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Up	Close	with	Distance		
The	Unstable	Space	in	Contemporary	Painting	

	
	



	





Up	Close	with	Distance:	
The	Unstable	Space	in	Contemporary	Painting	

	
	
	
	

	
	
	

Michelle	Mansford		

BFA	(Hons	1)	

	
	
	
	

	
Queensland	College	of	Art	

Arts,	Education	and	Law	

Griffith	University	

	
	
	

Submitted	in	partial	fulfillment	of	the	requirements	of	the	degree	of		

Doctor	of	Visual	Art	

	
May	2017	

	
	
	

	
	

	
	

	
	



	
	
	



	

	 v	

Abstract	
	
	
	
	
The	way	we	experience	space	has	a	direct	relationship	to	the	way	we	perceive	

it,	as	evidenced	by	the	ways	that	space	has	been	represented	in	painting	

throughout	history.	My	research	is	concerned	with	the	representation	of	

space	in	contemporary	painting.	Contemporary	experiences	of	space	through	

new	media	screens	offer	painters	a	unique	challenge	that	requires	them	to	

think	about	representing	space	in	new	ways.	My	research	focuses	on	the	role	

of	the	window	in	painting,	a	device	that	has	confirmed	painters’	

preoccupation	with	representing	space	on	a	two-dimensional	plane.	I	provide	

an	historical	overview	that	establishes	the	window	as	an	important	spatial	

and	metaphorical	concern	within	painting.	I	draw	a	connection	between	the	

window	and	Plato’s	cave	as	a	frame	of	representation.		

In	the	context	of	this	research,	‘space’	refers	to	a	painterly	space	which	

includes	both	illusory	space	and	actual	physical/material	space.	Whereas	

Gilles	Deleuze	defines	these	different	kinds	of	space	as	either	‘haptic’	or	‘optic	

space’,	I	use	the	term	‘unstable	space’	to	describe	that	which	occurs	when	

both	‘haptic’	and	‘optic	space’	coexist	on	a	picture	plane.	

In	considering	Plato’s	cave	as	a	window	or	frame	of	representation,	I	

recognise	the	demarcation	of	key	spatial	and	representational	concepts	

related	to	the	window	in	painting.	As	with	Plato’s	cave,	the	window	

demarcates	binary	opposites	that	have	structured	much	subsequent	thinking	

about	art,	such	as	interiority/exteriority,	nature/culture,	illusion/reality.	

Through	Plato’s	theories,	I	specifically	draw	attention	to	the	dualist	

structure	of	his	belief	system	that	posits	tensions	between	interior	and	

exterior,	reality	and	illusion,	nature	and	culture.	I	establish	the	term	‘unstable	

space’	through	examining	the	theories	of	Deleuze	and	Jacques	Derrida	that	

deconstruct	Plato’s	writing.	Their	theories	offer	a	means	by	which	to	

construct	new	meanings	within	the	space	of	painting,	as	they	emphasise	the	

instability	of	the	binaries	afforded	by	Plato’s	philosophy	and	instead	suggest	

the	possibilities	of	multiplicity.	



	

	 vi	

The	contemporary	‘windows’	of	media	screens	significantly	shift	the	

metaphor	of	the	singular	window	to	the	multiplicity	of	windows	within	

windows.	This	multiplicity	reflects	the	way	we	currently	experience	space	

and	the	effect	this	has	on	the	thinking	of	space	in	contemporary	painting	

practice.	In	this	way,	painting’s	material	dimension	and	illusory	space	can	be	

explored	not	in	terms	of	binary	oppositions	but	as	complementaries.		

Having	traced	the	development	of	the	window	as	an	important	

representational	device	in	painting,	I	propose	that	the	window	can	be	used	as	

a	mechanism	to	explore	the	‘unstable	space’	through	painting.	This	space	

operates	between	spatial	and	representational	theory.	Through	the	analysis	

of	specific	works	of	art	by	contemporary	artists	chosen	as	exemplars	in	the	

field	of	painting,	I	argue	that	the	unstable	space	can	be	created	solely	in	the	

medium	of	paint.		

My	research	extends	understandings	of	space	as	represented	within	

the	limits	of	a	two-dimensional	surface.	The	representation	of	space	within	

my	painting	practice	results	from	my	reimagining	of	the	window	as	an	

unstable	space,	my	exploring	of	the	perception	and	representation	of	

ambiguous	space,	and	my	engaging	with	pictorial	illusion	through	abstraction.	

Explicitly,	the	studio	research	found	that	the	screen	or	window	was	able	to	

act	as	a	metaphor	for	the	body	and	as	such	effectively	articulate	the	

experience	of	interiority	and	exteriority,	surface	and	figure,	ground	and	

distance.	

	

	
	
	



	

	 vii	

	
Statement	of	Originality	

	
	

This	work	has	not	previously	been	submitted	for	a	degree	or	diploma	in	any	

university.	To	the	best	of	my	knowledge	and	belief,	the	thesis	contains	no	

material	previously	published	or	written	by	another	person	except	where	due	

reference	is	made	in	the	thesis	itself.	

	
	
	
	
	

______________________________	
Michelle	Mansford	



	

	 viii	

Table	of	Contents	
Abstract	 v	
Acknowledgements	 ix	
List	of	Figures	 x	
Introduction	 	1	

Chapter	1	–	The	Window	as	an	Unstable	Space	 6	

Part	1:	The	Window	 	8	

Plato	and	the	Philosophy	of	the	Window	 9	

The	Painted	Window	 14	

The	Window	as	a	Metaphor:	Romanticism	and	Realism	 	27	
Photography	and	the	Window	 	33	

Modernism:	The	Window	as	Icon	 	35	

Contemporary	Windows:	Screens	and	Frames	 40	

Part	2:	The	Unstable	Space	 42	

Multistability	in	Perception	 42	

Derrida’s	Idiom:	The	Unstable	in	Language	 49	

Deleuze’s	Difference	in	Itself:	The	Abstract	Line	 50	

Chapter	2	–	Spatial	Relations		 52	

Gerhard	Richter	 54	

Krauss:	Differential	Specificity	 	57	

Derrida’s	Idiom	 58	

Deleuze’s	Difference	in	Itself	 59	

Andreas	Eriksson	 65	
The	Window	 70	

Difference	and	Repetition		 73	

Smooth	and	Striated	Space	 75	

Multiplicity	 76	

Chapter	3	–	The	Unstable	Space	in	Contemporary	Painting	 	78	

How	We	See	What	We	See	 80	

We	Are	Where	We	Are	Not	 87	

The	Ambiguous	Space	of	Reflections	 89	

Up	Close	with	Distance	 93	

Conclusion	 94	
Bibliography	 99	



	

	 ix	

	
	

Acknowledgements	
	
	

I	would	like	to	express	my	sincere	appreciation	and	gratitude	to	several	

people	who	assisted	and	supported	me	during	the	period	of	this	research	

project.	Thanks	go	to	Assoc.	Prof.	Donal	Fitzpatrick	for	his	encouragement	to	

embark	on	my	doctoral	research	and	for	sharing	his	wealth	of	knowledge	in	

the	earlier	stages	of	my	candidacy.	Thanks	also	go	to	my	principal	supervisor	

Dr	Jess	Berry	for	her	tireless	support	and	encouragement	throughout	the	

duration	of	this	project.	Jess	has	worked	above	and	beyond	her	role,	and	I	

wish	her	all	the	very	best	in	her	new	appointment.	Sincere	appreciation	goes	

to	my	associate	supervisors	Dr	Rosemary	Hawker,	for	her	expertise	of	

Gerhard	Richter,	and	Dr	Julie	Fragar,	for	her	encouragement	and	guidance	in	

matters	of	studio	practice	as	well	as	being	a	source	of	support	when	balancing	

single	parenthood	and	doctoral	studies	seemed	impossible.	

	

I	would	also	like	to	thank	and	acknowledge	Evie	Franzidis	for	her	welcome	

suggestions	and	careful	edits	of	drafts	of	this	exegesis.	Thank	you	to	both	

Aileen	Randle	and	Georgie	Peart	for	their	organisation	in	matters	of	

administration.		

	

Finally,	I	must	express	my	very	profound	gratitude	to	my	family	for	providing	

me	with	unfailing	support	and	continuous	encouragement	throughout	my	

years	of	study	and	through	the	process	of	researching,	writing	and	creating.	

This	accomplishment	would	not	have	been	possible	without	them.		

Thank	you.	

	

	

	
	
	
	
	



	

	 x	

	
List	of	Figures	

	
Figure	1	 Jan	Pietersz	Saenredam	after	Cornelis	Cornelisz	van	

Haarlem	Plato’s	Cave	1604,	engraving	on	laid	paper,	
sheet	(trimmed	to	plate	mark):	33.7	x	45cm.		
The	National	Gallery	of	Art,	Washington.		

9	

Figure	2	 Example	of	Second	Style	Painting,	Cubiculum	
(bedroom),	Villa	of	P.	Fannius	Synistor	at	Boscoreale,	
(50–40	BCE).	

15	

Figure	3	 Triclinium	paintings	from	the	villa	of	Livia	at	Prima	
Porta,	Museo	Nazionale	Romano,	Palazzo	Massimo	
alle	Terme	(30–20	BCE).	

16	

Figure	4	 Ixion	Room	(Triclinium),	House	of	the	Vettii	AD	70–
79.	

17	

Figure	5	 Fra	Angelico	San	Marco	Altarpiece	1438–40,	tempera	
and	gold	on	panel,	225	x	234cm.	Museo	di	San	Marco,	
Florence.	

19	

Figure	6	 Johannes	Vermeer	Music	Lesson	1662–65,	oil	on	
canvas,	73.2	x	64.5cm.	

24	

Figure	7	 Johannes	Vermeer	The	Music	Lesson	1662–65,	oil	on	
canvas,	73.2	x	64.5cm,	with	perspective	lines	
converging	at	a	single	vanishing	point.	

25	

Figure	8	 Caspar	David	Friedrich	Frau	am	Fenster	(Woman	at	
the	Window)	1822,	oil	on	canvas,	44	x	37cm.	
Staatliche	Museen	zu	Berlin,	Nationalgalerie.	

28	

Figure	9	 Johann	Heinrich	Wilhelm	Tischbein	Goethe	am	
Fenster	seiner	Wohnung	in	Rom	(Goethe	at	the	
Window	of	his	apartment	in	Rome)	1787,	watercolour,	
chalk	and	ink	over	pencil	41.5	x	26.6cm.		
Frankfurt	Goethe	Museum.	

29	

Figure	10	 Moritz	von	Schwind	The	Morning	Hour	1860,	oil	on	
Canvas,	34.8	x	41.9cm.	Bavarian	State	Painting	
Collections	–	Schack	Collection,	Munich.	

30	

Figure	11	 Jakob	Alt	View	from	the	Artist’s	Studio	in	the	
Alservorstadt	towards	Dornbach	1836,	watercolour	
over	pencil,	52.1	x	42.1cm.	Albertina	Vienna.	

31	

Figure	12	 Caspar	David	Friedrich	View	from	the	Artist’s	Window	
in	Dresden	on	the	Elbe	(Left	Window)	1805–06,	ink	on	
paper,	31.4	x	23.5cm.	Belvedere,	Vienna.	

32	

Figure	13	 Caspar	David	Friedrich,	View	from	the	Artist’s	Window	
in	Dresden	on	the	Elbe	(Right	Window)	1805–6,	ink	on	
paper,	31.2	x	23.7cm.	Belvedere,	Vienna.	

33	

Figure	14	 Joseph	Nicéphore	Niépce	View	from	the	Window	at	Le	
Gras	1826,	photograph,	20.32	x	16.51cm.	

33	



	

	 xi	

Figure	15	 Henri	Matisse	La	fenêtre	bleue	(The	Blue	Window)	
1913,	oil	on	canvas,	130.8	x	90.5cm.	The	Museum	of	
Modern	Art,	New	York.	

37	

Figure	16	 Henri	Matisse	Porte-fenêtre	à	Collioure	(French	
Window	at	Collioure)	1914,	oil	on	canvas,	116.5	x	
89cm.	Centre	Pompidou,	Paris.	Musée	national	d'art	
moderne/Centre	de	création	industrielle.	Dation	en	
1983.	

38	

Figure	17	 Henri	Matisse	The	Yellow	Curtain	1915,	oil	on	canvas,	
146	x	97cm.	The	Museum	of	Modern	Art,	New	York.	

39	

Figure	18	 Michael	Leunig,	TV	Sunrise,	cartoon.	 40	
Figure	19	 Author	unknown	Rabbit-Duck.		 44	
Figure	20	 Salvador	Dali	Slave	Market	with	Apparition	of	the	

Disappearing	Bust	of	Voltaire	(detail)	1940,	oil	on	
canvas,	46.35	x	65.40cm.	Salvador	Dalí	Museum,	St.	
Petersburg,	Florida.	

45	

Figure	21	 M.	C.	Escher	Circle	Limit	IV	(Heaven	and	Hell)	1960,	
Woodcut.	

46	

Figure	22	 Projections	of	a	cube	in	Attneave	“Multistability	in	
Perception,”	95.	

47	

Figure	23	 Trapdoor	in	Attneave,	“Multistability	in	Perception,”	
98.	

49	

Figure	24	 Gerhard	Richter	19.12.1999	1999,	oil	on	colour	
photograph,	12	x	12cm.	

60	

Figure	25	 Gerhard	Richter	1.12.1999	1999,	oil	on	colour	
photograph,	12	x	12cm.	

61	

Figure	26	 Andreas	Eriksson	Content	is	a	Glimpse	no.	10	2008,	
cast	bronze,	ca.	20	x	10	x	25cm.	Galerie	Conrads,	
Dusseldorf.	

66	

Figure	27	 Andreas	Eriksson	Car	passing	by	at	20:36	h,	
07.07.2007	2007,	acrylic	on	aluminium,		
150	x	99cm.		

69	

Figure	28	 Andreas	Eriksson	Promenad,	2008,	c-print,	oil	and	
acrylic	on	aluminium,	59	x	327cm	(five	parts)(AE	m	
53).	Private	collection.	

71	

Figure	29	 Andreas	Eriksson	Promenad	2008,	c-print,	oil	and	
acrylic	on	aluminium,	59	x	263cm	(five	parts)	(AE	m	
57).	Private	collection.	

71	

Figure	30	 Andreas	Eriksson	Trädstam	(grå)	2010,	acrylic	and	
oil	on	canvas,	252	x	235cm.	Galleri	Riis.	

74	
	

Figure	31	 Michelle	Mansford	Untitled	7:55	2011,	acrylic	on	
panel,	25.5	x	23cm.	Private	collection	
Photographer:	Dan	McCabe.	

81	

	 	 	



	

	 xii	

Figure	32	 Michelle	Mansford	Untitled	2011,	acrylic	on	panel,	
25.5	x	23cm.	Private	collection.	
Photographer:	Dan	McCabe.	

82	

Figure	33	 Installation	image	of	5	x	paintings,	acrylic	on	panel,	
each	panel	25.4	x	20.32cm.	
Photographer:	Carl	Warner.	

88	

Figure	34	 (Left)	Michelle	Mansford	Tremolo	2013,	acrylic	on	
panel,	25.4	x	20.32cm.	(Right)	Michelle	Mansford	Up	
Close	with	Distance	2013,	acrylic	on	panel,	25.4	x	
20.32cm.		
Photographer:	Carl	Warner.	

89	

Figure	35	 Installation	image	from	exhibition	titled	Reflections	
on	Brown	Lake	2015,	oil	on	copper,	varying	
dimensions.	
Photographer:	Aidan	Ryan.	

90	

Figure	36	 Rembrandt	Harmensz	van	Rijn	Rembrandt	Laughing	
about	1628,	oil	on	copper,	22.2	x	17.1cm.		

92	

Figure	37	 Andy	Warhol	Suicide	1964,	silkscreen	on	paper,	
unique	print,	101.6	x	76.2cm.	Private	collection,	
courtesy	of	Thomas	Ammann	Fine	Art	AG,	Zurich	©	
2014	The	Andy	Warhol	Foundation	for	the	Visual	
Arts,	Inc.	/	Artists	Rights	Society	(ARS),	New	York.	

96	



	

	

	



	

	

Introduction	



	

	

Introduction	



	

	 3	

	
Up	Close	with	Distance:	The	Unstable	Space	in	Contemporary	Painting	is	a	

doctoral	research	project	that,	in	the	broadest	sense,	is	concerned	with	the	

representation	of	space	in	painting.	More	specifically,	it	focuses	on	the	role	of	

the	window	in	painting,	a	device	that	has	confirmed	painters’	preoccupation	

with	representing	space	on	a	two-dimensional	plane.	I	draw	on	both	

representational	and	spatial	theories	to	provide	this	context.	My	research	

asks	how	painting	can	reconcile	the	dead-end	of	illusion	and	modernism’s	

essentialist	reduction	to	flatness	to	create	new	spatial	relations	that	speak	to	

a	contemporary	experience	of	space.	

