Aistė Stancikaitė

When I was 16, I was really into reading and writing, and I thought I might study journalism, literature, or languages. However, quite accidentally, I joined an art school in the evenings with a friend, primarily to keep her company. I thought it might be a lovely hobby after regular school hours. To my surprise, I got admitted, and as it turns out, I was quite good at it. Everything was going well, and within a couple of years, I got completely obsessed with drawing and painting, it was the only thing I wanted to continue doing, so I went on studying painting after graduating from high school. It happened quite suddenly.

I moved to Berlin almost six years ago now. Before then I used to live in Bristol, England. It was a smaller city and at some point, I started feeling like I needed a change, fresh input. Then, Brexit happened, and it felt even more compelling to go back to living in mainland Europe. Berlin always seemed like an interesting place, and I was curious what it would be like to live here. It took a while to find my place in it, but I feel quite comfortable here now. And a lot of big and important life and career shifts happened for me here too, so perhaps it was meant to be. 

Yes. I was always creative in various ways, but perhaps more inclined towards reading and writing. The literal world still interests me a lot and I draw a lot of inspiration from it, yet my professional focus is now fully in visual art.

Personally, I don’t like the concept of guilty pleasures; associating pleasure with guilt seems quite questionable to me, hinting at deeper problems within our society.

Exactly. I think it’s fine to enjoy what you want without seeking validation or approval from others. Often those people who judge others tend to choose questionable things too, and their judgment towards others is mostly about their insecurities. Even if some of these so-called guilty pleasures might not be the healthiest of choices, as long as you’re aware of them and pursue them in moderation, I think it’s all fine. Problems arise when the pursuit of these pleasures begins to negatively affect your life, transforming from a source of enjoyment into an issue. 

I’m not a fan of these definitions. Who is to decide what’s high art, and what’s lowbrow? Why is one considered to be valuable more than another? All that goes under those labels are just different things, fitted to various purposes and enjoyed by various people for various reasons. And it’s all a valid part of our culture. I don’t think it’s a matter of right or wrong, it’s just a point of difference and preference. That is not an invitation to pass judgment on anyone or anything, however, as humans we often do that because of our unconscious bias.

Absolutely, suffering is what people are sometimes proud of, quite unconsciously. I guess it could also be a way of honouring your strength and persistence, but I think often it keeps people stuck in a victim role and that feeling of being less-than.

Maybe not so much guilt but suffering is prevalent in my culture as well. I’m from Lithuania, which is a post-Soviet state. We have a history full of oppression and resistance, and that trauma has been passed on through generations. I think there’s a strong fear to stand out, to be different, yet there’s also a strong need for validation and approval. People are extremely concerned about what other people might say or think about them, and that often influences how much people allow themselves to be authentic in who they are, and what they prioritise in their lives. I feel like it’s getting a little bit better now as there is more awareness about generational trauma and different social issues, but it’s still a while to go until Lithuania becomes a more liberated place. 

I am exploring these ideas by trying to translate my feelings about them into visual representations. It’s about finding a balance between the use of light, colour, focus on detail and revealing just enough to invoke a feeling of these abstract ideas. I don’t attempt to encapsulate a vast existential concept entirely within a single painting. Instead, I create a collection of these glimpses that, when combined, hopefully convey the feelings I’m exploring. These themes are so broad that they can be endlessly examined in various ways.

As I mentioned earlier, it’s about showing just enough but not too much. I’m using a lot of isolated close-ups, zooming in on the detail, yet also enlarging it in scale. I am interested in how picturing less doesn’t mean showing or seeing less. I feel like this approach often expands the context of the work by making it more obscure, mysterious, and invoking more questions, which is what I’m very curious about. I am interested in exploring this not only in the intimate isolated close-ups of the body but also leaving parts of the composition in the dark while revealing only some parts of it in detail. This balance allows viewers to project their interpretations onto the artwork. I don’t aim to provide a comprehensive view of the subject; instead, I offer suggestions. It’s an open invitation for viewers to construct their own narratives.

