Dictionary (from Distance to Rage)


Cato Løland
Chests
Paris Internationale



Marco Bruzzone
GLUB CLUB (An Underwater Turmoil)



Lera Sxemka
Artists in Residency
 


Nastya Feschuk
Artist in Residency
 


Tuda Muda,
Sigrún Hlín Sigurðardóttir,
Unn Devik
Artists in Residency



Ivana Králíková
Future City Earth Systems
Artists in Residency


T-Yard Writers Residency
︎ www.t-yard.com


Karoline Hjorth & Riitta Ikonen
Eyes as Big as Plates


Entrée Cinema
Lasse Årikstad
Bergen Filmklubb


Pamflett & BABF
Bergen Art Book Library


Magnhild Øen Nordahl
Oppløyste abstraksjonar



Past Exhibitions
— 2021


SIGLA BINDA
- a group exhibition



Entrée Cinema
Calderón & Piñeros
Paul Tunge &
Egil Håskjold Larsen
Cinemateket i Bergen



Kåre Aleksander Grundvåg
Grunnarbeid



B3IG3
REACTION VIDEOS
Dan Brown Brønlund
Magnus Håland Sunde
Linda Morell



Lisa Seebach
I’d Rather Be Rehearsing the Future



Entrée Cinema:
Ina Porselius
Bergen Filmklubb



Ann Iren Buan
Falm varsomt, hold om oss



Sjur Eide Aas
At Hermit Street Metro Entrance



Entrée Cinema:
Esteban Rivera,
Marthe Thorshaug
Cinemateket Bergen



Karin Blomgren
Summen av alle krefter


Entrée Cinema: 
Jon Rafman,
Claudia Maté
at Bergen Filmklubb


Past Exhibitions
— 2020



Lin Wang
Exotic Dreams Tattoo Shop



Unfolding Questions, Codes,
and Contours

at Tromsø Kunstforening


Ida Wieth
wander / wonder



Lilian Nabulime, Bathsheba Okwenje,
Miriam Watsemba, Maria Brinch.
My Mother Is Forgetting My Face.
Curated by Martha Kazungu



Ian Giles
After BUTT
at Kunstnerforbundet


Oliver Ressler
Carbon and Captivity


Sara Wolfert
Head Channel & Lion 
- Waking of the Sleeping Lion Ear



Entrée Cinema
Kjersti Vetterstad
A Beehive in My Heart
at Cinemateket Bergen


Halldis Rønning
Watermusic



Past Exhibitions
— 2019



Kristin Austreid
Et underlig redskap

Bergen Assembly
Actually, the Dead Are Not Dead

Anne de Boer, Eloïse Bonneviot
the Mycological Twist

Kamilla Langeland
Stories of the Mind
(Transitioning Into Uncertainty)


Maria Brinch
INYA LAKE

— at Kunstnernes Hus


Bathsheba Okwenje
Freedom of Movement
at  Kunstnernes Hus

Lina Viste Grønli
Nye skulpturer


Toril Johannessen
SKOGSAKEN (The Forest Case)

Marysia Lewandowska
It’s About Time

(in Venice Biennial)

Films by
Mai Hofstad Gunnes


Isme Film
Collectively Conscious Remembrance


Trond Lossius
Jeremy Welsh
The Atmospherics
River deep, mountain high



Exhibitions 
— 2018



Marjolijn Dijkman
Toril Johannessen
Reclaiming Vision

Damir Avdagic
Reenactment/Process
Reprise/Response


Eivind Egeland
Father of Evil

Marysia Lewandowska
Rehearsing the Museum


Anton Vidokle
Immortality for All: a film trilogy on
Russian Cosmism

Curated by
Ingrid Haug Erstad

Johanna Billing
Pulheim Jam Session,
I’m Gonna Live Anyhow Until I die,
I’m Lost Without Your Rhythm,
This is How We Walk on the Moon,
Magical World


Jenine Marsh
Kneading Wheel, 
Coins and Tokens

Jenine Marsh
Sofia Eliasson
Lasse Årikstad
Johanna Lettmayer
Lewis & Taggar
Jon Benjamin Tallerås
Orientering 
—  a group show in public space