	
This	research	is	not	concerned	with	the	practice	of	painters	associated	with	

the	expanded	field	of	painting,	such	as	Katharina	Grosse,	but	with	those	that	

remain	inspired	to	explore	spatiality	in	two	dimensions.	Therefore,	rather	

than	concentrate	on	“the	transformation	of	painting	into	a	three-dimensional	

object	or	a	spatial	entity”,1	this	research	focuses	on	the	multiplicity	of	spatial	

concepts	represented	within	the	confines	of	a	two-dimensional	surface.	As	

expressed	by	painter	Mari	Slaattelid,	“it	is	precisely	a	painter’s	experience	

that	two-dimensional	representation	can	provide	a	more	profound	

understanding	of	space	than	the	object	itself”.2		

	
This	exegesis	is	divided	into	three	chapters.	The	first	chapter	provides	an	

historical	overview	that	establishes	the	window	as	an	important	spatial	and	

metaphorical	concern	within	painting.	In	addition,	it	develops	the	idea	that	

the	window	can	be	used	as	a	mechanism	to	explore	what	I	call	‘the	unstable	

space’	in	painting.	In	doing	so,	it	provides	a	theoretical	framework	for	the	

discussion	of	my	painting	practice.	The	chapter	is	divided	into	two	parts.	In	

part	one,	I	examine	the	philosophy	of	the	window	dating	back	to	Plato’s	cave.	

I	explore	the	painted	window,	as	opposed	to	the	architectural	window,	from	

early	Roman	frescoes	to	Alberti’s	metaphor	of	the	open	window—exemplified	

																																																								
1	Anne	Ring	Petersen,	"Painting	Spaces,"	in	Contemporary	Painting	in	Context	(Copenhagen:	Museum	
Tusculanum	Press,	2010),	126.	
2	Mari	Slaattelid,"Painting	Abides,"	conference	paper	presented	for	the	occasion	of	the	exhibition	An	
Appetite	for	Painting,	the	Museum	of	Contemporary	Art,	the	National	Museum,	Oslo,	Norway,	2014.		



	

	 4	

in	the	Renaissance	painting	of	Fra	Angelico—in	order	to	establish	the	

significance	of	the	window	as	a	metaphorical	device.	I	consider	developments	

in	the	accuracy	of	representations	of	space	through	a	discussion	on	the	

painting	of	Johannes	Vermeer	and	his	use	of	the	camera	obscura,	which	

provides	a	useful	link	between	painting	and	photography.	The	metaphorical	

window	in	paintings	from	nineteenth-century	Romantic	and	Realist	

movements	saw	the	window	play	a	major	role	in	painting	and	later	in	the	

medium	of	photography.	I	discuss	photography	and	the	window	in	order	to	

address	photography’s	influence	on	the	representation	of	space	in	painting.	

Following	this,	I	explore	the	window	as	an	icon	in	modernism,	which	rejected	

illusionistic	art,	through	the	paintings	of	Matisse	that	blurred	the	distinction	

between	interior	and	exterior	space.	In	the	last	section	of	part	one,	I	discuss	

the	contemporary	‘windows’	of	media	screens	which	significantly	shift	the	

metaphor	of	the	singular	window	to	the	multiplicity	of	windows	within	

windows.	This	multiplicity	reflects	the	way	we	currently	experience	space	

through	screen	media	and	the	effect	this	has	on	the	thinking	of	space	in	

contemporary	painting	practice.		

	
The	second	part	of	Chapter	1	draws	on	post-structural	discourse	as	a	critique	

of	the	dominant	Western	view	of	art	through	considering	the	writings	of	

Jacques	Derrida	and	Gilles	Deleuze	on	Plato.	Derrida	and	Deleuze	provide	the	

philosophical	terms	with	which	to	describe	the	unstable	space.	Drawing	on	

the	science	of	perception,	I	use	the	concept	of	multistability	to	address	how	

we	can	perceive	of	such	an	ambiguous	space.	I	interpret	Derrida’s	conception	

of	idiom	in	language	in	such	a	way	as	to	illuminate	visual	ambiguity	in	

relation	to	the	language	of	painting.	What	Derrida	calls	‘difference’,	or	the	

instability	of	meaning,	is	significant	to	understanding	the	unstable	space	with	

which	my	practice	is	concerned.	I	also	draw	on	Deleuze’s	concept	of	

‘difference	in	itself’	to	further	explain	my	idea	of	unstable	space	as	a	space	of	

multiplicity.	Whereas	difference	is	often	expressed	in	binary	opposition	to	

something	else,	Deleuze’s	concept	asks	us	to	imagine	difference	as	a	thing	in	

itself.		



	

	 5	

The	second	chapter	of	this	exegesis	analyses	specific	works	of	art	by	two	

contemporary	artists	chosen	as	exemplars	in	the	field	of	painting.	German	

artist	Gerhard	Richter	(b.	1932)	and	Swedish	artist	Andreas	Eriksson	(b.	

1975)	both	engage	with	the	representation	of	spatial	concepts	through	the	

materiality	of	their	painting	and	photographic	practices.	In	doing	so,	both	also	

reference	the	window	as	a	motif	in	spatial	relations.	In	the	case	of	Richter,	I	

focus	my	analysis	on	his	overpainted	photographs	which	provide	a	case	study	

through	which	to	examine	the	roles	that	painting	and	photography	play	in	the	

representation	of	space.	I	argue	that	the	relationships	that	play	out	between	

the	mediums	of	photography	and	painting,	as	revealed	by	Richter,	

demonstrate	possibilities	for	the	expression	of	new	spatial	relationships	in	

painting.	In	the	case	of	Eriksson,	my	analysis	focuses	on	his	frieze	artworks	

titled	Promenad	(2008,	figures	28	&	29),	which	combine	both	photography	

and	painting,	and	his	painting	Trädstam	(grå)	(2010,	figure	30).	I	argue	that	

through	an	understanding	of	multiplicity,	the	unstable	space	can	be	created	

solely	in	the	medium	of	paint,	as	is	the	case	in	Eriksson’s	work	Trädstam	

(grå).	Richter	and	Eriksson	are	central	and	revealing	examples;	however,	the	

issues	they	address	are	present	across	the	work	of	a	range	of	art	

practitioners,	such	as	Slaattelid,	Vija	Celmins,	and	Günther	Förg.  

	

This	studio-based	doctorate	has	relied	heavily	on	the	relationship	between	

practice	and	theory.	In	Chapter	3	of	this	exegesis,	I	discuss	the	studio	

outcomes	of	my	research,	providing	a	chronological	overview	of	the	work.	I	

emphasise	how	this	practice-led	research	developed	from	each	preceding	

body	of	work,	demonstrating	how	my	practice	operates	as	a	valid	mode	of	

enquiry.	As	Barbara	Bolt	argues,	the	studio	outcome	as	a	“visual	argument	

demonstrates	the	double	articulation	between	theory	and	practice,	whereby	

theory	emerges	from	a	reflexive	practice	at	the	same	time	that	practice	is	

informed	by	theory.	This	double	articulation	is	central	to	practice-led	

research.”3

																																																								
3	Barbara	Bolt,	“A	Non	Standard	Deviation:	Handlability,	Praxical	Knowledge	and	Practice-Led	
Research,”	Speculation	and	Innovation:	Applying	Practice-Led	Research	in	the	Creative	Industries,	
Conference	RealTime	Arts	74	(August–September	2006).	



	

	

	
	



	

	

Chapter	1	
	



	

	

Chapter	1		 The	Window	as	an	Unstable	Space	
	



	

	 8	

This	chapter	will	establish	the	window	as	an	important	spatial	and	

metaphorical	concern	within	painting.	The	first	part	of	this	chapter	will	

provide	a	brief	overview	of	Plato’s	theories	of	representation	in	relation	to	

the	window	as	well	as	examining	the	historical	significance	of	the	painted	

window	as	opposed	to	the	architectural	window.	In	tracing	the	development	

of	the	window	as	an	important	representational	device	in	painting,	I	will	look	

to	examples	from	Ancient	Rome	to	modernism	in	order	to	argue	the	

significance	of	this	motif	in	representing	the	dualist	tendencies	of	interiority	

and	exteriority	and	of	reality	and	illusion	in	art.	In	particular,	I	highlight	Leon	

Battista	Alberti’s	Renaissance	metaphor,	which	positioned	the	window	as	an	

analogue	for	the	perspectival	frame	of	the	painting;	since	then,	the	window	

and	its	common	metaphysical	corollary—perspective—have	remained	

central	to	theorisations	of	the	space	of	vision.	By	highlighting	the	direct	

relationship	between	the	window	and	painting,	I	argue	that	the	window	can	

be	understood	as	an	unstable	space	that	operates	between	spatial	and	

representational	theory.	In	making	this	argument,	the	second	part	of	this	

chapter	establishes	the	term	‘unstable	space’	through	examining	the	post-

structural	critique	of	Plato’s	cave.	The	deconstruction	of	Plato’s	writing	

through	the	theories	of	Deleuze	and	Derrida	offers	a	means	by	which	to	

construct	new	meanings	within	the	space	of	painting.		

	
Part	1:	The	Window	
	
	
The	window	is	an	opening,	an	aperture	for	light	and	ventilation.	It	opens,	it	
closes;	it	separates	the	spaces	of	here	and	there,	inside	and	outside,	in	front	of	
and	behind.	The	window	opens	onto	a	three-dimensional	world	beyond:	it	is	a	
membrane	where	surface	meets	depth,	where	transparency	meets	its	barriers.	
The	window	is	also	a	frame,	a	proscenium:	its	edges	hold	a	view	in	place.	The	
window	reduces	the	outside	to	a	two-dimensional	surface.4	

	
The	painted	window	is	a	motif	that	is	both	spatial	and	visual.	The	primary	

significance	of	the	window	to	my	work	is	its	relation	to	space—both	its	formal	

construction	of	space	in	painting	and	its	conceptual	role	in	conveying	the	

																																																								
4	Anne	Friedberg,	The	Virtual	Window:	From	Alberti	to	Microsoft	(Cambridge,	MA:	MIT	Press,	2006),	1.		



	

	 9	

spatial	concepts	of	interiority	and	exteriority.	The	window	is	pertinent	to	

concepts	of	visuality	and	representation	in	painting,	providing	a	condition	of	

seeing	that	simultaneously	limits	and	permits	our	view.		

	
Plato	and	the	Philosophy	of	the	Window	
	

	
Figure	1	Jan	Pietersz	Saenredam	after	Cornelis	Cornelisz	van	Haarlem,	Plato’s	Cave,	1604	
	
The	window’s	conceptual	history	is	far-reaching.	The	philosophy	of	the	

window	dates	back	to	the	Greek	philosopher	Plato	and	is	best	recognised	in	

“The	Allegory	of	the	Cave”5	within	his	work	The	Republic	(514–520).	The	

relevance	here	is	that	Plato’s	cave	has	in	many	ways	structured	all	

philosophical	discourses	on	art,	the	meaning	of	art,	and	meaning	itself.6	In	

considering	Plato’s	cave	as	a	window	or	frame	of	representation,	I	recognise	

the	demarcation	of	key	spatial	and	representational	concepts	related	to	the	

window	in	painting.	As	with	Plato’s	cave,	the	window	demarcates	binary	

opposites	that	have	structured	much	subsequent	thinking	about	art,	such	as	

interiority/exteriority,	nature/culture,	illusion/reality,	and	model/copy.	

These	concepts	will	be	explored	further	after	revisiting	Plato’s	allegory.	

	

																																																								
5	Also	known	as	“Plato’s	Cave”	or	“The	Parable	of	the	Cave”.	
6	Jacques	Derrida,	The	Truth	in	Painting,	trans.	Geoff	Bennington	and	Ian	McLeod	(Chicago	and	London:	
The	University	of	Chicago	Press,	1987),	45.	



	

	 10	

Plato’s	Allegory	of	the	Cave	
	
Plato’s	“Allegory	of	the	Cave”,	at	the	beginning	of	book	VII	in	The	Republic,	is	

told	through	a	dialogue	between	Socrates	and	his	interlocutors.	It	

commences:	“I	want	you	to	go	on	to	picture	the	enlightenment	or	ignorance	of	

our	human	condition…”.7	Socrates	then	describes	a	scenario	in	which	a	group	

of	people	have	been	prisoners	in	a	cave	since	their	childhood	and	know	

nothing	of	the	outside	world.	There	is	no	natural	light	in	the	cave	and	all	that	

the	prisoners	see	are	shadows	cast	by	the	light	of	a	fire.	The	whole	of	the	

prisoner’s	reality	consists	of	these	shadows	on	the	wall;	knowing	not	

otherwise,	their	assumption	is	that	these	shadows	are	real	things.	Socrates	

then	describes	the	outcome	if	one	of	these	prisoners	were	let	loose	and	

compelled	to	turn	around,	look,	and	walk	towards	the	fire.	Having	spent	his	

life	almost	completely	in	the	dark	and	immobile,	the	prisoner	would	find	

these	actions	painful	and	would	be	too	dazzled	by	the	light	to	see	properly	the	

objects	that	he	once	saw	the	shadows	of.	The	prisoner	is	told	that	these	

objects	are	nearer	to	reality	than	the	mere	shadows	he	had	experienced	

during	his	existence	in	the	cave.	Feeling	lost	and	confused,	the	prisoner	wants	

to	retreat	back	to	the	cave	but	is	forcibly	dragged	out	into	the	sunlight.	The	

painful	glare	of	the	sun	once	again	is	dazzling	to	the	prisoner,	so	he	is	unable	

to	see	a	single	object.	Eventually,	the	prisoner	becomes	accustomed	to	the	

daylight	and	is	able	see	the	objects	outside	the	cave	and	is	even	able	to	look	

directly	at	the	sun.	For	the	first	time,	things	are	properly	illuminated.	

Eventually,	his	eyes	adjust	and	he	experiences	the	true	forms	of	all	the	things	

he’d	previously	only	known	as	shadows.8		

	
Socrates	tells	us	of	the	prisoner’s	path	to	enlightenment,	from	inside	the	cave	

to	his	release	to	the	outside	world.	Through	his	initial	experience	of	fear	and	

confusion	and	his	desire	to	return	to	the	comfort	and	safety	of	what	he	once	

knew,	the	prisoner	undergoes	an	awakening:	an	awareness	of	a	more	

beautiful	and	real	world	far	different	from	his	previous	domain	of	shadowy	

																																																								
7	Plato,	The	Republic,	trans.	Desmond	Lee,	2nd	ed.	(London:	Penguin	Group,	2007),	241.	
8	Ibid.,	240–48.	



	

	 11	

illusions.	Socrates	then	speculates	on	what	would	happen	if	this	newly	

enlightened	prisoner	was	to	return	to	the	cave	to	tell	his	fellow	prisoners	of	

what	lay	beyond	the	darkness	of	their	experience.	Coming	in	from	sunlight,	he	

would	be	blinded	and	unaccustomed	by	the	surrounding	darkness.	Unable	to	

discern	the	shadows	of	things,	his	fellow	prisoners	would	think	he	was	a	fool.	

They	would	think	the	outside	world	had	ruined	his	sight;	that	it	was	not	

worth	going	there	themselves;	and	that,	if	he	attempted	to	free	them,	they	

would	kill	him.		

	
In	the	broadest	sense,	Plato’s	cave	is	an	allegory	of	the	life	of	all	enlightened	

people.	He	likens	our	experience	of	reality	to	a	cavernous	existence	in	which	

all	that	we	can	observe	and	describe	are	shadows	on	the	wall,	our	heads	

turned	away	from	the	light	of	truth	and	knowledge.	For	Plato,	these	shadows	

are	merely	illusions	of	an	ideal	reality	that	exists	outside	the	cave.	The	

prisoner	is	a	philosopher	in	search	of	truth,	whose	purpose	in	life	is	to	teach	

this	truth	to	others;	the	fellow	prisoners	are	humans	before	philosophy;	and	

the	sun	the	light	of	reason.	However,	beyond	the	quest	of	the	philosopher,	the	

allegory	demonstrates	Plato’s	Theory	of	Forms.	Of	relevance	to	this	research	

within	this	theory	is	the	idea	of	‘mimesis’	on	which	representation	depends.	

Mimesis	is	sometimes	translated	as	‘representation’;	hence,	imitation	theory	

is	also	known	as	the	representational	theory	of	art.9	

	
Plato’s	cave	can	be	understood	as	a	window	where	the	entrance	to	the	cave	is	

a	frame	of	representation	and	a	site	of	demarcation,	the	cave	parable	

establishes	much	of	Western	thought	of	painting.	Notably	like	the	window,	

Plato’s	cave	demarcates	the	interior	space	from	the	exterior	space.	The	

interior	space	in	the	case	of	the	cave	consists	of	the	shadowy	representations	

of	the	exterior	reality.	Thus,	for	Plato,	the	cave	represents	a	world	of	illusion.	