While I’m gradually getting better at it, there are times when I have a great amount of work, such as preparing for an exhibition, and suddenly something happens so that I can’t go to the studio, or I have to take a day off because my body is too tired to function that day. Initially, I might feel guilty because I have so much to do, but by the end, I realise that the break was necessary. It’s almost as if my body compelled me to pause. Returning to work the next day, I’m more productive and focused. I still manage to accomplish everything. It’s challenging not to feel guilt, especially since creatives often have minds that can’t not work. But it is crucial to grant yourself the freedom to rest and let your body be.

Absolutely. It shouldn’t be considered a guilty pleasure, but rather a normal thing to do to take a day off and not feel guilty. The current extremely fast pace of life, fueled by social media and the need to maximize productivity at all times, even when it comes to rest, makes you feel as though you're perpetually chasing something and falling behind.

My colour choices are rather intuitive and tend to evolve with each new body of work. Initially, I used one colour as a way to focus on structure and subject matter. I was intrigued by what I could achieve working this way and I think I explored it to its limits. So the shift in my palette was a very natural development and it continues to grow alongside other aspects of my work. Overall, using a red-centred palette allows me to create a dreamlike, slightly surreal world. Since my art is highly figurative, using real colours would anchor it in reality. However, I want it to exist in a different realm, like someone else’s universe or a dream.

Red is incredibly absorbing and physical. The way it takes up space and its intense heat have always fascinated me. Lately, I’ve been gradually shifting towards a cooler palette, incorporating more blues and purples alongside red. My colour choices in each piece are guided by my feelings at the time, it’s the intuitive part of the process.

Indeed, in a current piece I’m working on, I’m transitioning from deep red to ultramarine blue. I’m intrigued by the interplay between these two colours and how they seem to battle and harmonise simultaneously.

I have a fascination with the physicality of pristine new notebooks and paper. However, my perfectionist tendencies prevent me from using them. I often think I should sketch in them, but I’m not a spontaneous sketcher. The only aspect of my work where I allow spontaneity is in my colour choices. Everything else I plan out very accurately and work on each piece very slowly and with a lot of precision, to eliminate the possibility of making mistakes. The same applies to stationery; I project that I’ll use it, but when the time comes, they’re so perfect that I can’t bring myself to make the first mistake in them. So, I end up with a collection of empty notebooks. I still appreciate them aesthetically; I just can’t bring myself to use them.

I have quite a few of them. And yes, as a child, I had similar tendencies – if I made a mistake while writing in my school notebook, when I got home, I would tear out the page and rewrite everything. So a lot of my notebooks would have only half of the pages left by the end. This obsession with perfection and precision has been a part of me since I was very young, but it’s not something I’m proud of. Sometimes, it’s challenging for me to let go of imperfections in my artwork, even tiny minuscule details that no one else would ever notice. It can be tiring, and it has something to do with the need to control. I’m working on loosening up, but it’s a long process.

I think some of it lies in my upbringing, but I also think that my upbringing brought out my nature, which is the leading force.

This is an intriguing point because it’s precisely what I aim for. I often present large close-ups of the human body, which balance on the edge of being figurative while maintaining an abstract quality by not revealing too much. I don’t like to tell a complete story, which is where my more abstract perspective comes into play. Some of my figurative paintings can even resemble landscapes; within the human body, some elements can resemble natural features, like a shoulder positioned like a mountain. So, my work is both abstract and figurative simultaneously.

I do have a bit of a sugar dependency, but it doesn’t dominate my life. It’s more of a ritual; sometimes, rituals help me get into the right mindset. For example, on my way to the studio, I’ll buy a pastry and a coffee. This ritual motivates me to go to the studio because when you work extensively, you need these external motivators to keep showing up where you need to be. It doesn’t necessarily influence how I work; it’s like a small treat for working hard.

Surprisingly, I’d say I’m quite a boring person. My artwork often appears much stranger than I am as a person. I go to bed early, I don’t party much, I prefer a drink in a bar over clubbing, and I take care of my mental and physical health as best as I can. I’m generally calm and introverted. I stick to a regular schedule from ten to five, Monday to Friday. I feel like I don't have that eccentric or wild artist persona. My artwork allows me to delve into a side of myself that I don't display in my day-to-day life— the obscure, the subconscious, and perhaps the darker aspect, my melancholic side.