Jon Rafman
Dream Journal
2016-2017


Goutam Ghosh &
Jason Havneraas
PAARA

Ian Giles
After BUTT

Films by Yafei Qi
Wearing The Fog, 
I Wonder Why, 
Life Tells Lies

Exhibitions
— 2017

Daniel Gustav Cramer
Five Days

Kamilla Langeland
Sjur Eide Aas
The Thinker, Flower Pot and Mush

Danilo Correale
Equivalent Unit
Reverie: On the Liberation from Work


Valentin Manz
Useful Junk

Jeannine Han
Dan Riley
Time Flies When Slipping
Counter-Clockwise


Pedro Gómez-Egaña
Pleasure

Ane Graff
Mattering Waves


Andrew Amorim
Lest We Perish

Tom S. Kosmo
Unnatural Selection

Jenine Marsh
Lindsay Lawson

Dear Stranger


Exhibitions
— 2016


ALBUM
Eline Mugaas
Elise Storsveen
How to Feel Like a Woman

DKUK (Daniel Kelly)
Presents: Jóhanna Ellen
Digital Retreat Dot Com

Cato Løland
Folded Lines, Battles and Events

Harald Beharie
Louis Schou-Hansen
(S)kjønn safari 2.0

Lynda Benglis
On Screen
Bergen Assembly

Linn Pedersen
Bjørn Mortensen
Terence Koh
NADA New York

Ida Nissen
Kamilla Langeland
Marthe Elise Stramrud
Christian Tunge
Eivind Egeland
Fading Forms

Anders Holen
Stimulus

Sinta Werner
Vanishing Lines

Exhibitions
— 2015


Bjørn Mortensen
Pouches and Pockets
/ Compositories in Color


Linn Pedersen
Plain Air

Øystein Klakegg
Entrée # 55

Leander Djønne
Petroglyphs of the Indebted Man

Lewis & Taggart
Black Holes and other painted objects


Azar Alsharif
Bjørn Mortensen
Steinar Haga Kristensen
Lewis & Taggart
Vilde Salhus Røed
Heidi Bjørgan
NADA New York

Linda Sormin
Heidi Bjørgan
Collision

Steinar Haga Kristensen
The Fundamental Part of Any Act

Exhibitions
—2014


Tora Endestad Bjørkheim
Bjørn-Henrik Lybeck


Mathijs van Geest
The passenger eclipsed
the object that I could have
seen otherwise


Marit Følstad
Sense of Doubt

Oliver Laric
Yuanmingyuan3D

Terence Koh
sticks, stones and bones 

Kristin Tårnesvik
Espen Sommer Eide
Korsmos ugressarkiv

Exhibitions
— 2013


André Tehrani
Lost Allusions


Pedro Gómez-Egaña
Object to be Destroyed


Flag New York City

Christian von Borries
I’m M
Institute of Political Hallucinations
Bergen Assembly

Dillan Marsh
June Twenty-First

Vilde Salhus Røed
For the Sake of Colour


Azar Alsharif
The distant things seem close (…)
the close remote (…) the air is loaded


Magnhild Øen Nordahl
Omar Johnsen
Trialog

Lars Korff Lofthus
New Work

Exhibitions
— 2012


Anngjerd Rustan
The Dust Will Roll Together

Cato Løland
Oliver Pietsch
Love is Old, Love is New

Stian Ådlandsvik
Abstract Simplicity of Need

Sinta Werner
Something that stands for
Something / Double
Described Tautologies


Kjersti Vetterstad
Lethargia

Anna Lundh
Grey Zone

Arne Rygg
Borghild Rudjord Unneland
Lisa Him-Jensen
Cato Løland
Lewis & Taggart
Klara Sofie Ludvigsen
Magnhild Øen Nordahl
Mathijs van Geest
Andrea Spreafico
Flag Bergen

Exhibitions
— 2011


Karen Skog & Mia Øquist
Skog & Øquist systematiserer

Danilo Correale
We Are Making History

Sveinung Rudjord Unneland
U.T.