From	the	allegory	of	the	cave,	we	learn	that	Plato	was	suspicious	of	

representation,	where	the	shadowy	representations	on	the	cave	wall	create	a	

world	of	illusion	that	is	removed	from	the	‘real’.	Plato	articulates	these	ideas	

further	in	his	Theory	of	Forms.	
																																																								
9	Ibid.	



	

	 12	

	

Plato’s	Conception	of	Reality:	Theory	of	Forms	

In	understanding	Plato’s	theory	of	art,	it	is	necessary	to	account	for	his	

conception	of	reality,	which	is	closely	linked	to	his	Theory	of	Forms.	For	Plato,	

the	phenomena	that	we	call	‘nature’,	‘experience’,	and	‘reality’	belong	to	the	

world	of	appearances.	The	world	as	we	perceive	it,	he	argued,	is	in	constant	

flux	and	so	we	never	perceive	the	same	object	in	the	same	manner	twice.10	

The	objects	we	perceive,	the	point	of	view	from	which	we	perceive	them,	and	

the	perceiver	are	all	subject	to	constant	change,	and	yet	we	identify	similar	

objects	in	all	of	our	perceptions.	This	led	him	to	think	that	in	the	phenomenal	

world,	there	are	similarities	that	keep	returning	despite	these	constant	

changes—objects,	acts,	or	phenomena	that	apparently	have	the	same	

properties.	Plato’s	belief	was	that	we	can	form	an	idea	of	perfection	even	

though	the	acts	and	objects	we	observe	fall	short	of	it.	How	we	are	able	to	

imagine	such	perfect	or	absolute	forms	when	they	do	not	exist	in	the	

perceptible	world,	Plato	argues,	is	by	assuming	that	outside	of	the	world	we	

perceive	is	an	ideal	world	containing	the	absolute	forms	of	which	the	

perceptible	objects	and/or	acts	are	but	imperfect	reflections.	This	world	of	

ideal	forms	is	the	true,	actual	and	authentic	reality,	for	it	is	eternal	and	

unchanging.	Furthermore,	nature,	made	up	of	imperfect	and	variable	

manifestations,	is	therefore	less	real	than	the	world	of	forms.11	

	
Plato’s	Theory	of	‘Mimesis’	

Based	on	this	conception	of	reality,	Plato	set	out	his	theories	of	art	in	book	X	

of	The	Republic.	Through	his	ideas	about	mimesis,	he	makes	his	fundamental	

contribution	to	representational	theory,	or	imitation	theory,	which	is	relevant	

in	understanding	representations	of	space	in	painting.	

	
In	characteristic	dialogue	form,	Plato	makes	a	comparison	between	the	

craftsman	and	the	artist.	The	craftsman,	he	proposes,	forms	a	mental	image	of	

an	ideal	form	and	uses	it	as	a	model	to	make	a	specific,	perceptible,	and	
																																																								
10	Antoon	van	den	Braembussche,	Thinking	Art:	Introduction	to	Philosophy	(Brussels:	Springer,	2009),	
18.	
11	Ibid.,	17–18.	



	

	 13	

tangible	copy	that	can	be	readily	used	in	this	world.	In	this	sense,	the	copy	is	

like	nature	in	Plato’s	conception,	in	that	it	is	an	appearance,	an	imperfect	copy	

of	an	ideal	form.	The	artist,	however,	copies	nature	and	crafted	objects	of	this	

world,	thus	imitating	the	appearance	of	things.	In	doing	so,	he	is	merely	

making	a	copy	of	that	which	is	already	a	copy	of	a	removed	ideal	form.12	For	

Plato,	in	this	sense,	art	imitates	physical	things	that	are	themselves	imitations	

of	the	ideal	forms;	for	him,	art	is	thus	always	a	copy	of	a	copy	and	leads	us	

(dangerously)	further	from	truth	and	reality	and	towards	illusion.		

	
The	concept	of	mimesis	is	prominent	in	the	philosophy	of	art.	The	Greek	word	

mimesis,	originally	meaning	‘imitation’,	‘representation’,	or	‘copy’,	specifically	

relates	to	nature.	The	mimetic	quality	of	a	painting,	for	example,	generally	

refers	to	the	way	in	which	‘reality’	is	represented	in	the	work	of	art.	This	

concept	dates	back	to	classical	antiquity.	As	outlined	in	Plato’s	theories	on	

art,13	mimesis,	as	a	direct	unmediated	imitation,	is	the	primary	aim	and	

destiny	of	a	work	of	art.	Embedded	in	an	idealist	point	of	view,	Plato’s	theory	

of	mimesis	identifies	actual	reality	within	the	world	of	ideas	or	forms.	Thus,	

all	imitation	traces	back	to	this	supernatural	world.	Subsequent	

representational	theory,	however,	invariably	takes	sensibly	perceptible	

reality	as	its	sole	model	or	criterion.	The	subsequent	theory	falls	completely	

within	the	perspective	of	‘realism’,	which	sees	a	work	of	art	as	a	copy	of	

sensibly	perceived	reality.14	

	

In	this	section,	it	has	been	necessary	to	outline	Plato’s	philosophy	of	art	and	

the	nature	of	‘reality’	that	have	had	a	consistent	influence	on	Western	

discourses	of	art.	I	have	drawn	a	connection	between	the	window	to	Plato’s	

cave	as	a	frame	of	representation.	In	revisiting	Plato’s	theories,	I	specifically	

draw	attention	to	the	dualist	structure	of	his	belief	system	that	posits	

tensions	between	interior	and	exterior,	reality	and	illusion,	nature	and	

culture.	This	foundation	will	prove	beneficial	in	the	following	sections	of	this	

																																																								
12	Ibid.,	18.	
13	Book	X	of	The	Republic.	
14	van	den	Braembussche,	Thinking	Art:	Introduction	to	Philosophy,	16–17.	



	

	 14	

exegesis,	which,	through	the	post-structural	critique	offered	by	Deleuze	and	

Derrida,	revisits	Plato	and	the	binaries	afforded	by	his	philosophy.	As	I	will	

demonstrate,	their	work	emphasises	the	instability	of	these	binaries	and	

instead	suggests	the	possibilities	of	multiplicity.	

	

Before	I	argue	for	the	possibility	of	understanding	the	window	as	an	unstable	

space,	it	is	necessary	to	overview	the	history	of	the	window	in	painting	as	a	

spatial	and	representational	device.	

	
The	Painted	Window	
	
Roman	Frescoes	

Early	Roman	examples	of	painted	windows	demonstrate	the	concept	of	

extending	the	interior	space	beyond	the	walls	to	create	the	illusion	of	space.	

In	these	Roman	frescos	(buon	fresco),	we	see	a	view	of	the	outside	world	

painted	on	the	interior	walls	of	private	villas	with	the	aim	of	expanding	the	

interior	space	by	the	use	of	trompe	l’oeil,	which	gives	the	illusion	of	an	

exterior	space.	These	paintings	counteracted	the	claustrophobic	interiors	that	

were	otherwise	windowless	and	dark.15	As	such,	this	form	of	painting	

demonstrates	an	early	desire	for	the	expansion	of	the	interior	world	to	

include	exterior	vision	through	the	mechanism	of	the	window	as	both	a	motif	

and	a	conceptual	form.	

	

																																																								
15	A	compluvium,	an	aperture,	or	opening	in	the	roof	at	the	centre	of	the	building	acted	as	a	main	source	
of	light	by	day,	provided	ventilation,	and	also	let	the	rain	in.		



	

	 15	

	
Figure	2	Example	of	Second	Style	Painting,	Cubiculum	(bedroom),	Villa	of	P.	Fannius	Synistor	at	
Boscoreale,	(50–40	BCE).		
	
Art	historian	August	Mau	classified	the	Roman	wall	paintings	of	Pompeii	into	

four	distinct	and	consecutive	styles	based	on	developments	in	form	and	

technique.	For	example,	the	Second	Style,	which	dominated	the	first	century	

BCE,	aimed	to	create	a	three-dimensional	world	on	a	two-dimensional	

surface.	The	style	was	characterised	by	realistic	painted	depictions	of	

architectonic	features,	such	as	pillars	and	columns,	and	the	use	of	trompe	l’oeil	

compositions	that	created	the	illusion	that	the	wall	had	receded	(figure	2).	

The	painted	‘window’	was	implemented	as	a	framing	device.	However,	these	

picture	window	vistas,	along	with	other	illusionistic	architecture,	were	soon	

replaced	with	landscape	scenes	that	took	over	the	entire	wall.	Rather	than	a	

framed	view	through	the	‘window’	to	an	exterior	space,	the	painted	wall	now	

opened	up	the	space	further	to	the	scenes	of	nature	and	the	exterior	world.	

The	triclinium16	painting	of	a	garden	scene	(ca.	30–20	BCE,	figure	3)	in	the	

dining	room	of	Livia,	wife	of	the	Emperor	Augustus,	is	one	such	example	of	

this	Second	Style	painting;	the	landscape	is	the	entire	subject	covering	the	

wall.	Here,	depth	is	achieved	through	the	atmospheric	use	of	perspective,	

rather	than	linear	perspective	later	established	in	the	Renaissance.	With	

aerial	or	atmospheric	perspective,	the	foreground	is	painted	in	sharper	detail	
																																																								
16	Triclinium	(dining	rooms)	were	named	after	the	couches	arranged	in	groups	of	three.	



	

	 16	

than	the	background,	and	the	illusion	of	distance	increases	as	forms	lose	

clarity.	An	example	of	the	Pompeiian	Fourth	Style	is	seen	in	the	Ixion	Room	

(Triclinium),	House	of	the	Vettii	(AD	70–79,	figure	4).	This	example	shows	

how	the	Fourth	Style	is	the	aggregate	of	features	from	the	preceding	styles.	It	

includes	the	First	Style’s	emphasis	on	surface	effects	and	structural	division;	

the	Second	Style’s	trompe	l’oeil	compositions	featuring	architectonic	forms	

and	aerial/atmospheric	perspective;	and	the	Third	Style’s	multiple	framing	

devices,	picture	windows,	ornamental	details,	and	solid	blocks	of	colour.	From	

these	examples,	we	see	not	only	the	early	development	of	perspective	in	

painting,	but	also	the	role	of	the	window	in	conceptually	enabling	painterly	

illusion	in	early	Roman	times,	which	would	be	further	developed	during	the	

Renaissance.	

	

	
Figure	3	Example	of	Second	Style	Painting,	Triclinium	paintings	from	the	villa	of	Livia	at	Prima	Porta	
	



	

	 17	

	
Figure	4	Example	of	Pompeian	Fourth	Style	painting,	Ixion	Room	(Triclinium),	House	of	the	Vettii	AD	
70–79	
	
Alberti’s	Metaphor:	Painting	as	an	‘Open	Window’	
	
Let	me	tell	you	what	I	do	when	I	am	painting…on	the	surface	I	draw	a	rectangle	
of	whatever	size	I	want,	which	I	regard	as	an	open	window	through	which	the	

subject	to	be	painted	is	seen.	
—Leon	Battista	Alberti17	

	
Since	the	fifteenth	century,	the	open	window	(aperta	finestra)	has	been	

regarded	as	a	metaphor	for	the	painting	(pictura).	In	his	treatise	on	the	theory	

of	painting,	De	Pictura18	(1435),	Leon	Battista	Alberti	(1404–72)	describes	

how	he	applies	his	perspectival	theory:	“[O]n	the	surface	on	which	I	am	going	

to	paint,	I	draw	a	rectangle	of	whatever	size	I	want,	which	I	regard	as	an	open	

window	through	which	the	subject	to	be	painted	is	seen.”19	As	art	historian	

Anne	Friedberg	argues,	Alberti	“invokes	the	image	of	the	window	as	an	

																																																								
17	Leon	Battista	Alberti,	"On	Painting,"	in	On	Painting	and	On	Sculpture:	The	Latin	Texts	of	De	Pictura	and	
De	Statua,	trans.	and	ed.	Cecil	Grayson	(London:	Phaidon,	1972),	55.	
18	The	text	“On	Painting”	was	originally	written	in	Latin	in	Florence	1435	and	titled	De	Pictura;	the	
Italian	translation	titled	Della	Pittura	followed	in	1436.	
19	Alberti,	“On	Painting,”	55.	



	

	 18	

instructive	substitute	for	the	rectangular	frame	of	the	painting.”20	The	

appearance	of	a	three-dimensional	space	on	a	two-dimensional	surface	

required	the	logic	of	mathematics	to	construct	and	control	space.	Alberti’s	

treatise	calculated	the	recession	of	orthogonal	lines	that	converge	at	a	centric	

point,	often	referred	to	as	the	vanishing	point.	Figures	and	forms	rendered	on	

the	picture	plane	proportionally	diminished	toward	the	centric	point.	

Alberti’s	formulation	of	the	one-point	perspective	system	in	his	treatise	was	

familiar	to	nearly	every	Florentine	painter	by	the	end	of	the	fifteenth	century	

and	is	widely	considered	his	most	recognised	contribution	to	the	art	of	

painting.	

	
In	De	Pictura,	Alberti	references	the	power	of	metaphor	to	enrich	his	abstract	

reduction	of	the	phenomenal	world	of	vision	to	the	mathematics	of	point,	line,	

and	surface.	His	geometrical	account	of	vision	was	supplied	solely	through	

language,	not	images;	no	diagrams	were	supplied	for	De	Pictura.21	However,	

Alberti’s	one-point	perspective	can	be	exemplified	through	such	Renaissance	

paintings	as	Fra	Angelico’s	San	Marco	Altarpiece	(1438–40,	figure	5).	Here	

Alberti’s	perspective,	which	calculated	the	recession	of	orthogonal	lines	

mathematically	so	that	they	diminished	in	proportion,	converges	on	the	single	

point	near	the	head	of	the	Virgin.	What	is	of	particular	significance	is	the	

spatial	depiction;	rather	than	a	heaven-like	setting	in	which	saints	and	angels	

hover	in	space	as	divine	presences,	this	is	a	realist	space,	where	the	saints	are	

standing,	grouped	naturally. The	San	Marco	Altarpiece	is	arguably	the	first	

painting	in	Florentine	art	to	reflect	Alberti’s	theories.22 

																																																								
20	Friedberg,	The	Virtual	Window,	12.	
21	Ibid.,	26–27.	
22	Diane	Cole	Ahl,	Fra	Angelico	(London:	Phaidon	Press	Limited,	2008),	120.	



	

	 19	

	
Figure	5	Fra	Angelico,	San	Marco	Altarpiece,	1438–40	
	
Alberti’s	“subject	to	be	painted”	refers	to	his	theory	of	historia—a	style	of	

painting.	Historiae	were	imaginative	narrative	paintings	of	great	events	and	

classical	heroes,	and	were	not	landscapes	or	direct	records	of	nature.	Alberti’s	

text	has	often	been	misunderstood	on	this	point;	his	intended	meaning	was	a	

formula	for	representation	of	narrative	historia,	not	of	empty	landscapes	or	

window-views.23	The	window	was	deployed	as	a	figure	for	the	frame	and	did	

not	imply	that	the	“subject	to	be	painted”	should	be	a	mimetic	rendition	of	

what	one	would	see	out	of	an	architectural	window,	looking	out	onto	the	

natural	world.	Rather	than	a	model	for	realist	representation,	Alberti’s	

window	provides	a	Renaissance	root	for	the	concept	of	a	windowed	

“elsewhere”—not	a	realism	of	subject	matter,	but	a	separate	spatial	and	

temporal	view.24	As	Friedberg	argues,	it	is	important	to	emphasise	this	

significant	distinction	“between	the	window-view	as	determinant	of	the	

realism	of	representation	and	the	window-view	as	the	determinant	of	the	

spatial	experience	of	the	spectator”.25	While	the	spectator’s	experience	of	

‘gazing’	through	the	window	had	its	own	spatial	effect,	Alberti’s	new	

																																																								
23	However,	this	is	seen	later	in	paintings	from	the	Romantic	period	of	the	eighteenth	century.	
24	Friedberg,	The	Virtual	Window,	32.	
25	Ibid.,	33.	



	

	 20	

perspectival	realism	of	representational	space	did	not	imply	realism	of	

subject	matter.26	

	

This	realist	representational	space	was	a	significant	turning	point	in	the	

development	of	perspective	in	painting,	as	it	assigned	the	viewer	a	new	role	

in	art—a	central	position	in	front	of	a	pictorial	world	as	well	as	the	measure	

of	that	world.	The	presence	of	the	viewer	in	this	way	reflected	the	growth	of	

humanism	in	this	period.	Humanism	can	be	understood	as	a	system	of	

thought	that	attaches	prime	importance	to	the	human	rather	than	to	the	

divine	or	supernatural.	Specifically,	it	describes	a	vision	of	the	world	from	a	

position	that	centres/prioritises	the	human.27		

	
Alberti	places	the	human	figure	in	the	frame	as	a	key	measure	for	correct	

proportion.	The	braccia28	of	the	human	body	serves	as	the	standard	of	

reference	for	the	relative	size	of	all	objects	in	the	frame.	The	human	height	

establishes	the	centric	point	“no	higher	from	the	base	line	than	the	height	of	

the	man	to	be	represented	in	the	painting”.29	The	viewer	is	to	be	at	the	same	

height	as	the	figure	in	the	picture,	so	that	“both	the	viewers	and	the	objects	in	

the	painting	will	seem	to	be	on	the	same	plane”.30	In	this	way,	the	body	of	the	

viewer	suggests	the	scale	for	the	bodies	in	the	painting.	The	painter’s	position	

was	also	to	be	the	position	of	the	viewer,	framing	and	delimiting	the	image.31	

	
Noteworthy	is	a	misnomer	in	the	perception	of	the	spatial	experience	first	

encountered	by	the	painter.	As	presented	in	De	Pictura,	Alberti	intends	for	the	

eye	of	the	viewer	to	take	up	a	position	in	relation	to	the	scene	that	is	identical	

to	that	originally	occupied	by	the	painter.	Hence,	the	painter	and	the	viewer	

were	in	a	fixed	position	in	relation	to	the	picture	plane.	Perspectival	

																																																								
26	Ibid.	
27	Ian	Buchanan,	Oxford	Dictionary	of	Critical	Theory	(New	York:	Oxford	University	Press,	2010),	235;	
Richard	Osbourne	Megawords	(NSW:	Allen	and	Unwin,	2001),	156.	
28	Alberti	explains	his	use	of	the	unit	of	measure	braccia	in	the	following	way:	“I	divide	the	height	of	this	
man	into	three	parts,	which	will	be	proportional	to	the	measure	commonly	called	a	braccia;	for,	as	may	
be	seen	from	the	relationship	of	his	limbs,	three	braccia	is	just	about	the	average	height	of	a	man’s	
body,”	in	Alberti,	"On	Painting,"	55.	
29	Ibid.	
30	Ibid.	
31	Friedberg,	The	Virtual	Window,	33–35.	