They’re both connected because it’s all me, however, my work feels very private. It is a part of me that doesn’t surface in my daily life. Through making art, I'm exploring this aspect more intimately, the side of me that I don’t even know that well. I guess that’s how I’m trying to get to know it and make sense of it, in a way.

Precisely. It’s what Jung referred to as the shadow archetype – an unconscious facet of the personality that doesn’t align with the ego ideal. Through my art, I intimately delve into this unconscious part of my world. However, you wouldn't typically notice these aspects of me unless I genuinely open up and discuss them with someone.

I can be quite social and happy, yet at the same time deep inside, feel very melancholic. A feeling of longing and a strange sense of loneliness has been with me since childhood. Through my art, I’m exploring these themes intimately. It’s not something you would typically notice about me at first instance. It can sound sad, but I don’t see it negatively. I accept that it’s just an inherent part of me which is always going to be there, and I’m happy to have it. It helps me connect to and see the world in a subtle, more sensitive way.

Inspiration for me largely comes from observing, looking at things, and making connections. I sift through a lot of images, and something in one particular image will speak to me. I take that element, rework it in my mind, and consider how to translate it into something that reflects what I’m feeling. It can also often stem from reading a poem and wanting to convey the feelings I get from the poem visually. But ultimately, inspiration comes from observing, looking, reading, thinking – there’s a lot of thinking involved. It’s not tied to any one specific place, person, or experience.

In the past, my work was largely focused on portraiture, and I was working as an illustrator too. During that time, I’ve drawn quite a few portraits of Black people, but I also did many portraits of people from Asian, Caucasian, and other backgrounds. Some of those drawings were self-initiated, some were commissioned portraits for magazines and newspapers. My focus was always purely on the visual human form in all its diversity, observing and finding interesting, strong faces. Using the colour red for all range of people was my way of focusing on shape and structure of those faces rather than their cultural backgrounds. I believe as an artist, you can’t always only talk about yourself; it’s ok to explore different subjects. However, there is a problem when someone is exploitative, offensive in their exploration, or talks knowingly about someone else’s lived experience which they know nothing about. I also think that culture and art reflects society during its specific time, and it’s often that we notice certain things and question them from the perspective of time and with the awareness of the present. The only time it becomes clear-cut in the now is when someone is causing harm, being hurtful, or exploiting others.

Not so much. While there are elements in my artworks that touch upon subjects like self-intimacy, which aren't always openly discussed in society, I don’t treat them ironically or subversively. I feel like there is no irony in my work at all, rather, I think it’s quite honest and vulnerable.

The thing about the nice socks is that I buy them to wear them of course, but I often don’t. I like them as tactile objects though. They’re all different, whether it’s the colour, the pattern, or the texture. In my day-to-day life, I wear very simple socks, and I always think there will be some special occasion to wear something more daring. But it’s also about the aesthetic pleasure of owning something pretty.

I’m generally quite good at decluttering. I either give things away or sell them. But with certain items, it’s incredibly difficult for me to let them go. I’m not a hoarder or collector; and it’s not like my house is overflowing with socks. I have a normal amount, maybe a bit more than most people, but it’s because I don't use them and they’re waiting for their time.

I have drawers filled with empty notebooks and a large drawer for socks. I wear about ten pairs out of the approximately thirty I have. It’s more of a personal pleasure; they don't take up much space.

Again, I consider them guilty pleasures because I don’t wear them very often. I do have a few suits, and I really like suits, but I don't often find occasion to wear them. It’s all relative; what I consider a lot would really not be much for someone else. I’m not a person with an excessive amount of stuff. Having five or six suits is quite a lot for me because I rarely wear them. The same goes for vests; I have a thing for vests, and I wear them more frequently. When I get into something, I can become obsessed with it for some time and accumulate a lot of it, and I mean – a lot to me. Then, I might switch to something else and never go back to the previous thing. For example, I might buy one type of trousers for a year, and then I’ll have six or seven pairs with the same cut. Suddenly, I’ll stop liking them as much and switch to something new. It always goes in cycles.

In a way, they do. My artwork often evolves in cycles too. If you look at the exhibitions I’ve done, or how my work developed over time, each period has a different look. I’m currently preparing for a new show, and I’m already thinking about it. This is how I work; I make small changes and explore them. When I am making a new body of work, I introduce small alterations. It’s like chapters in my artistic journey.

