The other day, as I sauntered through a park, a distant voice asked “Is my purpose in life to be an isolated erection for the satisfaction of others?”. I stood still, completely taken aback. A few cautionary steps ahead the voice chimed in again, now closer: “Let us howl at the moon together and see how new perspectives may be won”. That was my cue to flee. Huffing and puffing, I realised my frantic dash had misguided me and led me right to the voice. There it was, nestled among the bushes, a TV screen flickering with bizarre characters in an even more bizarre exchange [Thank God].
The park in question resides within Antwerp’s Middelheim Museum, where what seemed like a predatorial encounter is actually British artist Paul Kindersley’s contribution to the museum’s latest exhibition, Come Closer. The film, titled The Dreamer of the Forest, is a multimedia exploration where historical artworks come alive through performance and film. 
Kindersley has built a spatial installation, alternating between hosting performers and engaging the audience. Then, he scripted and filmed the performances, sometimes presenting them live. Following this, he discussed it with me, alongside the motivations that sparked these curiosities.  
“Artistic disciplines and roles flow continuously from one to another. The video sculpture is a simultaneous performance, filmset and tableau vivant. Characters from art history blend into the present. All at once, the author is a scenographer, sculptor and costumier” – Come Closer exhibition dialogue 
Your creations seem to revel in whimsy and absurdity, creating these intricate otherworldly landscapes. What intrigues you and in turn, draws you to explore these fantastical realms in your art?
There are lots of different bits to unpack. There's something about storytelling and fairy tales and how we tell stories to each other. You learn more about life from people inventing stories than from those just telling what they think are truths or essential facts about daily life. You don't learn as much from that as you would if I asked you to tell me a story. I'd learn so much about how your brain works, what you're interested in, and even strange things you didn’t mean to reveal.
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Paul Kindersley, The Dreamer of the Forest, Film Still, 2024 © The Artist
What draws you to storytelling?
Storytelling is great because things that seem silly and absurd can be more useful for accessing deeper and more exciting thoughts. When making art, especially serious art, we often try to show a certain side of ourselves or create something specific. But if you take away those intentions, you end up creating things about unexpected subjects, which are more human. This can be disturbing because it reveals parts of yourself you might not want to share, including some darker bits within all of us. But those bits are more human and more exciting.
Sometimes artists want to show their well-thought-out opinions, and it all seems considered and polished. However, if you remove that polish, things become messier, which I find more interesting. I enjoy whimsical and absurd elements, which have a long history in buffoonery and clown art. These characters can say things others can't get away with. Being a ridiculous character gives you access to different human experiences that wouldn't be tolerated if spoken directly.
That’s true! Why is voicing the unsaid important?
I think it's also good to be able to access these things. I'm a bit worried, especially since social media and the idea of fake news, about how people are very worried about things they haven't figured out. But actually, when you haven't worked things out, it's more exciting. Yes, they could be horrific, dangerous, and upsetting, but that's more interesting. I do everything with a lot of makeup, and it's funny and ridiculous, but it's also about trying to be everything at once. I think being confusing is a good thing.
It’s also connected to education. The things we were told — I had an especially strict education, but I struggled with the idea of education in general. My whole family never went to school; my mum never finished, and my brothers didn’t because my half-brothers were home-schooled. But I went to school, and I guess I rebelled by doing really well there. I think there's something about education that’s not about the individual. It's more of a homogenised experience.
Your artistic practice spans drawing, performance, stage and script, video and film, and now even costume for this exhibition. How do you determine which medium you want to use for a project, and I’m curious if you ever find it challenging to juggle them?
No, I don't find it challenging, weirdly, because for me, it's completely natural. These things are all part of one big world, and that's the world we exist in. If we exist in the world now, all these bits around us are part of it. So, creating it makes sense to me because I draw on all these elements. It's about being expansive with everything.
But the really important thing for me is the translation between mediums. Especially in this show, it's about constantly turning art from one thing into another. Like I said before, the art doesn't necessarily exist in one specific space. So, the making of the film was like a performance, even coming to work on spreadsheets — they're all part of this art. They're like these strange performances, communicating with people and making the film a performance for those 12 or 15 people who were here those days.
When I came home, I was like, how can I edit this into a film? Because the experience was so different. So, the film is a completely different version, and then again, the script changed between. I wrote the script originally, and then when I knew who was acting in it, I changed bits of it to relate to them. Even the paintings on the costumes sometimes related to the people who were going to wear them, and that changed with different people.
So, translating between media is actually my medium, if that makes sense. Sometimes I feel like, oh my God, will I never progress in one area if I just call for help from one for the other? But actually, that's what keeps it exciting for me. Changing something from a written word into a costume, then into performance— it's like working out in between the physical, actual stuff, I guess. That's really where the art lies.