	

	 21	

representation	in	this	case	was	reliant	on	a	significant	divergence	from	actual	

human	vision.	As	Friedberg	argues:	“The	mobility	and	binocularity	of	vision	

was	reduced	to	a	static,	monocular	‘point’	of	view.	The	vertex	of	single-point	

perspective	took	on	the	monocular	view	of	the	painter	and	positioned	the	

viewer	to	share	its	vantage.”32	Contemporary	art	theorist	Norman	Bryson	

elaborates	on	this	through	a	discussion	of	the	gaze,	which:	

	
operates	by	abstracting	from	the	physical	practice	of	painting	and	of	viewing	a	
valorized	moment	when	the	eye	contemplates	the	world	alone,	in	severance	
from	the	material	body	of	labour:	the	body	is	reduced	(as	in	Alberti)	to	its	
optical	anatomy,	the	minimal	diagram	of	monocular	perspective.	In	the	
Founding	Perception	[the	point	from	which	the	scene	was	observed	by	the	
painter],	the	gaze	of	the	painter	arrests	the	flux	of	phenomena,	contemplates	
the	visual	field	from	a	vantage-point	outside	the	mobility	of	duration,	in	an	
eternal	moment	of	disclosed	presence;	while	in	the	moment	of	viewing,	the	
viewing	subject	unites	his	gaze	with	the	Founding	Perception,	in	a	perfect	
recreation	of	that	first	epiphany.33		
	

Here,	Bryson	regards	the	scene	viewed	by	the	painter	as	the	“Founding	

perception”,	a	perception	to	be	united	with	two	other	“points”	of	view:	the	

point	from	which	a	spectator	views	the	painting	(the	“View	point”)	and	the	

imagined	horizon	where	perspective	rays	converge	(the	“Vanishing	point”).34	

	
While	this	fixed	position	of	both	painter	and	viewer	attends	to	a	single	static	

moment	in	time	and	a	single	space,	I	am	most	interested	here	in	the	

representation	of	the	spatial	experience.	It	is	necessary	to	point	out	here	that	

the	single	spatial	frame	of	perspectival	representation	did	not	always	imply	a	

single	frame	of	time,	as	Renaissance	“polyscenic”	frescoes,	panels,	and	reliefs	

attest.35	(This	will	be	further	discussed	in	a	later	section	on	contemporary	

frames	and	windows,	such	as	the	television,	cinema	and	computer.)	What	is	

relevant	in	moving	forward	the	discussion	of	representational	space	is	that	

Alberti’s	formula	for	the	rational	representation	of	this	single	moment	in	a	

																																																								
32	Ibid.,	28.	
33	Norman	Bryson,	Vision	and	Painting:	The	Logic	of	the	Gaze	(New	Haven	and	London:	Yale	University	
Press,	1983),	94.	
34	Friedberg,	The	Virtual	Window,	28.	
35	For	further	discussion	of	multiple	time	frames	within	Renaissance	painting,	see	Friedberg,	The	Virtual	
Window,	35–38	and	Lew	Andrews,	Story	and	Space	in	Renaissance	Art:	The	Rebirth	of	Continuous	
Narrative	(Cambridge:	Cambridge	University	Press,	2001),	35.	



	

	 22	

single	space	allows	for	the	Renaissance	painting	to	be	considered	as	the	

proto-equivalent	of	a	photograph.	

	
Alberti’s	Renaissance	metaphor	of	the	window	has	influenced	centuries	of	

subsequent	thinking	about	the	humanist	subject	of	perspective	and	remains	a	

defining	concept	in	theories	of	painting.36	His	relevance	to	my	research	stems	

from	the	direct	relationship	between	the	window	and	painting,	additionally	it	

traces	a	significant	turning	point	to	the	fundamental	problem	of	representing	

space	in	painting.	

	
The	Technical	Window:	Vermeer	and	the	Camera	Obscura	

Advances	in	realism	and	accuracy	in	the	history	of	Western	art	since	

the	Renaissance	were	primarily	the	result	of	optical	instruments	such	as	the	

camera	obscura,	a	simple	device	that	incorporates	a	pinhole	or	lens	through	

which	inverted	images	can	be	seen	projected	onto	the	walls,	floor,	and	ceiling	

of	a	completely	darkened	room.	Instruments	such	as	these	were	the	

forerunners	of	the	photographic	camera.37	

	
The	use	of	the	camera	obscura	in	the	development	of	painting	can	be	traced	

back	to	Leonardo	Da	Vinci’s	notebooks	around	the	year	1490.38	Throughout	

the	sixteenth	century,	it	was	used	by	artists	“to	enter	a	newly	revealed	world	

of	optical	phenomena	and	to	explore	how	these	might	be	recorded	in	paint”.39	

Metaphorically,	the	camera	obscura	can	be	related	to	the	window,	as	a	site	of	

transformation,	an	opening	towards	the	light	in	the	mode	of	Plato’s	cave,	and	

an	extension	of	the	eye	that	supplies	a	sense	of	wonder	through	illusionary	

qualities.	In	this	section,	I	will	refer	specifically	to	Johannes	Vermeer’s	

possible	use	of	the	camera	obscura	to	highlight	his	perspective	precision;	as	

art	historian	Philip	Steadman	observes,	“the	essential	point	is	that	the	

perspective	of	Vermeer’s	painting	is—photographic”.40	

																																																								
36	Ibid.,	1.	
37	Philip	Steadman,	Vermeer’s	Camera:	Uncovering	the	Truth	Behind	the	Masterpieces	(New	York:	Oxford	
University	Press,	2001),	8.	
38	Ibid.,	5.	
39	Ibid.,	1.	
40	Ibid.,	27.	



	

	 23	

	
Numerous	art	historians,	including	Steadman,	Lawrence	Gowing,	and	René	

Huyghe	have	debated	whether	or	not	Vermeer	used	the	camera	obscura.	The	

accuracy	of	his	spatial	representation	and	lack	of	any	underdrawings	

planning	the	composition,	combined	with	idiosyncrasies	which	seem	to	mimic	

the	distortions	produced	by	lenses,	lend	credence	to	the	claim	of	Vermeer’s	

use	of	optical	instruments	in	his	realist	paintings.	It	is	not	my	purpose	to	

revisit	these	arguments;	rather,	by	focusing	on	Vermeer’s	paintings	of	

interiors,	I	highlight	the	relationship	between	the	window	and	the	camera	

obscura	as	an	early	photographic	apparatus	that	operates	as	a	window.	

	
Vermeer’s	Domestic	Interiors	

The	greater	part	of	Vermeer’s	oeuvre,	that	created	from	the	late	1650s	up	to	

his	death	in	1675,	shows	scenes	of	domestic	interiors.41	It	is	in	these	works	

that	art	historians	have	most	often	claimed	to	detect	the	use	of	the	camera	

obscura.42	Strikingly,	the	twenty-three	paintings	produced	during	this	time	

depict	only	a	small	number	of	different	rooms.	Certain	architectural	details	

recur	repeatedly;	for	example,	the	same	or	similar	patterns	of	tiles	on	the	

floor,	similar	timber	construction	in	the	ceiling,	and	characteristic	patterns	of	

leading	in	the	windows.43	With	some	isolated	exceptions,44	there	are	a	large	

number	of	other	interiors	in	which	the	general	layout	of	the	room	is	highly	

standardised.	Each	one	has	a	‘central’	perspective	in	which	a	far	wall,	without	

windows,	is	seen	frontally.	Often,	a	wall	is	positioned	at	the	left,	with	one	or	

two	windows	visible;	even	if	the	windows	are	out	of	view,	the	light	comes	

from	this	direction.	In	this	group	of	paintings,	no	right-hand	wall	is	visible.	

The	Music	Lesson	(c.	1662–65,	figure	6)	shares	all	of	these	characteristics.	

																																																								
41	A	Girl	Asleep,	c.	1657;	Girl	Reading	a	Letter	at	an	Open	Window,	c.	1657;	Officer	and	Laughing	Girl,	c.	
1658;	The	Milkmaid,	c.	1658-60;	The	Glass	of	Wine,	c.	1658–60;	The	Girl	with	a	Wineglass,	c.	1659–60;	
Girl	Interrupted	at	Her	Music,	c.	1660–61;	Young	Woman	with	a	Water	Jug,	c.	1664–65;	Woman	with	a	
Pearl	Necklace,	c.	1664;	Woman	in	Blue	Reading	a	Letter,	c.	1663–64;	Woman	Holding	a	Balance,	c.	1664;	
Woman	with	a	Lute,	c.	1664;	Lady	Writing	a	Letter,	with	Her	Maid,	c.	1670;	The	Music	Lesson,	c.	1662–64;	
The	Concert,	c.	1665–66;	Allegory	of	Painting,	c.	1666–67;	Allegory	of	the	Faith,	c.	1671–74;	The	Love	
Letter,	c.	1669–70;	The	Astronomer,	1668;	The	Geographer,	c.	1668–69;	The	Guitar	Player,	c.	1670;	Lady	
Standing	at	the	Virginals,	c.	1672–73;	and	Lady	Seated	at	the	Virginals,	c.	1675.	
42	Steadman,	Vermeer’s	Camera,	25–26.	
43	Ibid.,	59.	
44	The	Guitar	Player,	c.	1670;	A	Girl	Asleep,	c.	1657;	and	The	Love	Letter,	c.	1669–70.	



	

	 24	

	
Figure	6	Johannes	Vermeer,	Music	Lesson	c.	1662–65	
	

The	Music	Lesson	

In	The	Music	Lesson,	separate	white	tiles	are	framed	in	a	lattice	of	black	

stripes.	The	windows	conform	to	a	pattern	typical	of	Delft	houses	of	the	

period.	Each	is	divided	into	four	lights.	There	are	two	side-hung	casements	in	

the	lower	half	of	the	frame,	and	two	fixed	lights	in	the	upper	half.	Of	all	of	

Vermeer’s	paintings,	The	Music	Lesson	gives	the	best	view	of	this	

arrangement.	Such	windows	were	usually	equipped	with	external	solid	

shutters	over	the	lower	casement	only.	Vermeer	makes	repeated	use	of	these	

shutters,	together	with	curtains,	to	control	the	lighting	in	his	interiors.	

Steadman	suggests	that	“Vermeer’s	obsessions	with	light,	tonal	values,	

shadow,	and	colour,	for	the	treatment	of	which	his	work	is	so	much	admired,	



	

	 25	

are	very	closely	bound	up	with	his	study	of	the	special	qualities	of	optical	

images.”45	

	
In	The	Music	Lesson,	as	is	the	case	of	all	of	Vermeer’s	interiors,	the	perspective	

is	‘frontal’	or	‘central’;	that	is,	the	plane	of	the	painting	is	set	precisely	parallel	

with	the	far	wall	of	the	room.	The	result,	insofar	as	the	architecture	is	

concerned,	is	that	there	is	a	single	vanishing	point	at	which	the	perspective	

lines	converge46	(as	seen	in	figure	7).	

	
Figure	7	The	Music	Lesson	with	perspective	lines	converging	at	a	single	vanishing	point	
	
The	Music	Lesson	reveals	more	about	the	geometry	of	the	room	depicted	than	

any	other	of	Vermeer’s	interiors	because	of	the	mirror	hanging	on	the	far	

wall.	This,	among	other	details,	reflects	the	back	wall	of	the	room—that	is,	the	

wall	behind	our	viewpoint,	behind	Vermeer	as	he	painted.47	Steadman’s	

assumption	is	that	Vermeer	was	using	a	camera	obscura	and	the	lens	would	

have	been	at	the	theoretical	viewpoint.	The	painting	is	the	same	size	as	its	

projected	image	because	Vermeer	has	traced	it.48	Steadman	argues	that	the	

use	of	a	camera	obscura	by	Vermeer	is	“the	most	obvious	immediate	

interpretation	of	this	very	curious	characteristic	of	the	perspective	geometry	

of	the	paintings”.49	

	
Steadman’s	argument	for	Vermeer’s	use	of	a	camera	obscura	is	based	largely	

on	the	technicalities	of	perspective	geometry	and	on	objective	realities;	

																																																								
45	Steadman	Vermeer’s	Camera,	2.	
46	For	more	on	Steadman’s	perspective	analysis,	see	Chapter	5	“Reconstructing	the	Spaces	in	Vermeer’s	
Painting”	in	Vermeer’s	Camera,	73–100.	
47	Steadman,	Vermeer’s	Camera,	83–89.	
48	Ibid.,	83	and	103.	
49	Ibid.,	106.	



	

	 26	

however,	in	his	final	chapter,	he	leans	heavily	on	the	insights	of	critic	

Lawrence	Gowing	to	suggest	the	influence	of	the	camera	obscura	on	

Vermeer’s	painting	style.	The	camera	obscura	collapses	three-dimensional	

space	onto	the	two-dimensional	plane,	disabling	the	faculties	of	depth	

perception,	which	depends	on	binocular	vision	and	parallax.50	Solid	objects	

become	flat	shapes,	and	their	forms	are	comprehensible	only	by	their	

outlines,	their	tonal	modulation,	and	the	shapes	and	positions	of	their	

shadows.	The	spaces	that	separate	objects	are	also	turned	into	flat	shapes.51	

	
Highly	significant	to	my	research,	Steadman	describes	the	paradoxical	quality	

of	Vermeer’s	paintings	as	“a	perfect	perspectival	illusion	of	depth	coexisting	

with	an	effect	of	surface	flatness”.52	This	is	key	to	the	influence	that	the	

camera	obscura—and	I	extend	this	to	modern	photography	and	screens—has	

on	painting.	While	Vermeer’s	paintings	are	described	as	‘photographic’,	what	

is	perhaps	meant	is	not,	as	Steadman	explains,	to	emphasise	the	“laboured,	

painstaking	accuracy	in	the	minute	explanatory	transcription	of	detail”,	but	

more	the	matter	of	perspective	accuracy	and	the	concomitant	perspective	

distortions	resulting	from	taking	close-up	or	wide-angle	views.	As	Steadman	

observes,	“Vermeer	manages	to	achieve	‘photographic’	results	while	painting	

in	a	way	which	is	often	locally	imprecise,	where	focus	is	sometimes	lost,	

where	areas	of	colour	may	be	simplified	and	flattened,	texture	obliterated.”53		

	
As	art	historian	René	Huyghe	says,	“viewed	from	close	at	hand	[Vermeer’s	

paintings]	give	the	impression	of	a	slightly	blurred	not	quite	‘in	register’…”.54	

Steadman	suggests	“Vermeer	is	true	to	tonal	values,	true	to	the	light	from	

objects	seen	indistinctly,	true	to	the	view	through	half-closed	eyes	as	it	were,	

[but]	not	always	true	to	detail.”55	As	Gowing	puts	it,	“at	the	opposite	pole	to	

naturalist	tactility”,	Vermeer	creates	an	illusion	“not	of	closeness	but	of	

																																																								
50	‘Parallax’	refers	to	the	apparent	displacement	of	an	observed	object	due	to	a	change	in	the	position	of	
the	observer.	
51	Steadman	Vermeer’s	Camera,	157.	
52	Ibid.,	158.	
53	Ibid.	
54	René	Huyghe,	Vermeer	et	Proust	(1936),	quoted	in	Steadman,	Vermeer’s	Camera,	159.	
55	Steadman,	Vermeer’s	Camera,	159.	