Ethan Hayes-Chute
Make/Shifted Cabin

Ebba Bohlin
Per-Oskar Leu
Kaia Hugin
Pica Pica

Gabriel Kvendseth
First We Take Mannahatta

Roger von Reybekiel
Do Everything Fantastic

Exhibitions
— 2010



Michael Johansson
27m3

Tone Wolff Kalstad
This Color Is Everywhere


Knud Young Lunde
Road Show Event Plan


Alison Carey
Ivan Twohig
Benjamin Gaulon
On The In-Between


Mercedes Mühleisen
Øyvind Aspen
Birk Bjørlo
Damir Avdagic
Annette Stav Johanssen
If Everything Else Fails...

Mart
Ciara Scanlan
Matthew Nevin
An Instructional

Patrick Wagner
Nina Nowak
Samuel Seger Patricia Wagner
South of No North

Gandt
Agnes Nedregaard Midskills
Patrick Coyle
Boogey Boys Santiago Mostyn
Bergen Biennale 2010 by Ytter

Lars Korff Lofthus
West Norwegian Pavilion


Serina Erfjord
Repeat


Mattias Arvastsson
Presence No.5


Malin Lennström-Örtwall
It`s like Nothing Ever Happened

Exhibitions
— 2009


Tor Navjord
FM/AM

Ragnhild Johansen
Erased Knot Painting


Entrée Radio


Lewis and Taggart
Ledsagende lydspor


In Conversation:
Gómez-Egaña and
Mathijs van Geest


In Conversation:
Andrew Amorim and
Mitch Speed


In Conversation:
Ane Graff and Alex Klein


In Conversation:
Martin Clark and Daniel Kelly


Ludo Sounds with
Tori Wrånes




In Conversation:
Stine Janvin Motland,
Kusum Normoyle,
Mette Rasmussen,
Cara Stewart



Randi Grov Berger
Contact/Info/CV
Other projects







Mark
November 1, 2024 - January 5,  2025


Kristen Keegan
The mutual work

Entrée warmly welcomes you to the opening of 'The mutual work', a solo show by Kristen Keegan featuring a new series of paintings.

Vernissage Friday November 1st, 6pm
Entrée, Markeveien 4b


Installation view, Kristen Keegan, The mutual work at Entrée. All photos by Bjarte Bjørkum.







På veggen min heime har eg hengande eit verk av Kristen Keegan. Det er ei slags bok, men den er laga av voksa bomull, ikkje papir. Kvar side har sine fargar, breie striper som tangerer eller flyt inn i kvarandre. Verket er laga av restar, avkapp frå store måleri. Slik eg har hengt det opp i stova minner det om ein kalender, sjølv om det altså utelukkande viser fargar. Ryggen horisontal, boka slått open og festa til veggen med ein tynn spiker. Når eg blar om på sidene kjem ein ny fargekomposisjon til syne. Bilda som opnar seg mot rommet ser nesten alltid ut som landskap.

Då far min besøkte meg for ikkje lenge sidan, spurte han om det kunstverket. Kva symboliserer det, noko slikt sa han. Denne dagen var boka slått opp på ein djup grøn som grensa mjukt mot ein nesten svart blå. Ei lyserosa flate skein inn frå motståande side, stripa med så vidt synleg fløytekaramellbrun. Eg forstod kva han meinte, eg visste berre ikkje heilt korleis eg skulle svare. Eg sa: Hugsar du den haustkvelden då eg og du og mamma gjekk over heia til Melstokkevatnet, mykje seinare på dagen enn det me pleier, i skumringa? Då me til slutt måtte bruke telefonane våre som lommelykter, for å sjå kvar stien slutta og furukrattet starta?

                                                                        *

Keegan viser meg arbeida ho har førebudd til The mutual work, måleri på bomull og silke, spreidde ut over studioet hennar. Tekstilane er farga, flekka eller pensla med naturfarge. Monokrome silkeflak heng laust frå veggen, nokre gonger overlappa av andre verk. På enkelte små, oppspende bomullslerret let Keegan det polykrome potensialet i ein og same farge kome til syne: frå kanten av eit gult rektangel, måla med vokspors på gultre, siv det ei glorie av mosegrøn og lilla. I fleire av arbeida finn eg dei farga stripene som har blitt Keegan sitt kjenneteikn, men med meir luft – eller kanskje lys? – mellom seg enn tidlegare. Desse måleria er mindre landskapsaktige enn verket eg har hengande heime, likevel får dei meg til å tenke på fenomen frå naturen. Når silken rører seg, synest eg han har noko vassaktig ved seg, at han liknar refleksjonar av lys på sjø. Dei sløra bomullsmonokromane minner om grålysning, skumring.