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Paul Kindersley, The Dreamer of the Forest, Film Still, 2024 © The Artist
How does the process make you feel?
Translating into the next [medium] means you learn so much more about the limitations of the media, how that can translate into different things, or what doesn't work. I do enjoy it. To a certain extent, it's like frustration and pushing limitations. Even the performance, the way it's done, can be frustrating to an audience. But I enjoy that, especially in a stage where we've got a script, people have specific expectations of what that means for a theatre piece.
On the previous [question], no one asks for an artist's medium to be perfected. I was talking to another artist the other day, especially directed to younger artists now, why are we trying to be perfect like that? For the craft to be entirely polished when what makes it the best is when it's organic and natural, not nit-picked. I think it's also like trying to think out getting everything in, all your resources and everything around you, the people around you, everything ready, but then not actually planning an outcome. Because if you're aiming towards a specific outcome, you're either going to be disappointed because it's not that, or you're going to be really narrow-minded in being like, I have to achieve this specific thing. But the more you can [experiment], the more exciting things happen that you would never have expected. During the filming, we had lots of frustrations and different things, but now looking back, it all sort of comes together like that.
Your film The Dreamer of the Forest will be displayed at this exhibition for the following months. Is there anything else you’d like to tell us about it?
I think there's so much. What was so exciting about making the film is when I came to visit the museum, looking in the archives, and just observing the sculptures here, I was thinking, you know, what's the point of sculpture? Is all sculpture like a performance between the artist and the sculpture or the audience and the sculpture? Or do we go home and in a year's time, have a dream about a sculpture, and that becomes the work? So, the film itself came about as this idea of an artist's work coming to life. But then, you know, is that good or bad? Maybe it's better if the artist isn't there to interpret the work, or maybe they should always be present.
I think galleries prefer dead artists because they won't say anything controversial. They can interpret the work however they want. But if artworks were alive and could speak to each other, what would they do? In the film, they try to marry, have an orgy, or tackle difficult topics. The whole film is structured around this life cycle where sculptures are brought to life, have relationships, experience sexual awakening, philosophical awakenings, marriages, deaths, and resurrections — a condensed life cycle of an artwork. But of course, sculptures don't really die, do they? Nothing lasts forever; [but] it's also in our memories.
A lot of this comes from my parents, who carved stone and lettering by hand, a very traditional craft. They did it the same way it was done in Roman times or even earlier. I grew up understanding that carving stone means it has to be perfect and potentially last forever. So, my rebellion initially was against making things that aren't about lasting but more about the moment.
But the more I thought about it, the more I realised storytelling through things is probably the oldest art form because we've always acted out and told stories. It predates probably any other art form. So, I was rebelling against my parents' idea of creating these eternal monuments. In a weird way, it's quite liberating.
How did you approach including nudity alongside child actors in the film – especially given the current societal sensitivities?
It's such an interesting question because nudity is part of life. I think we all appreciate nudity. I mean, I don't want to quote RuPaul and be like “porn nation” or whatever. Instagram briefly banned me for posting an image from my film where you see someone's bum. Interestingly, around the same time, Britney Spears posted naked pictures of herself again.
So, I think money is attached to it, which makes it more complex for me. If you're someone like Britney Spears on Instagram, you can post almost anything and it will attract viewers and money. But when I posted what I saw as artwork, they suddenly became very strict. I asked them to reconsider because I felt it wasn't offensive, more like art. They responded with an email saying no, it was offensive and perverse.
But there's this weird thing about nudity because obviously, it's not just about sex. When you start making rules, you end up sexualising everything that's seen, which causes its own set of problems. In my film, it's complicated because there are sexual moments, but a lot of the sexuality comes through in parts that precede the nudity. This is something I really want to discuss here because in a sculpture park, a significant number of artworks feature nudes. Most of them are of naked women. In my film, I chose a naked male character partly to balance this out. Rodin [The Age of Bronze Age] inspired me, depicting a beautiful young naked man, possibly viewed similarly to how female sculptures are often seen.
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Paul Kindersley, The Dreamer of the Forest, Film Still, 2024 © The Artist
What interests you about Rodin and nudity?
It’s fascinating art because it’s so perfect. When The Age of Bronze was unveiled, people initially thought Rodin hadn't sculpted it, believing it was a cast from a real person. The contrast between a living human body versus a sculptural or online representation creates complexity in our world and society. No one seems surprised to see naked artworks here, often depicting naked women in quite extreme poses. It's a stark contrast to the massive silicone breasts some men have gone for. But if there's a naked person, like when we were filming and my brother and his wife climbed a tree in their underwear, someone yelled at her, asking why she had her breasts out. I pointed out the nearby statue of a naked woman who'd fallen back, and the person acknowledged it but said they see it every day. I suggested maybe they think about why they're worried about her boobs in a park full of nakedness where we all have chests.