	

	 27	

distance”.56	Steadman	confers	that	“it	is	the	camera	obscura	that	constrains	

him	to	do	this”.57	

	
Unlike	photography	as	we	know	it	today,	to	copy	or	work	from	an	image	in	a	

camera	obscura	is	distinctly	different	in	that	the	process	is	not	instantaneous	

but	protracted.	Additionally,	working	from	a	printed	photograph	and	a	

projected	image	from	a	camera	obscura—which	is	essentially	a	moving	

image—produces	very	different	results.58	

	

The	Window	as	Metaphor:	Romanticism	and	Realism	

During	the	nineteenth	century,	the	Romantic	(1750–1890)	and	Realist	(1850–

1900s)	movements	saw	the	window	play	a	major	role	in	painting	and	in	what	

was	to	become	the	medium	of	photography.	The	window	was	considered	a	

“yearning	motif”	by	the	Romantics;	that	is,	a	space	that	conveyed	unfulfilled	

longing	beyond	the	material	world.59	Art	historian	Rolf	Selbmann	describes	

the	Romantic	yearning	to	transcend	the	threshold	of	the	window	as	the	desire	

“to	expand	the	view	to	include	what	one	cannot	see	but	can	only	imagine	…	

Romantic	windows	therefore	stand	for	a	claim	to	the	totality	of	the	process	of	

perception.”60	The	Romantic	gaze	through	the	window	also	opens	

simultaneous	spaces.	Selbmann	identifies	the	window	as	“an	ambiguous	yet	

open	form	of	visual	experience,	in	which	spaces—and	hence	reality	and	

illusion—mix”.61	

	

																																																								
56	Gowing,	quoted	in	Steadman,	Vermeer’s	Camera,	159.	
57	Steadman,	Vermeer’s	Camera,	159.	
58	For	more	on	this,	see	Quentin	Williams’	essay	on	painting	and	photography,	“Projected	Actuality,”	
British	Journal	of	Aesthetics	35	(July	1995):	273–77.	
59	Marion	Ackermann,	“Foreword,”	in	Fresh	Widow:	The	Window	in	Art	since	Matisse	and	Duchamp,	ed.	
Kunstsammlung	Nordrhein-Westfalen	(Ostfildern,	Germany:	Hatje	Cantz	Verlag,	2012),	11.	
60	Rolf	Selbmann,	“Views	Out,	In,	and	Through:	A	Brief	History	of	the	Window	up	to	the	Modern	Era,”	in	
Fresh	Widow:	The	Window	in	Art	since	Matisse	and	Duchamp,	41.	
61	Ibid.,	37.	



	

	 28	

	
Figure	8	Caspar	David	Friedrich,	Frau	am	Fenster	(Woman	at	the	Window),	1822	
	
The	isolated	figure	at	the	window	is	typical	of	this	genre,	as	can	been	seen	in	

the	German	Romantic	artist	Caspar	David	Friedrich’s	painting	Woman	at	the	

Window	(1822,	figure	8).	Here,	the	figure	of	Friedrich’s	wife	Caroline	is	shown	

from	behind—Rückenfigur62—a	posture	frequently	used	in	Friedrich’s	

paintings.	Caroline’s	unquestionable	yearning	is	set	by	her	immobile	posture.	

She	stands	at	the	window	in	contemplation	of	the	bright	exterior	reality	that	

lies	beyond	the	frugal	interior	of	the	studio.	The	view	from	the	window	is	of	

the	Elbe	River,	the	masts,	and	rigging	of	boats;	and	on	the	other	side	of	the	

river,	green	poplar	trees	stand	pale	in	the	light.	The	subtle	tones	of	blue,	green	

and	ochre	draw	attention	through	the	window.	

	

																																																								
62	A	German	term	which	literally	translates	to	“back	figure”,	the	term	Rückenfigur	is	accepted	in	art	
history	to	describe	a	viewpoint	that	includes	the	figure	of	a	person	seen	from	behind,	who	is	viewing	a	
scene	before	them.	



	

	 29	

The	boundary	between	the	self	and	the	world	is	highlighted	by	the	doubled	

but	interconnected	channelling	of	the	gaze	towards	the	lower,	open	window	

and	its	scenic	vista	and	the	closed,	almost	empty,	upper	window	with	its	view	

to	the	sky.	This	view	through	the	larger	upper	window,	alluding	to	the	

heavens,	is	in	contrast	to	the	preoccupation	with	worldly	things	in	the	smaller	

but	open	window,	conveying	the	idea	of	a	yearning.	Friedrich	expressly	

emphasises	the	space	of	the	window	through	various	optically	layered	

moldings,	along	with	the	open	side	of	the	window	that	juts	out	almost	

perpendicularly	into	the	image.	

	
Figure	9	Johann	Heinrich	Wilhelm	Tischbein,	Goethe	am	Fenster	seiner	Wohnung	in	Rom	(Goethe	at	the	
Window	of	his	apartment	in	Rome),	1787	
	
The	Romanic	era	saw	an	extensive	range	of	paintings	featuring	the	

Rückenfigur	and	the	window.	Variations	on	the	yearning	figure	at	the	window	

can	be	seen	both	in	Johann	Heinrich	Wilhelm	Tischbein’s	Goethe	at	the	

Window	of	his	Apartment	in	Rome	(1787,	figure	9)	and	Moritz	von	Schwind’s	



	

	 30	

The	Morning	Hour	(1860,	figure	10).	Whereas	Friedrich	sought	an	

immobilisation	at	the	window	in	his	work,	Tischbein’s	watercolour	of	Goethe	

captures	the	figure	pressing	outward—although	what	was	outside	is	not	

depicted.	Schwind,	on	the	other	hand,	is	interested	in	bringing	the	light	into	

the	room,	the	incoming	light	alluding	perhaps	to	the	light	metaphors	of	the	

Enlightenment.	Ever	present	is	an	ambivalence	of	interior	and	exterior.		

	
Figure	10	Moritz	von	Schwind,	The	Morning	Hour	1860	
	
	



	

	 31	

	
Figure	11	Jakob	Alt	View	from	the	Artist’s	Studio	in	the	Alservorstadt	towards	Dornbach	(1836)	
	
In	the	Realist	period,	the	figure	is	no	longer	present	in	the	image;	instead,	the	

window	becomes	a	subject	in	its	own	right.	The	Realist	gaze	through	the	

window,	as	Selbmann	explains,	“is	directed	at	the	window	frame	as	the	

limitation	of	the	field	of	vision.	Windows	are	means	of	distancing	…	they	

create	boundaries	and	perspectives”.63	For	example,	the	watercolour	View	

from	the	Artist’s	Studio	in	the	Alservorstadt	towards	Dornbach	(1836,	figure	

11),	painted	by	Viennese	artist	Jakob	Alt,	shows	how	the	mysterious	window	

of	Romanticism	spills	over	into	a	reliable	pictorial	motif.	Similarly,	in	View	

from	the	Artist’s	Studio	(Right	Window)	and	View	from	the	Artist’s	Studio	(Left	

Window),	Friedrich	presents	the	view	from	his	studio	in	two	window	

paintings	devoid	of	people	(figures	12	&	13).	In	View	from	the	Artist’s	Studio	

(Right	Window)	(figure	13),	horizontal	and	vertical	lines	intersect	in	the	

window	frame.	In	the	opened	right	side	of	the	window,	we	see	the	vertical	

lines	of	the	wall	through	the	glass,	with	an	angled	cross	visible	in	the	

reflection.	To	the	left	of	the	window,	a	small	painting	frame	and	an	above-

hanging	mirror	are	partially	visible,	truncated	at	the	painting’s	edge.	Both	

																																																								
63	Selbmann,	“Views	Out,	In,	and	Through,”	41.	



	

	 32	

objects	lead	the	eye	across	into	the	painting	of	the	left	window	of	the	studio,	

which,	unlike	the	right	window,	is	not	parallel	to	the	surface	plane.	The	point-

of-view	for	the	painter	and	observer	is	the	same,	but	the	perspective	is	

shifted.	In	Selbmann’s	analysis,	“Friedrich	sets	forth	the	secret	of	perspective	

itself.”64	He	suggests	that	Friedrich’s	choice	“to	demonstrate	this	secret	in	its	

purest	form	on	the	basis	of	the	window	[was	because],	in	the	window,	

[Friedrich]	finds	that	infinite,	and	infinitely	refrangible,	possibilities	await	

him”.65	Not	only	are	Friedrich’s	two	window	paintings	examples	of	the	motif	

of	the	open	window	in	painting	but	also	they	significantly	illustrate	a	shift	

from	the	figure	and	the	window	to	the	window	becoming	a	subject	in	its	own	

right.	

	
Figure	12	Caspar	David	Friedrich,	View	from	the	Artist’s	Window	in	Dresden	on	the	Elbe	(Left	Window)	
1805–6	
	

																																																								
64	Ibid.,	43.	
65	Ibid.	



	

	 33	

	
Figure	13	Caspar	David	Friedrich,	View	from	the	Artist’s	Window	in	Dresden	on	the	Elbe	(Right	Window)	

1805–6	
	

This	shift	can	be	seen	to	have	occurred	across	the	mediums	of	painting	and	to	

the	medium	of	photography,	which	I	will	turn	to	below.	The	window	as	

subject	in	photography	can	be	seen	in	Joseph	Nicéphore	Niépce’s	View	from	

the	Window	at	Le	Gras	(figure	14).	

	

Photography	and	the	Window		
	

	
Figure	14	Joseph	Nicéphore	Niépce,	View	from	the	Window	at	Le	Gras,	1826	



	

	 34	

	
In	a	photographic	sense,	the	window	can	act	as	a	viewfinder	on	to	the	world,	

offering	an	edited,	framed,	fragmented	aspect	of	life	to	our	perception.	The	

window	in	photography	is	the	aperture	that	lets	light	in.	The	window	as	

source	of	light	plays	an	essential	role	in	the	creation	of	proto-photographer	

Joseph	Nicéphore	Niépce’s	(1765–1833)	View	from	the	Window	at	Le	Gras	

(1826,	figure	14).	“Claimed	by	many	photo	historians	as	the	earliest	extant	

photograph”,66	Niépce’s	image	recalls	Alberti’s	metaphor	for	painting:	“…	an	

open	window	through	which	the	subject	to	be	painted	is	seen”.67	The	subject	

in	this	case	is	painted	by	light	and	the	details	are	somewhat	hard	to	make	out.	

However,	the	image	presents	the	view	from	Niépce’s	studio	window.	At	the	

center	of	the	image	is	the	sloping	roof	of	a	barn,	with	the	top	of	a	pear	tree	

rising	above	it.	To	the	left	is	the	loft	of	his	pigeon	house	and	to	the	right	a	

wing	of	the	house.68	Niépce’s	photograph	echoes	the	fascination	Romantic	

painters	had	for	images	of	windows.		

	
The	extraordinary	thing	about	Niépce’s	photograph	is	its	connection	to	

painting.	View	from	the	Window	at	Le	Gras	was	created	via	a	long,	drawn-out	

process	of	viewing	light	over	more	than	eight	hours.	Niépce	coined	the	term	

héliographie69	or	“sun-writing/drawing”	to	describe	this	process.70	Because	

Niépce’s	photograph	involved	the	long	observation	of	light,	it	is	more	akin	to	

the	sustained	observation	of	a	painter	than	the	idea	of	a	contained	instant	

that	would	come	to	be	associated	with	the	photographic	process.	The	window	

thus	enables	significant	connections	between	the	mediums	of	painting	and	

photography.	

	

	

																																																								
66	Ibid.,	72.	
67	Alberti,	“On	Painting,”	55.	
68	Geoffrey	Batchen,	Burning	with	Desire:	The	Conception	of	Photography	(Cambridge,	MA:	MIT	Press,	
1997),	125.	
69	The	majority	of	heliographs	were	created	on	copper	plate.	In	Chapter	3,	I	discuss	my	choice	of	copper	
as	a	painting	surface	linking	to	both	these	early	photographic	examples	and	the	use	of	copper	as	a	
painting	surface	by	painters	such	as	Rembrandt.		
70	Batchen,	Burning	with	Desire,	63.	



	

	 35	

In	addressing	photography’s	influence	on	the	representation	of	space	in	

painting,	it	can	be	said	that	up	until	the	invention	of	photography,	painting’s	

history	is	one	that	strived	for	optical	similitude,	akin	to	that	of	an	open	

window.	However,	since	photography’s	invention,	the	central	consideration	

for	painting	has	been	the	binary	of	representation	and	non-representation.	

Curiously,	as	painting	progressed	technically	to	render	the	imaginary	real,	so	

the	inverse	has	been	true	of	photography—the	real	has	become	imaginary.	In	

so	doing,	photography	came	to	question	its	own	indexicality.	It	can	be	said	

that	photography	freed	painting	from	the	restraints	of	realistic	

representation.	One	of	the	most	influential	painters	of	today	who	addresses	

these	particular	relationships	between	photography	and	painting	is	Gerhard	

Richter,	whose	work	I	will	discuss	further	in	the	second	chapter	of	this	

exegesis.	

	
Modernism:	The	Window	as	Icon	
	
Whereas	the	paintings	of	the	Romantic	era	brought	the	interior	and	exterior	

together	through	the	illusion	of	depth,	modernism	flattens	the	distance.	This	

can	be	observed	in	the	window	paintings	of	Matisse.	According	to	Friedberg,	

“In	the	centuries	since	Alberti,	single-point	perspective	and	its	concomitant	

symbolic	system	have	been	challenged	…	by	changes	in	perspective	in	modern	

painting”.71	The	window	in	modernism	rejected	illusionistic	art	and	the	

metaphor	of	painting	as	a	window	onto	the	world.	Instead,	modernism	

emphasised	the	material	surface	of	the	painting.	As	Shirley	Neilsen	Blum	in	

Henri	Matisse:	Rooms	with	a	View	(2010)	claims,	“In	the	early	twentieth	

century	Robert	Delaunay,	Pablo	Picasso,	Juan	Gris,	Marcel	Duchamp	…	and	

Matisse	made	the	window	an	icon	of	modern	art.”72	

	
Windows	have	always	interested	me	because	they	are	a	passageway	between	

the	exterior	and	the	interior.	
—Henri	Matisse73	

	

																																																								
71	Friedberg,	The	Virtual	Window,	2.	
72	Shirley	Neilsen	Blum,	Henri	Matisse:	Rooms	with	a	View	(London:	Thames	and	Hudson,	2010),	11.	
73	Henri	Matisse	(1951)	quoted	in	Peter	Kropmanns,	“Henri	Matisse	and	the	Window:	A	Theme	and	
Variations,”	Fresh	Widow,	73.	



	

	 36	

The	window	engages	with	key	philosophical	ideas	from	Plato	to	now	about	

interiority	and	exteriority.	In	considering	Plato’s	cave	as	a	window,	which	is	

indicative	of	spatial	demarcation,	it	is	important	to	understand	the	concepts	

of	interiority	and	exteriority.	A	basic	understanding	of	these	concepts	starts	

with	the	notion	of	thought	as	‘interiority’	and	the	body	and	the	physical	world	

as	‘exteriority’.	In	other	words,	the	term	‘interiority’	is	indexed	to	things	that	

transcend	the	external	world	around	them	(such	is	the	case	of	Plato’s	Ideal	

world	of	Forms),	whereas	‘exteriority’	refers	to	the	physical	world.	Modernist	

painting	challenges	this	dichotomous	relation	by	blurring	the	distinction	

between	the	interior	and	the	exterior.		

	
The	window	plays	a	key	role	in	Matisse’s	oeuvre,	featuring	“in	nearly	one	

hundred	of	his	paintings”,74	and	is	highly	significant	to	his	thinking	about	

interior	and	exterior	space.	For	Matisse,	the	window	“represented	neither	a	

gateway	of	the	spectral	or	of	the	spiritual.	Nor	did	he	view	it	as	a	barrier	

between	the	domestic	and	the	outside	world	…	For	him,	the	window	linked	

the	exterior	to	the	interior.”75	Abiding	to	the	rules	of	modernism,	“Matisse	

searched	for	ways	to	compress	depth	against	the	plane	of	a	canvas,	the	very	

opposite	to	the	aim	of	the	Renaissance.	Flat	by	definition	but	deep	by	virtue	of	

its	view,	a	window	for	Matisse	linked	the	distant	to	the	close	at	hand.”76	

	
Matisse’s	methods	for	blurring	the	distinction	between	the	interior	space	and	

the	exterior	space	involved	using	the	same	intensity	of	colour	for	both	the	

outside	scene	and	the	space	of	his	studio.	This	can	be	seen	in	La	fenêtre	bleue	

(The	Blue	Window	1913,	figure	15),	where	interior	and	exterior	are	

indivisible.	Elements	of	the	external	landscape	were	painted	in	blocks	of	

colour	piled	on	top	of	one	another,	eliminating	perspective;	rather	than	

painting	only	the	view	through	a	window.	As	Blum	observes,	“Matisse	

included	an	indication	of	the	window	itself,	making	the	frame	a	part	of	the	

																																																								
74	Blum,	Henri	Matisse:	Rooms	with	a	View,	7.	
75	Ibid.,	11.	
76	Ibid.	



	

	 37	

picture	and	ensuring	that	one	would	have	to	take	into	account	both	the	

interior	and	the	exterior	world.”77	

	
Figure	15	Henri	Matisse	La	fenêtre	bleue	(The	Blue	Window)	1913	
	
While	the	window	is	virtually	synonymous	with	Matisse’s	paintings	it	mostly	

features	as	an	element	within	the	interior	space	of	his	studio.	Only	rarely	is	

the	window	isolated	in	Matisse’s	paintings,	serving	as	the	sole	subject	in	

which	the	window	frame	and	the	edge	of	the	canvas	almost	align.	However,	

this	is	the	case	in	Matisse’s	most	abstract	window	paintings,	Porte-fenêtre	à	

Collioure	(French	Window	at	Collioure	1914,	figure	16)	and	Composition	(The	

Yellow	Curtain	1915,	figure	17).		