                                                                        *

Det er ikkje alltid at eg klarar å identifisere kva det er ved måleria hennar som har ein verknad på meg. Nokre gonger verkar det som det finst ei enkel forklaring. Eit gult rektangel, dust avgrensa: det kroppslege minnet om sola gjennom eit vindauge, slik det treffer interiøret, andletet. Ei horisontlinje der mørkegrønt blandar seg med blåsvart: silhuettane til far min og mor mi på den mørknande lyngheia. Men for eksempel eit stort måleri med hovudsakleg vertikale striper, der to tverrgåande strøk gjev bildet eit rutemønster – kva er det med desse to strøka, den tynne, raude fargen deira, korleis dei kryssar dei vertikale linjene i bildet, flyt ut i møte med dei? Kvifor er det som at pulsen aukar når eg ser på det? Kva minner dei to strøka meg om, blod tynna ut i vatn? Svak bærsaft? Raude merker på hud? Etterlys, slik det svir bak augeloka? Eit skin, eit ulmande, ei utviding.

                                                                        *

Korleis fargane verkar på oss synest framleis å ha ein viss mystikk knytt til seg, til tross for all fargeteori som finst. Kanskje gjeld dette særleg farge presentert nonfigurativt, farge som nærmar seg «berre farge», sjølv om «berre farge» er ein umoglegskap. I Maggie Nelson si bok Bluets, ei samling merknadar om fargen blå (og om tap, sorg, kjærleik), med ei form som er inspirert av Wittgenstein si Bemerkninger om fargene, står det: Innrøm at du har stått framfor ein liten haug pulverisert ultramarinpigment i ei glasskål på eit museum og kjent eit verkande begjær. Men etter å gjere kva? Frigjere det? Kjøpe det? Ete det?

                                                                        *

Det siste året har Keegan bevegd seg heilt vekk frå å bruke syntetisk pigment. No målar, flekkar og fargar ho tekstilane sine med naturfargar, hovudsakleg frå planter. Desse fargane er meir uføreseielege enn dei syntetiske, ein må bruke tid på å bli kjent med kvart nye materiale, lære seg kva for behandling det treng for å gje frå seg den fargen ein ønsker. Nokre av fargane Keegan brukar kjem frå det mørke, metta materialet som finst heilt inst i ulike tresortar, kjerneveden. Andre frå bark, tørka blomar. Raudfargen i rutemåleriet eg heng meg opp i, er ikkje laga av planter, men av ein type lus som lever på kaktus. Kochenille-lus, soltørka og knuste og kokte opp til farge. Fargen dei gir heiter karminraud. Lusekroppen (når levande) produserer ei syre for å halde rovdyr unna, det er slik fargen først oppstår. Ein brukar karmin blant anna i mat og leppestift. Ein har henta ut raudfarge frå kochenille-lus sidan 700 år før vår tidsrekning. Ein kunne skrive ein firesiders tekst berre om karminraudt.

                                                                        *

Innan buddhistisk filosofi snakkar ein om emptiness, fortel Keegan. Men ikkje som eit tomrom. Meir som at ein kvar gitt ting ikkje inneheld eit separat sjølv. Ingenting, heller ikkje farge, kan skiljast ut som ein autonom substans. Også farge er metta av samanheng – med materialet han kjem frå, med ulike brukshistoriar, med materialet han blir ein del av når ein målar med han, med rommet lerreta skal henge i, med deg når du ser han. 

                                                                        *

Det verkar umogleg å heilt skilje sansane frå kvarandre. Det verkar umogleg å skilje syn frå minne, frå lukta av myr og lyng og furu, frå lyden av skritt dempa mot skogbotn, frå kjensla av å senke sin eigen kjøttfulle kropp ned i kaldt vatn.