There are parts in the film where characters speak directly to the camera, challenging viewers about their role as observers. They ask, 'What are you thinking?' It's valid whatever you think, but it's interesting to explore where the line between bodies and sexuality lies. Also, working with my family, including kids in the film, shows how natural nudity is. They see their parents naked, and as soon as we start saying that's wrong, we create issues.
What’s your intention?
I think in the film, I tried to convey that a living, breathing human body can provoke reactions that a static image cannot. I focused on portraying realistic human bodies with hair, spots, and rashes, challenging the sanitised portrayal of bodies in media. This ties into the broader issue of online culture, where hypersexualised images are normalised, but real bodies face controversy. It's a complicated issue, but it should be.
Reflecting on your time studying fine art at Chelsea College of Art & Design, were there any valuable lessons you took from your time there?
Yeah, what I enjoyed most about Chelsea was how quickly you realise you learn from everyone around you. Sometimes you think, Oh, my teachers are the most important people, they're on a pedestal. But I can see that your peers matter too. So those kinds of relationships — I find it challenging now because I also teach at universities. But I think the first year of having to pay wasn't a huge amount. There's also more of an expectation of being treated like a commodity. It's tricky, this exchange of money for your art education — it does make it difficult. But yeah, I learned, just from being around everyone and being there. Also, I was in the centre of London with a studio. We all had our studios that I'd never had before. I'd never been able to afford to have a central London studio for three years and just thinking, Yeah, I should have thought about that a lot more at the time. But just being there, surrounded by people all the time was amazing.
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Paul Kindersley, The Dreamer of the Forest, Film Still, 2024 © The Artist
Have any artists or movements left a lasting impact on you and your creative expression?
Let's go back to how I took inspiration from the collection here. It was interesting because sometimes it was just the name of a sculpture that sparked an idea for a character. Other times, I spent a long time researching in the archives, really immersing myself.
As for artists who've inspired me, one of my all-time heroes is Jack Smith. He's a contemporary of Andy Warhol but quite different. While Warhol was driven by ideas like money, Jack Smith was almost the opposite, but doing similar things. He created these raw films with groups of friends, whom he called his superstars. Some say he coined that term before Warhol for his own group.
They included drag artists and performers, and the way he created was fuelled by this mad desire to create without always commercialising everything. Maybe that's why he's not as remembered as others — he was frustrating as well. He'd do performances where he wouldn't really start until most people clapped because he didn't like the audience, and things like that.
His films became notorious; some were seized by the FBI, and he started live-editing them so they couldn't be shown without him. He was very controlling in that way. He's a big inspiration for me.
In the film, it's so abstract, but I draw inspiration from various sources. Like the sculptures in the park, I see where they're coming from, and I think glimmers of those influences hang on in all the characters.
What do you hope your viewers take away from your art?
I think there's a bit of excitement and interest, wondering why it was ever made, what's going on here? Yeah, I was really into the idea of this film looping in a public park for four months. It's an hour and a half long, now maybe an hour and ten minutes. So it's a lot to ask. But I also don't really want to ask people to watch. I like the idea that sometimes people jog around the park and a random scene would stick with them. Or some might sit and watch the whole thing — who knows?
I think that's also like the idea of sculpture. I always think about how long people spend looking at each sculpture. Most probably like 30 seconds, but that doesn't mean it won't have a big impact. You could stare at a sculpture for hours and have a revelation, or it could just be something you pass by. So I want the film to act like a sculpture in a way. It's just there in the forest, and you come across it and think, "Why? What's going on? What are they saying?"
When I first came here, I understood the concept of the museum and how it's generally open to the public, full of kids roaming around, passing by your film. It dawned on me that only a handful of people might sit there for more than an hour. It's open to the public, groups of school kids, people on holiday outings —you never know who will see it or what they'll take from it.
What does that mean?
It's potentially challenging, I guess. When I'm making everything, it seems exuberant and exciting to me. Those things override all the other considerations, like the nudity or difficult aspects. I embrace the excitement, exuberance, buffoonery, and the philosophising within it. It's a bit pretentious in a weird way, harking back to Shakespearean plays where half the time I don't know what people are saying, but I absolutely love it because I enjoy the silliness of the English language and the fun of it all.
Anyway, I want things to be confusing, to be fun.
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The Dreamer of the Forest, 2024 - Photo: Joe Campbell
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The Dreamer of the Forest, 2024 - Photo: Joe Campbell
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The Dreamer of the Forest, 2024 - Photo: Joe Campbell
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The Dreamer of the Forest, 2024 - Photo: Joe Campbell