																																																								
77	Ibid.	



	

	 38	

	
Figure	16	Henri	Matisse	Porte-fenêtre	à	Collioure	(French	Window	at	Collioure)	1914	
	
Composed	of	vertical	bands	of	colour	and	only	rudimentary	figurative	

elements,	French	Window	at	Collioure	is	one	of	Matisse’s	most	abstract	

paintings.	However	abstract	the	composition	seems,	the	figurative	elements,	

such	as	the	horizontal	markings	on	the	blue	curtained	window	panel,	and	the	

suggestion	of	depth	via	the	oblique	angle	of	the	folded	shutter	which	opens	

out	to	darkness,	suggest	that	the	painting	remains	concerned	with	

representation.	In	French	Window	at	Collioure,	Matisse	reverses	the	concept	

of	a	window	and	its	view	by	eliminating	the	view	entirely	and	building	his	

painting	with	the	parts	of	the	French	window	itself.		

	
The	Yellow	Curtain	represents	a	view	from	the	window	of	Matisse’s	home	in	

Issy-les-Moulineaux.	The	yellow	ochre	of	the	flowering	trees	and	the	blue	sky	

outside	are	framed	by	a	curtained	window.	Despite	the	title	of	this	work,	

which	Matisse	called	Composition,	the	curtain	is	red	with	green	flowers.	The	



	

	 39	

glimpses	of	the	yellow	lining	of	the	curtain	to	the	left	of	the	canvas	echoes	the	

yellow	of	the	trees	outside,	thus	drawing	together	the	interior	and	exterior	

spaces,	making	this	painting	relevant	spatially	to	this	research.	As	Blum	

describes,	“The	exterior	is	so	wedded	to	the	interior	that	one	can	no	longer	

define	the	‘view’	as	something	apart.”78	

	
Figure	17	Henri	Matisse	The	Yellow	Curtain	1915	oil	on	canvas	
	
Matisse	states	that,	in	his	painting,	the	“space	is	one	unity	from	the	horizon	

right	to	the	interior	of	my	work	room	…	the	wall	with	the	window	does	not	

create	two	different	worlds”.79	The	window	here	is	a	means	to	conjoin	

dualities	previously	associated	since	Plato.	By	blurring	the	distinction	
																																																								
78	Blum,	Henri	Matisse:	Rooms	with	a	View,	77.	
79	Jack	D.	Flam,	ed.	Matisse	on	Art,	2nd	ed.	(Oxford:	Phaidon	Press	Limited,	1978),	93.	



	

	 40	

between	the	interior	and	exterior	spaces,	the	window	is	a	means	for	Matisse	

to	create	a	single	unified	whole.	The	key	significance	of	Matisse’s	approach	to	

space	is	in	the	flatness	of	his	paintings;	the	compression	of	space	and	

structure	of	elements	are	premonitory	of	aspects	in	abstract	painting	that	

appeared	half	a	century	later.	His	profound	influence	on	artists	such	as	

Ellsworth	Kelly	and	other	Colour	Field	and	Minimalist	painters	of	the	1950s	

and	1960s	is	well	documented.80		

	

Contemporary	Windows:	Screens	and	Frames	

	
What	one	can	see	in	the	light	of	day	is	always	less	interesting	than	what	

happens	behind	a	pane	of	glass.	
—Charles	Baudelaire81	

	
	

	
Figure	18	Michael	Leunig	TV	Sunrise	

	
Like	the	window,	the	screen	is	at	once	a	surface	and	a	frame—a	reflective	
plane	onto	which	an	image	is	cast	and	a	frame	that	limits	its	view.	The	screen	is	
a	component	piece	of	architecture,	rendering	a	wall	permeable	to	ventilation	in	
new	ways:	a	“virtual	window”	that	changes	the	materiality	of	built	space,	
adding	new	apertures	that	dramatically	alter	our	conception	of	space.82	

	

																																																								
80	Blum,	Henri	Matisse:	Rooms	with	a	View,	77.	
81	Baudelaire	in	Friedberg,	The	Virtual	Window,	5.	
82	Friedberg,	The	Virtual	Window,	1.	



	

	 41	

The	window	has	been	taken	up	as	a	metaphor	in	areas	of	visual	media	from	

painting	to	television	and	computer	interfaces.	The	window	as	a	concept	has	

been	related	to	seeing	and	visual	perception	throughout	history—from	the	

medium	of	painting	to	television	and	computer	interfaces.	In	this	regard,	I	am	

indebted	to	Anne	Friedberg’s	text	The	Virtual	Window:	From	Alberti	to	

Microsoft	(2006),	where	she	examines	the	window	as	a	key	measure	of	

epistemic	changes	in	representational	systems	from	painting	to	photography	

to	moving-image	media	and	computer	display.	

	
Friedberg	argues	that	“[p]erspective	may	have	met	its	end	on	the	computer	

desktop”,83	and	likens	the	space	of	the	computer	screen	to	the	“surfaces	of	

cubism—frontality,	suppression	of	depth,	overlapping	layers—[rather]	than	

with	the	extended	depth	of	Renaissance	perspective”.84	Unlike	Alberti’s	

single-point	perspective,	the	computer	as	window	“shifts	its	metaphoric	hold	

from	the	singular	frame	of	perspective	to	the	multiplicity	of	windows	within	

windows,	frames	within	frames,	screens	within	screens”.85	This	multiplicity	

offers	an	alternative,	multiple	experience	of	space	and	an	opportunity	for	

contemporary	paintings	to	provide	a	rupture	to	the	homogenous	surface	of	

new	media	screens.	Painting	responds	to	the	dematerialised	reality	framed	on	

the	screen	through	the	material	dimension	of	its	production.		

	

To	summarise,	this	part	of	the	chapter	has	established	the	long	historical	

presence	of	the	window	in	painting.	Its	relevance	to	this	research	stems	from	

both	the	window’s	function	in	terms	of	the	construction	of	space	(such	as	

perspective)	and	also	conceptually	in	terms	of	interiority	and	exteriority,	

illusory	space,	and	the	reality	of	material	space.	The	window’s	shift	into	

contemporaneity	says	much	about	the	way	we	see	and	about	how	our	

representations	have	altered	as	a	result.	As	a	contemporary	painter,	I	identify	

with	“[a]rtists’	enduring	interest	in	the	motif	of	the	window	as	a	point	of	

departure	for	complex	contemplations	on	the	image	at	the	threshold	between	

																																																								
83	Ibid.,	2.	
84	Ibid.,	3.	
85	Ibid.,	1–2.	



	

	 42	

illusionistic	depiction	and	non-representational	painting”.86	It	is	my	primary	

interest	to	explore	this	unstable	space	through	my	research	and	painting	

practice.	

	

Part	2:	The	Unstable	Space		

	
A	challenge	for	this	research	was	in	naming	the	space	I	am	driven	to	explore	

in	my	painting	practice.	The	space	I	have	come	to	name	“unstable”	derived	

from	my	earliest	readings,	which	found	me	searching	in	optical	science	

journals	for	the	terms	with	which	to	describe	how	we	visually	perceive	such	a	

space.	The	term	was	found	within	an	analogy	relating	our	perceptual	system	

to	that	of	the	physical	system	of	a	trap	door,	which	is	only	stable	when	it	is	

either	open	or	closed.	The	multistable	states	of	our	perception	discussed	in	

the	journals	aptly	described	the	space	that	I	continue	to	be	intrigued	by.	

Despite	negative	connotations	that	one	might	associate	with	the	unstable,	this	

is	a	space	that	is	open	to	new	possibilities	and,	I	argue,	new	relations	in	

painting.		

	
Multistability	in	Perception	

Painting	can	only	be	viewed	through	the	meeting	of	two	perspectives:	that	of	

the	viewer	and	that	of	the	artist.	How	we	interpret	what	we	see	is	the	role	of	

our	perception;	thus,	it	plays	a	major	role	in	the	understanding	and	creation	

of	a	painting.	My	creative	practice	has	led	me	to	question	how	we	perceive	a	

space	that	is	ambiguous.	What	happens	in	perception	when	the	stimulus	is	

open	to	multiple	interpretations?	Drawing	on	the	science	of	perception,	I	have	

discovered	that	it	is	within	our	perception	of	ambiguous	figures	that	the	

workings	of	the	perceptual	system	are	most	evident.	This	is	discussed	by	Fred	

Attneave	in	his	article	“Multistability	in	Perception”,	written	in	1971.	For	the	

purpose	of	my	research,	the	phenomenon	of	multistability	in	perception	is	

referred	to	only	in	its	relation	to	visual	perception	rather	than	other	

recognised	occurrences	in	auditory	and	olfactory	percepts.	The	concept	of	

																																																								
86	Müller-Schareck,	“Fresh	Widow:	The	Idea	of	the	Window	as	a	‘Point	of	Departure’,”	23.	



	

	 43	

multistability	is	a	gestalt	concept	and	is	aligned	within	the	discourse	of	

deconstruction.	Gestalt	itself	is	defined	simply	as	something	that	is	made	of	

many	parts	and	yet	is	somehow	more	than	or	different	from	the	combination	

of	its	parts.	This	concept	is	taken	up	by	Derrida’s	‘idiom’	and	Deleuze’s	

‘difference’,	which	are	also	defined	as	being	different	to	the	sum	of	their	parts.	

While	I	explore	this	later	in	this	chapter,	I	now	turn	to	the	concept	of	

multistability.	

	
Multistability	in	perception	is	the	spontaneous	alternation	between	two	or	

more	perceptual	states	that	occurs	when	sensory	information	is	ambiguous.	

Visual	science	offers	several	examples	of	when	this	perceptual	phenomenon	

occurs.	Ambiguous	figures,	figure–ground	reversal,	and	ambiguities	of	depth	

are	some	such	cases.	It	is	evident	that	ambiguity	plays	a	key	role	in	

multistable	perception.		

	
According	to	Attneave,	“It	is	the	business	of	the	brain	to	represent	the	outside	

world.	Perceiving	is	not	just	sensing	but	rather	an	effect	of	sensory	input	on	

the	representational	system.”87	In	the	case	of	an	ambiguous	figure,	the	viewer	

is	provided	with:		

an	input	for	which	there	are	two	or	more	possible	representations	that	are	
quite	different	and	about	equally	good,	by	whatever	criteria	the	perceptual	
system	employs.	When	alternative	representations,	or	descriptions,	of	the	
input	are	equally	good,	the	perceptual	system	will	sometimes	adopt	one	and	
sometimes	another.	In	other	words,	the	perception	is	multistable.88		
	

While	Attneave	refers	to	a	figurative	ambiguity,	one	can	posit	a	spatial	

ambiguity	in	the	rival	or	opposing	systems	of	representation,	such	as	

photography	and	painting.	This	is	further	explored	in	Chapter	2	when	I	

discuss	the	overpainted	photographs	of	Richter.	

	

																																																								
87	Fred	Attneave,	"Multistability	in	Perception,"	in	Reading	from	Scientific	American:	Image,	Object	and	
Illusion	(San	Francisco:	W.	H.	Freeman	and	Company,	1971),	91.	
88	Ibid.		



	

	 44	

The	most	classic	example	of	multistable	perception	is	Joseph	Jastrow’s	rabbit–

duck	figure	(figure19),	where	one	can	see	a	rabbit	facing	right	or	a	duck	facing	

the	left,	but	it	is	difficult	to	see	both	duck	and	rabbit	simultaneously.89		

	

	
Figure	19	Rabbit–Duck	example	of	rival-schemata	ambiguity

																																																								
89	This	is	also	known	as	rival-schemata	ambiguity.		



	

	 45	

	

	
Figure	20	Salvador	Dali	Slave	Market	with	Apparition	of	the	Disappearing	Bust	of	Voltaire	(detail)	1940		
	
An	example	of	where	figural	ambiguity	occurs	in	painting	is	in	Surrealist	

Salvador	Dali’s	Slave	Market	with	Apparition	of	the	Disappearing	Bust	of	

Voltaire	(1940,	figure	20).	In	this	painting,	Dali’s	wife	Gala	gazes	at	a	sculpted	

bust	of	French	philosopher	Voltaire.	The	figures	of	two	merchants	standing	in	

a	slave	market	create	the	illusion	of	the	sculpture	of	Voltaire’s	head	and	

shoulders.	The	merchants’	heads	form	Voltaire’s	eyes.	When	viewed	at	close	

range,	the	two	figures	predominate,	but	when	viewed	at	a	distance,	the	bust	

of	Voltaire	becomes	apparent.		

	
An	example	of	figure–ground	reversal	is	the	woodblock	tessellation	of	Dutch	

artist	Maurits	C.	Escher	Circle	Limit	IV	(Heaven	and	Hell	1960,	figure	21).	

When	viewed,	its	appearance	alternates	between	a	white	angels	and	black	

devils.	It	is	impossible	to	see	both	figures	at	the	same	time;	in	other	words,	

each	is	seen	alternately,	not	simultaneously.	The	devils	and	angels	compete	in	

a	battle	of	figure	and	ground,	alternating	repeatedly	in	what	Attneave	

describes	as	a	“competition	between	rival-object	schemata	[in	which]	neither	

seems	to	be	able	to	overpower	the	other”.90			

																																																																												
	

																																																								
90	Attneave,	“Multistability	in	Perception,”	92.	



	

	 46	

	
Figure	21	M.C.	Escher,	Circle	Limit	IV	(Heaven	and	Hell)	1960	
	
One	particularly	relevant	point	that	Attneave	raises	in	the	case	of	figure–

ground	reversals	is	that,	unlike	the	complex	figurative	tessellations	of	Escher,	

the	components	of	a	figure–ground	reversal	needn’t	be	either	complex	or	

familiar	figurative	objects.	In	other	words,	figure–ground	reversal	also	occurs	

in	simple	abstract	images.	He	explains	that	a	scribbled	line	down	the	middle	

of	a	circle	creates	a	perfectly	good	example	of	a	reversing	figure,	as	the	line	

will	be	seen	to	be	either	a	contour	or	a	boundary.	The	line	in	this	respect	is	a	

shared	edge.	Its	appearance	depends	on	whether	the	viewer	sees	the	contour	

as	either	inside	or	outside	the	object/form.	The	case	of	the	line	through	a	

circle,	Attneave	explains,	is	tristable	because	the	third	possible	perception	is	

that	the	line	is	seen	as	a	thing	in	itself	rather	than	the	boundary	of	a	figure.	He	

writes:		

	
The	point	of	basic	interest	in	figure–ground	reversal	is	that	one	line	can	have	
two	shapes.	Since	an	artist’s	line	drawing	is	readily	identifiable	with	the	object	
it	is	supposed	to	portray,	and	since	a	shape	has	much	the	same	appearance	
whether	it	is	white	on	black,	black	on	white	or	otherwise	coloured,	many	
workers	have	suggested	that	the	visual	system	represents	or	encodes	objects	
primarily	in	terms	of	their	contours.	As	we	have	seen,	however,	a	contour	can	
be	part	of	two	shapes.	The	perceptual	representation	of	a	contour	is	specific	to	
which	side	is	regarded	as	the	figure	and	which	as	the	ground.	Shape	may	be	
invariant	over	a	black–white	reversal,	but	it	is	not	invariant	over	an	inside-
outside	reversal.91	

	

																																																								
91	Ibid.	



	

	 47	

Ambiguities	of	depth	characterise	a	great	number	of	multistable	figures,	with	

the	Necker	cube92	(left	in	figure	22)	being	a	familiar	example.		

	
	

	
Figure	22	Projections	of	a	cube	

		
To	understand	how	depth	relationships	can	be	multistable,	Attneave	explains	

how	the	perceptual	system	can	derive	a	three-dimensional	representation	

from	a	two-dimensional	drawing:	

A	straight	line	in	the	outside	world	casts	a	straight	line	on	the	retina.	A	given	
straight	line	on	the	retina,	however,	could	be	the	image	of	any	one	of	an	infinite	
number	of	external	lines,	and	not	necessarily	straight	lines,	that	lie	in	a	
common	plane	with	one	another	and	the	eye.	The	image	on	a	single	retina	is	
always	two-dimensional,	exactly	as	a	photograph	is.	We	should	not	be	
surprised,	therefore,	that	depth	is	sometimes	ambiguous.93	
	

From	the	above,	I	surmise	that	the	wide	use	of	photographs	as	source	images	

for	paintings	may	be	a	contributing	factor	in	the	ongoing	fascination	of	some	

painters’	explorations	of	ambiguous	spaces	within	their	work.	Indeed,	

exploiting	the	ambiguous	spaces	that	occur	within	photographic	source	

images	plays	a	major	role	in	my	own	creative	research.	A	photographic	source	

image	captures	interacting	spaces	such	as	the	reflections	of	a	train	interior	

onto	the	windowpane,	superimposing	ghost-like	shapes	onto	the	exterior	

landscape.	Scratches	and	graffiti	on	the	glass	can	become	accentuated	

features	of	a	landscape.	Examples	such	as	these	are	further	discussed	in	

relation	to	my	studio	practice	in	Chapter	3	of	this	exegesis.	

	
In	addition	to	our	perceptual	system’s	ability	to	perceive	depth	from	a	two-

dimensional	representation,	it	is	also	able	to	select	a	particular	orientation,	or	

may	vacillate	between	two	or	three	orientations,	out	of	the	infinite	number	of	

																																																								
92	The	Necker	cube	is	named	after	Swiss	crystallographer	and	geographer	Louis	Albert	Necker	(1786–
1861).	Necker	devised	the	ambiguous	line	drawing	of	the	cube	in	1832	in	order	to	demonstrate	the	
optical	illusion	he	reported	to	occur	in	the	line	drawings	of	crystals,	which	appeared	to	reverse	in	depth	
spontaneously.	The	cube	has	since	become	a	classic	example	of	perspective	reversal.	
93	Attneave,	“Multistability	in	Perception,”	95.	