                                                                        *

Ho seier, eg har måtta bestille nye verktøy, peiker mot ein bukett kasserte penslar i ei krukke. Dei der farga av i målinga. Først forstod eg ikkje kva som skjedde, kvifor fargen endra seg undervegs. Men det var fordi penslane mine hadde koparbeslag, og metallet påverkar fargestoffet. Substansar påverkar kvarandre, det erfarer ho heile tida i arbeidet med fargane. Og det er vel ikkje annleis for oss menneske, me blir òg påverka av substansane me kjem i kontakt med. Ho fortel meg om noko ho lærte på Atelier Shimura, ein verkstad i Kyoto ho vitja i sommar: at det finst dei som tenker på fargen frå ei gitt plante som ein amulett. At kvar plantefarge har spesielle eigenskapar, som smittar over på den som ber han. Eg fortel henne om noko eg nyleg las i ei kulturhistorisk utstilling, som handla om bruken av tekst i det gamle Egypt: korleis ein på den tida trudde at skriftteikna bar ei magisk kraft, som ein kunne få tilgang på gjennom fysisk kontakt. Om ein for eksempel helte vatn over eit teikn som var hogga inn i ei steinblokk, så ville vatnet bli ladd med skriftteiknet sin magi. Og om ein så drakk vatnet, ville ein sjølv fyllast av krafta.

                                                                        *

Eller som Thomas A Clark (ein av poetane Keegan likar) seier det, i eit av dikta sine:

vatn som flyt

gjennom brønnkarse

mottar eigenskapane

til brønnkarse



Tekst av Cecilie Almberg Størkson



Kristen Keegan, Brushwork (vetches). Botanical dye on shaped canvas, 121 x 142 cm.





On my wall at home, I have a work by Kristen Keegan. It is a kind of book, but it is made from sheets of waxed cotton, not paper. Each page has its own colours, broad stripes that border or flow into each other. It is made from studio scraps, cut-offs from large paintings. The way I have installed it on my living room wall makes it resemble a calendar, even though it exclusively displays colours. The spine is horizontal, the book is spread open and fixed to the wall with a thin nail. When I turn the pages, a new colour composition comes into view. The images opening toward the room almost always look like landscapes.


When my father visited me not long ago, he asked about the artwork. What does it symbolize, he said, or something like that. On this day the book was opened to a spread with a deep green that bordered softly towards an almost black blue. A pale pink surface shone in from the opposite side, streaked with barely visible toffee brown. I understood what he meant; I just didn't quite know how to respond. I said: Do you remember that autumn evening when me and you and mum walked across the heath to Melstokkevatnet, much later in the day than we usually do, at dusk? When in the end we had to use our phones as torches, to see where the trail ended, and the pine thicket began?

                                                                        *

Keegan shows me the pieces she has prepared for The mutual work, paintings on cotton and silk, spread throughout her studio. The textiles are dyed, stained, or brushed with natural colour. On certain small, stretched cotton canvases, Keegan allows the polychrome potential of one and the same dye plant to be seen: from the edges of a yellow rectangle, painted with bayberry on fustic, oozes a halo of moss green and purple. Several of the works feature the coloured stripes that have become Keegan’s signature, now with more air – or maybe light? – between them than before. These paintings are less landscape-like than the work I have hanging at home, but they still remind me of phenomena from nature. When the silk moves, there seems to be something watery about it, reminiscent of how light is reflected off the sea. The blurred cotton monochromes make me think of dawn, twilight.

                                                                        *

I am not always able to identify what it is about her paintings that affects me. Sometimes there seems to be a simple explanation. A yellow rectangle, softly delineated: the bodily memory of sun through a window, as it hits the interior, the face. A horizontal line where dark green mixes with an almost black blue: the silhouettes of my father and my mother on the darkening heath. But, for example, a large painting with mainly transverse stripes, where two vertical strokes create a grid pattern – what is it about these two strokes, their thin red colour, how they cross the transverse lines of the image, swelling at the points of intersection? Why does it feel like my heart rate rises when I look at it? What do the two strokes remind me of – blood diluted in water? Watered-out berry juice? Red marks on skin? Afterimages, stinging behind the eyelids? A gleam, a smouldering, an expansion.

