Conceptual artist Ryan Gander, 50, greets his latest project with a mixture of self-deprecation and provocation. While standing in his latest show, Maybe: Ryan Gander, at Eastbourne’s Towner gallery, he jokes that his audience will likely despise him for his views. Gander maintains a vocal disdain for the act of painting and drawing, describing such traditional artistic methods as futile and dumb. He expresses bewilderment at why artists dedicate their careers to producing flat, square objects to hang on walls, suggesting that in an age of photography, the act of copying reality is entirely redundant. According to ‘T his is so bad isn’t it?”, Ryan Gander, grinning like a naughty schoolboy. “People are going to hate me when you write this up. Not only does he dislike drawing or painting, he finds the very act “futile and dumb”, the 50-year-old conceptual artist has just finished telling me why. He explains: “Copying reality with a pencil and paper just seems completely mad to me. After an entertaining couple of hours in his company, I leave thinking: “It’s not Gander who’s mad – it’s everyone else.”. I can’t take my smoothie-maker and wheelchair with me when I’m gone.”. Then it’s as one who ruthlessly avoids having an identity, if Gander has an identity as an artist. Why then, he asks in bemusement, is so much of it designed to hang on a wall? “As an artist you’re in a place where anything is possible and you have permission to act outside the norms of society. Yet 99% of art is flat and square with four corners.”. According to of course, Gander could easily be open to accusations that he’s merely a dilettante. “I think that as well sometimes,” he, With a smile. “That I’m not seriously invested in anything. And the problem with that for me is then we’re no longer making art.”. It’s like working in a carpet shop. I can wake up and I can be a choreographer even though I can’t walk.”.
Despite these criticisms, his new exhibition prominently features paintings. This contradiction is characteristic of Gander, who rejects the notion that an artist must establish a static, identifiable style. He notes that for decades, galleries warned him that shifting between styles would destroy his career, yet he defied this pressure by aggressively exploring new methods. He reports that in three decades of work, he has never failed to sell a piece. Treasure hunts, vending machines, carved wooden condoms, and chess sets made with car components (his dad used to work as a Vauxhall engineer), past projects have included cocktail recipes. Galleries used to tell Gander that dancing around so many different styles would be the death knell for his career. “I completely ignored that and actually aggressively did the opposite,” he shrugs. “And in 30 years, I’v.
Gander’s creative process is driven by a desire for freedom.
He argues that creativity is the art of solving difficult problems rather than repeating the same patterns, drawing inspiration from Joseph Beuys’ assertion that art is a science of freedom. Mastering something is not creativity – it’s practice.
He manages his output through two distinct studio spaces: a compact, private space in London’s Barbican where he generates concepts, and a larger facility in Suffolk for physical execution.
He often uses a collection of over 22,000 cryptic cards—each bearing short, abstract phrases—as catalysts for his ideas, allowing him to link disparate concepts like light boxes and financial luxury.
The artist acknowledges that he could be perceived as a dilettante, a critique he occasionally considers valid, yet he remains unbothered. His approach to art prioritizes the ephemeral nature of the work over material permanence. He famously once exhibited nothing more than a breeze blowing through a vacant room and has previously described art as potentially being a piece of dogshit on a stick, challenging the value systems that prioritize traditional mediums.
The paintings in his new exhibition, however, are a collaborative effort with his seven-year-old son, Baxter. The show also incorporates sculptures of Gander’s two daughters, aged 12 and 17. Baxter’s contributions include musical pieces composed by placing stickers on musical staves, which are played via wind-up boxes. Gander frames these collaborations as a commentary on abstract art, suggesting that the beauty of a composition often depends on the observer being told it possesses meaning, much like chewing gum on a pavement. According to he also has a superb way of communicating that makes whatever he, Seem like the most obvious thing in the world. The difference between the two competing ancient Greek concepts of time (kronos v kairos ), and how we might save the planet from the self-destructive consumption trajectory it’s on. “My mum has this saying, ‘There are no pockets on a shroud, these include shinto philosophy. His viewpoints ultimately relate to his wider concept of what art should be, which is not about stuff – sculptures, paintings, vases etc – but rather the stories they inspire, the feelings they produce, yet as with most things Gander talks about. He was born in Chester with a severe brittle bone condition which meant he spent a lot of time in hospital beds where his imagination learned to roam free.
Reflecting on the history of British art, Gander voices strong disapproval of the 1990s Young British Artists (YBAs). He characterizes that era as a period dominated by shallow and egocentric perspectives. He found the transition into the professional art world difficult in the wake of the YBAs, describing the movement as an embarrassment. While he admits that the art produced in the 90s was technically superior to much of what is produced today, he remains frustrated by the art world’s focus on fame and commercial repetition. What’s that all about, I wonder, although whenever I ask about them he freewheels off on fascinating tangents. Fascinating, but seemingly little to do with the paintings I asked about.
When questioned about his relatively limited popularity in Britain compared to his success in the United States and Japan, Gander dismisses the idea that he has not been recognized. He asserts that he has produced work for larger international institutions and received more prestigious honors than the Turner Prize. He hints that the internal politics of British institutions often prioritize specific narratives, leaving him as an outsider who prefers to jump between diverse artistic solutions rather than conform to a single, predictable identity.