	

	 48	

legitimate	possibilities	that	exist.	The	answer	to	how	the	perceptual	system	

makes	this	selection	can	be	found	within	the	Gestalt	theory’s	principle	of	

Prägnanz,	which	explains	the	tendency	for	multiple	sensory	perceptions	to	be	

unconsciously	organised	in	accordance	to	specific	criteria,	such	as	simplicity,	

regularity	and	stability.	In	other	words,	a	viewer	perceives	the	simplest	figure	

that	is	consistent	with	a	given	image.	Attneave	emphasises	the	important	role	

that	simplicity	plays	in	‘ambiguous	depth’,	also	known	as	‘perspective	

reversal’:	

One	observes	a	particular	configuration	of	lines	on	paper,	such	as	the	Necker	
cube	(left	in	figure	22),	and	assigns	a	three-dimensional	orientation	to	the	lines	
such	that	the	whole	becomes	a	cube	(although	an	infinite	number	of	
noncubical	forms	could	project	the	same	form)	because	a	cube	is	the	simplest	
of	the	possibilities.	In	a	cube	the	lines	(edges)	are	all	the	same	length;	they	take	
only	three	directions,	and	the	angles	they	form	are	all	equal	and	right	angles.	
No	other	interpretation	of	the	figure,	including	the	two-dimensional	aspect	
itself,	is	as	simple	and	regular.	In	cases	of	reversible	perspective	two	
maximally	simple	tridimensional	constructions	are	permissible,	each	being	
symmetrical	with	the	other	in	depth.94	

	
Relatively	complex	projections	are	nearly	always	perceived	in	depth.	A	figure	
such	as	a	regular	hexagon	divided	into	equilateral	triangles	[as	seen	on	the	
right	in	figure	22],	which	is	simple	and	regular	in	two	dimensions,	stays	two-
dimensional	because	seeing	it	as	a	cube	does	not	make	it	any	simpler.	
Intermediate	figures	become	tristable;	they	are	sometimes	seen	as	being	flat	
and	sometimes	as	being	one	or	another	aspect	of	a	cube.95	

	
As	Attneave	recognises,	many	physical	systems	possess	the	same	multistable	

characteristics,	the	relevance	of	this	being	that	a	“comparison	of	multistability	

in	physical	and	perceptual	situations	may	yield	some	significant	clues	to	the	

basic	processes	of	perception”.96	In	considering	the	phenomenon	of	

perceptual	multistability	to	describe	the	space	I	explore	in	my	paintings,	I	

found	Attneave’s	analogy	of	a	trapdoor	useful.	The	trapdoor	(figure	23),	a	

simple	form	of	multistability,	is	stable	only	when	it	is	either	open	or	shut.	

Hence,	the	space	that	is	neither	closed	nor	open	is	an	unstable	space.	

	

																																																								
94	Ibid.,	95–96.	
95	Ibid.,	96.	
96	Ibid.,	91.	



	

	 49	

	
Figure	23	Trapdoor	
	
The	idea	of	a	space	that	is	neither	open	nor	closed	but	multistable	is	

significant	to	understanding	the	spaces	that	drive	explorations	in	my	studio	

practice.	Multistability	is	the	ambiguous	perceptual	experience	of	alternating	

between	two	or	more	interpretations	of	that	experience.	It	is	an	unstable	

space	of	interpretation	that	relies	on	understanding	all	possible	

interpretations	of	that	experience	at	once.	Thus,	I	arrive	at	the	term	‘unstable	

space’	as	a	means	to	describe	the	space	that	I	am	driven	to	explore	in	my	

creative	research.	

	
Derrida’s	Idiom:	The	Unstable	in	Language	
	
Visual	ambiguity	shares	similarities	with	the	ambiguities	inherent	in	our	use	

of	language.	Derrida’s	conception	of	the	idiom	in	language,	articulated	in	

“Passe-Partout”,	the	preface	to	his	book	The	Truth	in	Painting,	can	be	

interpreted	in	such	a	way	as	to	illuminate	this	idea	in	regard	to	the	language	

of	painting.	If	we	consider	the	sentence	such	as	that	provided	by	Derrida,	“I	

am	interested	in	the	idiom	in	painting”97,	alternative	meanings	result	from	

alternative	parsings	based,	in	turn,	upon	linguistic	structure.98	In	other	words,	

is	the	interest	in	a)	the	painted	expression	of	idiom	“in	painting”;	b)	the	words	

“in	painting”;	c)	the	idiomatic	trait	or	style	in	the	domain	of	painting;	d)	“the	

singularity	or	the	irreducible	specificity	of	pictorial	art,	of	that	‘language’	

which	painting	is	supposed	to	be”;99	or	e)	any	number	of	other	possible	

translations?	No	single	definition	can	derive	from	this	sentence,	as	multiple	

																																																								
97	Derrida,	The	Truth	in	Painting,	1–13.	
98	Richard	Held,	"Form	Analysis,"	Image,	Object	and	Illusion	(San	Francisco:	W.	H.	Freeman	and	
Company,	1974),	89.		
99	Derrida,	The	Truth	in	Painting,	1–2.	



	

	 50	

meanings	infinitely	diverge.	As	Derrida	states,	“each	one	divides	again,	is	

grafted	and	contaminated	by	all	the	others,	and	you	would	never	be	finished	

translating	them”.100	This	divergence	of	meaning	is	what	Derrida	calls	

difference,	or	the	instability	of	meaning.		

	
The	idea	of	difference	as	an	unstable	space	in	meaning	is	significant	to	

understanding	the	unstable	space	that,	I	argue,	is	present	in	the	overpaintings	

of	German	artist	Gerhard	Richter	and	in	the	paintings	of	Swedish	artist	

Andreas	Eriksson.	In	considering	Derrida’s	conception	of	idiom	beyond	mere	

rhetoric,	I	am	indebted	to	art	historian	Rosemary	Hawker,	who	has	notably	

drawn	on	Derrida’s	concept	in	her	analysis	of	the	artworks	of	Richter,101	

which	considers	the	idiomatic	difference	specific	to	the	mediums	of	

photography	and	painting.	While	Hawker	predominantly	refers	to	the	idea	of	

translation	(from	photography	into	painting)	in	regard	to	Richter’s	photo	

paintings,	my	analysis	focuses	on	Richter’s	overpainted	photographs.	I	

recognise	the	idiomatic	difference	of	these	opposing	systems	of	

representation	and	consider	the	potential	of	these	new	relations	as	a	site	in	

which	to	further	explore	the	idea	of	an	unstable	space	that	is	more	than	the	

sum	of	its	parts:	a	space	of	difference.	

	
Deleuze’s	Difference	in	Itself:	The	Abstract	Line	
	
Derrida’s	idea	of	difference	can	be	further	understood	through	Deleuze’s	

concept	of	‘difference	in	itself’,	to	which	he	dedicates	the	first	chapter	in	his	

text	Difference	and	Repetition.102	Despite	the	fact	that	we	are	most	familiar	

with	difference	being	expressed	in	binary	oppositions,	Deleuze	states	that	

instead	of	distinguishing	one	thing	from	another,	we	should	understand	

something	that	is	distinguished	in	itself.	That	is,	he	asks	us	to	imagine	

‘difference’	as	a	thing	in	itself.		

																																																								
100	Ibid.,	2.	
101	Rosemary	Hawker	has	written	extensively	on	the	relationship	between	photography	and	painting	in	
the	works	of	art	by	Gerhard	Richter.	See:	"The	Idiom	in	Photography	as	the	Truth	in	Painting,"	The	South	
Atlantic	Quarterly	101,	no.	3	(2002):	541–54;	"Painting	over	Photography:	Questions	of	Medium	in	
Richter's	Overpaintings,"	Australian	and	New	Zealand	Journal	of	Art	8,	no.	1	(2007):	43–59;	"Idiom	Post-
Medium:	Richter	Painting	Photography,"	Oxford	Art	Journal	32,	no.	2	(2009):	263–80.	
102	Gilles	Deleuze,	Difference	and	Repetition,	trans.	Paul	Patton	(London	and	New	York:	Continuum,	
2004),	36-89.	



	

	 51	

	
Deleuze	relates	‘difference	in	itself’	to	the	concept	of	the	‘abstract	line’.	Here,	

it	is	worth	recalling	the	ambiguity	in	figure–ground	reversal;	specifically,	the	

case	of	the	line	through	a	circle,	where	the	line	is	seen	as	a	thing	in	itself	

rather	than	the	boundary	of	a	figure.	This	idea	of	the	line	is	akin	to	Deleuze’s	

concept	of	difference	in	itself.	The	line	is	the	difference	in	itself	regardless	of	

how	abstract	or	indeterminate	that	line	may	be.	The	concept	of	the	abstract	

line	in	painting	is	exemplified	when	Deleuze	recalls	Antonin	Artaud’s	idea	

that	“cruelty	is	nothing	but	determination	as	such,	that	precise	point	at	which	

the	determined	maintains	its	essential	relation	with	the	undetermined,	that	

rigorous	abstract	line	fed	by	chiaroscuro”.103	As	the	treatment	of	light	and	

shade	in	an	image,	Chiaroscuro	serves	Deleuze’s	concept	well,	chiaro	meaning	

‘clear,	bright’	and	oscuro	meaning	‘dark,	obscure’.104	I	am	certain	that	I	am	not	

alone	among	painters	in	spending	time	with	my	nose	up	close	to	the	surface	

of	a	painting,	searching	for	the	point	at	which	the	form	distinguishes	itself	

from	the	background	and	yet	failing	to	locate	it.	This	is	the	experience	of	the	

abstract	line,	the	indeterminate	line	in	which	the	clarity	of	the	form	meets	the	

obscurity	of	the	background.		

	

Deleuze	explains	that	difference	is	made	when	the	determination	of	the	figure	

in	the	painting	is	combined	with	the	indeterminate	ground.	He	argues,	“it	is	

better	to	raise	up	the	ground	and	dissolve	the	form”	and	cites	Odilon	Redon’s	

use	of	chiaroscuro	and	the	abstract	line.	The	aim	for	Deleuze’s	philosophy	of	

difference	is	for	difference	to	“become	a	harmonious	organism	and	relate	

determination	to	other	determinations	within	a	form”.105	In	this	regard,	I	

interpret	difference	to	be	a	space	of	possibility	for	new	relations	to	occur	

within	painting.	

	
	
	

																																																								
103	Gilles	Deleuze,	Difference	and	Repetition,	trans.	Paul	Patton	(London	and	New	York:	Continuum,	
2004),	37.	
104	“Chiaroscuro,”	Oxford	Dictionary	online,	2017,	
https://en.oxforddictionaries.com/definition/chiaroscuro.	
105	Ibid.	



	

	

Chapter	2	
	



	

	

Chapter	2		 Spatial	Relations	
	

Perhaps	the	doors,	curtains,	surface	pictures,	panes	of	glass,	etc.	are	
metaphors	of	despair,	prompted	by	the	dilemma	that	our	sense	of	
sight	causes	us	to	apprehend	things,	but	at	the	same	time	restricts	

and	partly	precludes	our	apprehension	of	reality.	
—Gerhard	Richter106	

	
	

																																																								
106	Gerhard	Richter,	Text:	Writings,	Interviews	and	Letters	1961–2007	(London:	Thames	&	Hudson,	
2009),	57.	



	

	 54	

Gerhard	Richter	and	Andreas	Eriksson	engage	with	the	representation	of	

spatial	concepts	through	the	materiality	of	their	painting	and	photography	

practices.	In	doing	this,	both	also	reference	the	window	as	a	motif	in	spatial	

relations.	

	
Gerhard	Richter	
	
The	work	of	German	painter	Gerhard	Richter	(b.	1932)	is	critical	to	

contemporary	understandings	of	painterly	space.	In	particular,	his	

overpainted	photographs	provide	a	case	study	through	which	to	examine	the	

roles	that	painting	and	photography	play	in	the	representation	of	space.	In	

focusing	my	analysis	on	these	works,	I	argue	that	the	relationships	that	play	

out	between	the	mediums	of	photography	and	painting,	as	revealed	by	

Richter,	demonstrate	possibilities	for	the	expression	of	new	spatial	

relationships	in	painting,	the	central	concern	of	my	research.	

	
Richter	is	widely	regarded	as	one	of	the	most	important	painters	working	

today.	His	life	and	work	are	the	focus	of	extensive	literature,	ranging	from	

exhibition	and	collection	catalogues	to	monographs,	documentary	films	and	

articles.	An	array	of	international	critics,	such	as	Benjamin	Buchloh,107	Robert	

Storr,108	Dietmar	Elger,109	Hans	Ulrich	Obrist,110	have	analysed	Richter’s	

practice.		

	
																																																								
107	Benjamin	Heinze-Dieter	Buchloh	(b.	1941)	is	a	German	art	historian.	His	publications	on	Richter	
include	Gerhard	Richter:	Documenta	IX	1992	(New	York:	Marion	Goodman	Gallery,	1993),	Gerhard	
Richter:	Large	Abstracts	(Ostfildern-Ruit:	Hatje	Cantz	Verlag,	2008),	and	Gerhard	Richter:	18	Oktober	
1977	(London:	ICA,	1989).	
108	Robert	Storr	(b.	1949)	is	an	American	critic	and	former	senior	curator	for	the	Department	of	
Painting	and	Sculpture	at	The	Museum	of	Modern	Art,	New	York.	His	publications	on	Richter	include	
Gerhard	Richter:	Forty	Years	of	Painting	(New	York:	MOMA,	2002),	an	exhibition	catalogue	from	the	
largest	retrospective	of	Richter’s	work	to	date,	held	at	the	Museum	of	Modern	Art;	September:	A	History	
Painting	by	Gerhard	Richter	(London:	Tate	Publishing,	2009);	Gerhard	Richter:	The	Cage	Paintings	
(London:	Tate	Publishing,	2009);	Gerhard	Richter:	Doubt	and	Belief	in	Painting	(New	York:	The	Museum	
of	Modern	Art,	2003);	and	Gerhard	Richter:	October	18,	1977	(New	York:	The	Museum	of	Modern	Art,	
2000).		
109	Dietmar	Elger	(b.	1958)	is	a	German	archivist;	he	is	currently	director	of	the	Gerhard	Richter	Archive	
at	the	Staatliche	Kuntsammlungen	Dresden.	He	authored	the	biography	Gerhard	Richter:	A	Life	in	
Painting,	trans.	Elizabeth	M.	Solaro	(Chicago:	University	of	Chicago	Press,	2009).	
110	Hans-Ulrich	Obrist	(b.	1968)	is	a	Swiss	art	curator,	critic	and	art	historian;	he	is	currently	co-director	
of	Exhibitions	and	Programmes	and	Director	of	International	Projects	at	the	Serpentine	Gallery,	London.	
He	edited	Gerhard	Richter:	The	Daily	Practice	of	Painting:	Writings	1962-1993	(Cambridge,	MA:	MIT	
Press,	1995)	and	co-authored	with	Richter	the	artist	book	Obrist-O’Brist	(Cologne:	Walter	König,	2009).	
Richter	dedicated	this	book	to	Obrist.	



	

	 55	

Throughout	his	oeuvre,	Richter	has	continually	interrogated	painting’s	

material	status,	the	medium’s	history	and	role	in	confronting	history.	He	has	

questioned	painting’s	ability	to	represent	historical	experience—specifically,	

German	political	life.111	Richter	has	been	applauded	for	his	“deconstruction	of	

the	languages	and	histories	of	painting”112	as	well	as	criticised	for	“lacking	

commitment	to	any	one	practice”.113	He	challenges	notions	of	representation	

in	his	refusal	to	maintain	a	polar	opposition	between	abstraction	and	

figuration.	He	maintains	that	“the	abstraction/figuration	polarity	is	a	false	

one”.114	

	
Questions	of	representation	remain	a	constant	theme	throughout	Richter’s	

creative	practice,	specifically	where	painting	and	photography	converge	with	

ideas	of	representation.	Since	1989,	Richter	has	been	working	on	several	

series	of	overpainted	photographs.115	These	are	highly	significant	to	his	

oeuvre	because	they	raise	new	questions	about	the	material	relations	

between	photography	and	painting,	abstraction	and	illusional	images.	These	

works	are	an	important	link	to	the	spatial	concerns	explored	in	my	research,	

where	the	problem	of	extending	painterly	space	beyond	the	dead-end	of	

illusion	and	beyond	modernism’s	“essentialist	reduction	of	painting	to	

flatness”116	is	a	shared	concern.	The	overpaintings	are	made	through	

relatively	simple	means;	the	artist	applies	paint	to	a	variety	of	snapshots	such	

as	intimate	family	photographs,	touristic	images,	landscapes,	buildings	and	

interiors.	

	
Here,	I	focus	my	analysis	on	one	particular	series	of	Gerhard	Richter’s	

overpainted	photographs,	Firenze	(Florence)	1999,	comprising	103	

photographs,	mostly	snapshots	of	Florence,	Italy,	painted	over	by	the	artist.	