                                                                        *

How colours affect us still seems to have a certain mystery attached to it, despite all the colour theory that exists. Perhaps this particularly applies to colour presented nonfiguratively, colour that we might be tempted to describe as "just colour", even if "just colour" is an impossibility. In Maggie Nelson's book Bluets, a collection of propositions on blue (and on loss, grief, love), with a form inspired by Wittgenstein's Remarks on Colour, Nelson writes: Admit that you have stood in front of a little pile of powdered ultramarine pigment in a glass cup at a museum and felt a stinging desire. But to do what? Liberate it? Purchase it? Ingest it?

                                                                        *

During the past year, Keegan has moved away from using synthetic pigment entirely. Now she paints, stains, and dyes her textiles with natural colours, mainly from plants. These colours are more unpredictable than the synthetic ones. You have to spend time getting to know each new material, learn what treatment it needs to produce the colour you want. Some of the colours Keegan uses come from the dark, saturated material found at the very core of various types of wood, the heartwood. Others from bark, dried flowers. The red colour in the grid painting I get hung up on does not come from a plant, but from a type of lice that lives on cacti. Cochineal lice, sun-dried and crushed and boiled to make colour. The colour they give is called carmine red. The body of the lice (when alive) produces an acid to keep predators away, which is how the colour first occurs. Carmine is used, amongst other things, in food and lipstick. People have extracted red dye from cochineal lice since 700 BC. One could write a four-page text just about carmine.

                                                                        *

In Buddhist philosophy, they talk about emptiness, says Keegan. But not as a void. More like: Any given thing does not contain a separate self. Nothing, not even colour, can be distinguished as an autonomous substance. Colour is saturated with context – with the material it stems from, with its different histories of use, with the material it becomes part of when one paints with it, with the space the canvases are hung in, with you when you see it.

                                                                        *

It seems impossible to separate the senses from one another completely. It seems impossible to separate vision from memory, from the smell of marsh and heather and pine, from the sound of footsteps muffled against the forest floor, from the sensation of sinking one's own fleshy body into cold water.

                                                                        *

She says, I've had to order new tools, pointing to a bouquet of discarded brushes in a jar. Those ones discoloured the paint. At first, I didn't understand what was happening, why the colour changed as I was painting. But that was because those brushes over there have copper ferrules, and the metal affects the dye. Substances affect each other, this is something she experiences all the time in her work with colour. And it is probably no different for us humans, we are also affected by the substances we come into contact with. She tells me about something she learned at Atelier Shimura, a workshop in Kyoto she visited this summer: that there are those who think of the colour of a given plant as an amulet. That each plant colour has special properties, which rub off on the person who wears it. I tell her about something I recently read at a cultural history museum in an exhibition about the use of text in ancient Egypt: how, at the time, written signs were believed to have a magical power, which could be accessed through physical contact. If, for example, one poured water over a sign carved into a block of stone, the water would be charged with the magic of that sign. And if you then drank the water, you yourself would be filled with that power.

                                                                        *

Or as Thomas A Clark (one of the poets Keegan likes) puts it, in one of his poems:

water that flows

through watercress

receives the qualities

of watercress


Text by Cecilie Almberg Størkson




Kristen Keegan (b. 1988, Canada) is based in Bergen with a studio at Kunstnerverksteder CS55. She explores the function of abstract images to encourage wide attention. Engaging materials in a conversational approach, her works are a close study of colour, perception, and gesture. These exploratory methods result in projects of varied formats, including paintings, textile composites and book editions. Keegan completed her master’s in fine art at UiB’s Faculty of Art, Music and Design in 2019 and has since exhibited at venues throughout Scandinavia, including Entrée, Kunsthuset Kabuso, LNM, Konstepidemin, Årsutstillingen, Høstutstillingen and Hordaland Kunstsenter. She has participated in residencies such as Mustarinda in Finland and Messen in Øystese. Her work is held in public collections including the University of Bergen and KODE museum. Next year she is developing a new project in collaboration with Trykkeriet. 




Kristen Keegan, The mutual work. Botanical dye on canvas, 50 x 320 cm.





Brushwork (water body) (left), Brushwork (mountain listening) (right). Botanical dye on shaped canvas, each 121 x 142 cm.



Kristen Keegan, Brushwork (here). Botanical dye on shaped canvas, 121 x 273,5 cm


Exterior view, Kristen Keegan, The mutual work, Entrée, November 2024.
Mark