I don’t aim for a specific message in my art. My work revolves around exploring the experience of being human, the loneliness that comes with it, the abstract feeling of longing, and the desire to be seen. However, I don’t intend to convey something specific through words. I want to explore these feelings and states of being visually. I prefer not to offer a complete narrative. I like to give a sense of what the art is about, though I don’t believe art requires a card with answers or instructions. In my view, it should evoke feelings, and curiosity, and the viewer should connect with it in their own way.

The public often responds positively to my work. It’s accessible in a way; even if you don’t know much about art, you can still appreciate it for its visual appeal. People are drawn to it at a surface level; they can see the skill involved. But I don’t particularly appreciate it when someone simply says it’s pretty or looks real. While it’s great if someone thinks that, I find it more interesting when someone interprets it in a unique, weird, or personal way. That's the connection I find fascinating.

Yes, a lot of people who are not that interested in art find my work at least attractive. I like that it’s somewhat universal; even those who don’t know much about art can still enjoy it for its visual stimulation. What makes it interesting is when someone sees the contexts behind the surface and finds references that I didn't even notice. That’s the intriguing part.

I like to start and end the day with some sort of ritual. It’s a transition between my work mindset and my personal life. I don’t have a drink every evening though but more often when I feel like I deserve it for having a productive day. It's like a moment of peace, a closing ritual for the day.

Food, in general, brings me a lot of joy and happiness. I don’t exactly know how it connects to my inner senses, but it’s how I relax and switch off from other things. I find a great deal of comfort in these small indulgences. A good drink or dessert after dinner momentarily balances everything out. And of course, sugar generates dopamine and it’s a pleasure hormone. It gives you some sense of happiness, even if very short-lived. 

Absolutely. It’s about savouring, eating or drinking slowly, rather than consuming all hastily on the go. What’s crucial for me when it comes to food and drink is taking the time for it. I don’t like to eat or drink while walking; I prefer to create an experience around it, even if it’s very simple. For example, it matters to me what cup I drink my coffee from. Even drinking sparkling water can be a different experience if you pour it into a nice glass and add ice and a slice of lemon. I think food and drink can do more than just keep you alive, and I like to make it an enjoyable experience if I can. I turn it into a moment to unwind, switch off from daily errands, reconnect with other senses, and connect with people too.

Exactly, I prefer the social aspect of it, not just walking or taking it on public transport.

The bodies I use in my art are mainly taken from my reference pictures. However, I make sure that when you see a representation of a body, it’s a non-descriptive body, and it helps show only fragments of it. I’m very interested in gender and it’s a big underlying context in my work, that’s not obvious at first glance. However, I’m interested in gender more by a way of trying to remove it, rather than represent any binary aspect of it. I think it comes very naturally to me as that’s what I connect with. My artworks are about representing a human being, and what gender is that?

Absolutely. When I’m in Vabali, I can’t do anything else. It's a place to relax, sit, and unwind. This is challenging for me because, like many creatives, I find it hard to truly relax. At Vabali, you go there with that one purpose; maybe you still have some thoughts in your mind, but it flows. You’re there to take time off, and if something creative emerges from that, it's great. It’s a rare opportunity to have dedicated time to not think, just be.

I enjoy looking at other people’s art, and it often evokes feelings that I can draw inspiration from. However, when it comes to working, I'm quite individualistic. I am not very good at compromising, so it’s challenging for me to collaborate. If I have a specific vision for how I want things to go, I find it difficult to be flexible and let go of control. I think it could be healthy for me to explore this and loosen up, but let’s see.

I’m quite interested in exploring adding an element of installation art into or alongside painting and drawing. Perhaps using different materials for painting instead of traditional canvas, experimenting with various textiles, and adding sculptural textures.

Absolutely, thinking about space and incorporating sculpture and installation elements. While video art could be interesting, it’s not something I’m inclined to explore right now. The next step I’m curious about is experimenting with different textiles and textures and seeing what narratives I can create with them.

Currently, there’s a group show in New York that just opened. I have a solo show in New York planned for later this autumn, followed by another solo show in Berlin during the winter at the GNYP Gallery in Charlottenburg. After that, I have a residency in California scheduled for March. So, there are quite a few things on the horizon.