																																																								
111	I	refer	the	reader	to	both	the	Atlas	project,	in	which	a	collection	of	images	of	private	family	
photographs	are	juxtaposed	with	images	of	public	German	history,	and	the	October	18,	1977	series	of	
paintings	that	focus	on	events	of	German	political	life	in	the	Baader-Meinhof	era.	
112	Mark	Godfrey,	Gerhard	Richter:	Panorama	(London:	TATE	Publishing,	2011),	12.	
113	Ibid.	
114	Ibid.,	123.	
115	Dietmar	Elger,	“Epilogue,”	Gerhard	Richter:	Florence,	ed.	Dietmar	Elger	(Ostfildern-Ruit,	Germany:	
Hatje	Cantz	Verlag,	2001),	np.	
116	Rosalind	Krauss,	A	Voyage	on	the	North	Sea:	Art	in	the	Age	of	the	Post-Medium	Condition,	The	Walter	
Neurath	Memorial	Lectures	(New	York:	Thames	and	Hudson,	2000),	6.	



	

	 56	

My	analysis	explores	how	new	spatial	relations	are	created	through	Richter’s	

use	of	both	the	illusory	means	of	the	photograph	that	‘indexically’	represents	

space,	and	the	immediate	space	of	the	material	surface	and	texture	of	paint.	

	
My	analysis	will	draw	upon	three	critical	approaches	in	order	to	examine	

questions	of	medium	in	Richter’s	overpainted	photographs.	Firstly,	Rosalind	

Krauss’	meditation	on	medium	that	looks	beyond	modernist	essentialism;	in	

particular,	her	concept	of	‘differential	specificity’	through	which	the	structure	

of	Richter’s	overpainted	photographs	can	be	understood	as	aggregates	of	

interlocking	supports	and	layered	conventions.117	Secondly,	Derrida’s	concept	

of	‘idiom’,	as	discussed	by	art	historian	Rosemary	Hawker	in	“Painting	Over	

Photography:	Questions	of	Medium	in	Richter’s	Overpaintings”,118	which	

serves	to	describe	the	relations	that	occur	between	mediums	and	considers	

how	these	relations	“communicate	beyond	the	sum	of	their	parts”.119	Hawker	

proposes	that	“Derrida’s	conception	of	idiom	in	language	offers	a	new	

inflection	on	understanding	the	contemporary	role	of	the	medium	in	art.	

Questions	of	idiom	and	medium	are	staged	almost	schematically	in	Richter’s	

‘overpaintings’.”120	Finally,	Deleuze’s	concept	of	the	‘haptic’	and	optical	vision	

helps	to	elucidate	how	both	the	photographic	and	painterly	elements	of	these	

artworks	create	a	spatial	depth	through	the	palpable	tactility	of	the	smeared	

paint	laid	over	the	homogenously	smooth	surface	of	the	photograph.	

	
The	centrality	of	medium	relations	to	recent	discussions	of	art	confirms	

Krauss	as	key	to	updating	Greenberg,	and	Derrida	is	essential	to	thinking	

about	the	bringing	together	of	mediums	without	conflating	them	into	hybrids.	

However	separate,	these	three	critical	approaches—Krauss’s	differential	

specificity,	Derrida’s	concept	of	‘idiom’,	and	Deleuze’s	concept	of	the	‘haptic’	

and	optical	vision—are	nonetheless	interrelated.	Krauss’	differential	

specificity	and	Derrida’s	idiom	both	find	meaning	in	difference	and	

untranslatability.	My	reading	of	Deleuze	brings	me	more	specifically	to	the	

																																																								
117	Ibid.	
118	Hawker,	"Painting	over	Photography.”	
119	Ibid.,	57.	
120	Ibid.,	43.	



	

	 57	

relevant	mediums	of	photography	and	painting	through	his	concept	of	‘haptic’	

and	optical	vision,	which	describes	the	specificity	of	the	visual	experience	of	

each	medium.	Here	‘haptic’	serves	well	to	address	painting	and	optical	vision	

serves	the	photograph.	

	

The	polarising	binary	that	separates	art	into	representational	and	non-

representational	spheres	has	been	a	central	consideration	for	painting	since	

the	invention	of	photography,	and	“it	is	well	known	that	Richter	built	his	work	

on	these	two	poles	from	the	outset,	not	coming	down	on	one	side	or	the	other,	

representational	or	non-representational”.121	Richter’s	overpainted	

photographs	present	these	as	conjoined	polarities,	linking	the	reality	

references	between	the	illustrative	photograph	and	the	presence	of	paint	in	

order	to	immediately	question	both	of	them	fundamentally.122		

	
Krauss:	Differential	Specificity	

		

Richter’s	oeuvre	has	consistently	engaged	with	questions	of	medium	and	his	

overpainted	photographs	break	from	the	model	of	a	medium-specific	

modernism.	As	Krauss	rightly	points	out,	it	is	virtually	impossible	to	raise	

questions	of	medium	without	invoking	American	art	critic	and	central	

theorist	of	late	modernism,	Clement	Greenberg.	The	modernism	formulated	

in	his	writings	is	defined	“as	the	historical	tendency	of	an	art	practice	towards	

complete	self-referential	autonomy,	to	be	achieved	by	scrupulous	attention	to	

all	that	is	specific	to	that	practice:	its	own	traditions	and	materials,	its	own	

difference	from	other	art	practices”.123	As	one	of	Greenberg’s	main	critics,	

Krauss	argues	for	a	“different	specificity”	in	what	she	deems	“the	post-

medium	condition”	in	her	essay	“A	Voyage	on	the	North	Sea:	Art	in	the	Age	of	

the	Post-Medium	Condition”.124	Krauss	argues	that	“specificity”	can	no	longer	

																																																								
121	Uwe	M.	Schneede,	"Reality,	the	Photograph,	the	Paint,	and	the	Picture,"	in	Gerhard	Richter:	
Overpainted	Photographs,	ed.	Markus	Heinzelmann	(Ostfildern,	Germany:	Hatje	Cantz	Verlag,	2008),	
201.	
122	Ibid.,	201.	
123	Victor	Burgin,	“Figures	of	Difference,”	in	Art	in	Theory	1900-2000:	An	Anthology	of	Changing	Ideas,	ed.	
Charles	Harrison	and	Paul	Wood	(Oxford:	Blackwell	Publishing,	2002),	1069.	
124	Krauss,	A	Voyage	on	the	North	Sea.	



	

	 58	

be	located	in	the	materials	or	methods,	but	in	“Art	Itself”.125	In	contrast	to	late	

modernism’s	medium	specificity	that	Greenberg	championed,	artists	such	as	

Richter	have	contributed	to	the	post-medium	condition	that	Krauss	discusses.	

Our	post-medium	era	sees	a	great	deal	of	artists	engaged	with	multiple	

mediums	and	hybrid	media.	In	an	early	interview,	Richter	provocatively	

states:	“I’m	not	trying	to	imitate	a	photograph;	I’m	trying	to	make	one.	And	if	I	

disregard	the	assumption	that	a	photograph	is	a	piece	of	paper	exposed	to	

light,	then	I	am	practicing	photography	by	other	means.”126	Richter’s	claim	

clearly	outlines	the	challenge	of	medium	specificity.	

	
	
	
Derrida’s	Idiom	
	
Hawker	draws	on	Derrida’s	discussion	of	language	and	translation	to	

understand	that	which	Richter	articulates	in	the	bringing	together	of	painting	

and	photography.	Summarising	Derrida’s	essay	“Des	Tours	de	Babel”,127	

Hawker	explains	that:	

[T]ranslation	will	always	fail	to	communicate	all	that	is	entailed	in	the	other	
language.	Yet,	it	is	this	impossibility	that	enables	translation	to	produce	
meaning.	It	is	translation’s	inability	to	thoroughly	remake	a	meaning	from	
another	language	that	enables	it	to	make	yet	another	meaning,	to	produce	
	something	else	again	through	the	process	of	translation.	This	is	what	we	can	
see	at	work	in	Richter’s	taking	photography	into	painting.128	
	

Hawker	explores	Derrida’s	conception	of	idiom,	which	is	defined	in	the	

following	way:	“what	does	not	survive	of	the	original	in	its	translation	is	

idiom,	and	therefore	it	is	idiom	that	distinguishes	the	original	and	the	new”.129	

In	her	analysis	of	Richter’s	‘photo	paintings’,	Hawker	states	“In	the	strictest	

sense,	his	translation	of	one	medium	into	the	other	fails.”130	

	

																																																								
125	Ibid.,	10.	
126	Gerhard	Richter	in	an	“Interview	with	Rolf	Schön”	(1972),	in	The	Daily	Practice	of	Painting:	Writings	
1962-1993,	ed.	Hans-Ulrich	Obrist	(London:	Thames	and	Hudson	and	Anthony	d’Offay	Gallery,	1995),	
73.	
127	Jacques	Derrida,	“Des	Tour	de	Babel,”	in	Difference	in	Translation,	ed.	Joseph	F.	Graham	(Ithaca	and	
London:	Cornell	University	Press,	1985),	170.	
128	Hawker,	"Painting	over	Photography,"	46.	
129	Derrida,	“Des	Tours	de	Babel,”	192.	
130	Hawker,	"Painting	over	Photography,"	46.	



	

	 59	

While	this	idea	of	translation	serves	well	to	describe	Richter’s	

‘photopaintings’	wherein	the	photographic	medium	is	translated	into	paint,	

there	is	a	point	in	Richter’s	oeuvre	where	this	methodology,	together	with	the	

idea	of	translation,	is	exhausted.	When	Richter	brings	together	the	medium	of	

paint	and	photography	in	such	a	direct	way	in	his	overpaintings,	there	is	no	

longer	a	translation	occurring	from	one	medium	into	the	other	medium.	

Rather,	there	is	a	resistance.	If	we	understand	idiom	to	be	the	part	of	language	

that	resists	translation,	what	is	occurring	in	Richter’s	overpaintings	is	a	case	

of	making	the	functioning	of	idiom	visible.	As	Hawker	asserts,	the	conjunction	

of	the	two	visual	languages	“opens	the	work	to	meaning	in	a	way	that	neither	

means	of	expression	could	achieve	alone”.131	So,	while	there	is	no	translation	

occurring	as	with	Richter’s	photopaintings,		

Idiom	enables	us	to	know	something	of	individual	media	in	their	irreconcilable	
multiplicity,	[or	in	Krauss’	terms]	their	‘differential	specificity’	and,	at	the	same	
time,	to	know	something	of	what	is	common	to	all	languages	and	media:	the	
space	of	their	difference.	Derrida	describes	this	when	he	writes:	“Through	each	
language	something	is	intended	which	is	the	same	and	yet	which	none	of	the	
languages	can	attain	separately…They	complete	each	other.”132	

The	concept	of	idiom	as	interpreted	by	Hawker	is	highly	relevant	to	my	

painting	practice.	In	this	way,	the	visual	language	of	painting	at	the	threshold	

between	abstract	and	illusionistic	space	can	be	understood	to	generate	new	

meanings	and	relations.		

	
Deleuze’s	Difference	in	Itself	
	
Deleuze’s	idea	of	the	space	of	difference	is	particularly	relevant	to	my	

discussion	and	can	be	further	understood	through	his	major	work	Difference	

and	Repetition	in	which	he	establishes	the	concept	of	“difference	in	itself”.133	

Deleuze’s	‘philosophy	of	difference’	proposes	the	question,	“Cannot	difference	

become	a	harmonious	organism	and	relate	determination	to	other	

																																																								
131	Ibid.,	52.	
132	Krauss	and	Derrida	in	Hawker,	"Painting	over	Photography,"	47.	
133	Gilles	Deleuze,	"Difference	in	Itself,"	in	Difference	and	Repetition,	36–89.	



	

	 60	

determinations	within	a	form—that	is	to	say,	within	the	coherent	medium	of	

an	organic	representation?”134	

	

		
Figure	24	Gerhard	Richter	19.12.1999	1999	

	
Richter’s	overpainted	photographs	bring	together	two	opposing	visual	

systems,	highlighting	their	‘medium	specificity’	through	their	juxtaposition.	

The	concept	of	the	idiom	visibly	manifests	itself,	creating	a	space	of	

difference.	However,	there	are	moments	in	these	works	where	the	painted	

elements	in	the	foreground	and	the	photograph	as	ground,	through	colour	

and/or	form,	coalesce	indeterminately,	as	seen	in	19.12.1999	(1999,	figure	

24).	It	is	unclear	where	one	dimension	ends	and	the	other	begins;	that	is	to	

say,	where	the	painting	and	photography	and	the	figure	and	the	ground	begin	

and	end.	Deleuze’s	elucidation	of	the	transition	that	occurs	between	figure	

																																																								
134	Ibid.,	37.	



	

	 61	

and	ground	in	chiaroscuro,135	as	discussed	in	Chapter	1,	is	useful	in	

understanding	this	aspect	of	Richter’s	work.	He	states,	“both	determinations	

[figure	and	ground]	and	the	indeterminate	combine	in	a	single	determination	

which	‘makes’	the	difference”.136	In	these	terms,	we	can	assert	that	Richter’s	

overpainted	photographs	create	a	‘space	of	difference’	in	the	terms	that	

Deleuze	establishes.	

	
Figure	25	Gerhard	Richter	1.12.1999	1999	
	
Many	of	Richter’s	overpainted	photographs	are	based	on	commercial	10	x	15	

centimetre	photographic	prints.	The	still	wet	paint	that	remains	on	the	wide	

rubber	squeegees	that	Richter	uses	for	his	large	abstract	paintings	is	dragged	

over	the	pictorial	face	of	the	photograph.137	The	Firenze	series	differs	from	

																																																								
135	Deleuze	uses	the	paintings	of	Goya	and	Odilon	Redon	as	exemplars;	see	Deleuze,	"Difference	in	
Itself,"	37.		
136	Ibid.,	36–89.	
137	Elger,	“Epilogue,”	np.	



	

	 62	

Richter’s	other	overpainted	photographs	in	that	he	has	gained	more	control	

through	modifying	his	technique	to	use	a	palette	knife	to	apply	the	paint	to	

the	photograph	and	then	scrape	it	off	again.138	Here,	according	to	Elger,	

Richter	“achieves	a	balance	between	structures	arrived	at	by	chance	and	

deliberate	graphic	interventions	and	corrections”.139	Additionally,	Richter	has	

controlled	the	format	of	the	Firenze	series	by	trimming	the	originally	

rectangular	prints	down	to	a	unified	12	x	12	centimetre	format.140	

	
In	1.12.1999	(1999,	figure	25),	in	which	the	photographic	image	is	a	view	

from	Richter’s	former	studio	on	Bismarckstrasse	in	Cologne,	the	artist	

responds	to	the	geometry	of	the	window.141	With	a	comparatively	stringent	

colour	application	in	horizontal	and	vertical	bands,	his	colouring	takes	up	the	

autumnal	splendour	of	the	trees	in	the	window	frame.142	

	
The	eye	is	unsettled	as	its	focus	alternates	from	the	up-close	encounter	of	the	

smeared	paint’s	material	surface	to	the	illusory	space	of	the	photograph.	As	

Siri	Hustvedt	observes,	the	dynamic	between	photograph	and	paint	becomes	

one	of	seeing	and	blindness,	of	playing	one	dimension	against	another,	and	

creating	ambiguities	between	them.143	What	occurs	here	for	the	viewer	can	be	

described	by	what	visual	scientists	call	multistability	in	perception:	“when	

alternative	representations	are	presented,	the	perceptual	system	will	

sometimes	adopt	one	and	sometimes	another.	In	other	words,	the	perception	

is	multistable.”144	As	discussed	in	Chapter	1,	the	rabbit–duck	figure	(figure	

19)	is	a	classic	example	used	to	describe	this	perceptual	phenomenon,	where	

it	is	hard	to	see	the	rabbit	and	duck	simultaneously.	In	a	similar	way,	the	

																																																								
138	Ibid.	
139	Ibid.,	np.	
140	The	Firenze	series	was	created	as	a	tribute	to	the	music	of	Steve	Reich	and	Florence-based	musicians	
Contempoartensemble.	Originally	intended	as	an	edition	with	accompanying	music	CD,	the	Firenze	
series	of	prints	were	trimmed	down	to	the	dimensions	of	a	CD	cover—12	x	12cm.	
141	This	is	also	the	case	in	the	overpaintings	titled	17.12.1999,	18.12.1999,	19.12.1999,	and	20.12.1999,	all	
of	which	show	views	from	the	same	studio	window	in	Cologne.	
142	Elger,	“Epilogue,”	np.	
143	Siri	Hustvedt,	“Truth	and	Rightness”,	Gerhard	Richter:	Overpainted	Photographs,	ed.	Markus	
Heinzelmann	(Ostfildern,	Germany:	Hatje	Cantz	Verlag,	2008),	77.	
144	Fred	Attneave,	"Multistability	in	Perception."	Reading	from	Scientific	American:	Image,	Object	and	
Illusion	(San	Francisco:	W.	H.	Freeman	and	Company,	1971),	91.	



	

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painted	and	photographic	elements	of	Richter’s	overpainted	photographs	are	

difficult	to	see	simultaneously.	Attneave	explains	that:	

the	multistable	behavior	of	the	perceptual	system	displays	two	notable	
characteristics.	The	first	is	that	at	any	one	moment	only	one	aspect	of	the	
ambiguous	figure	can	be	seen;	mixtures	or	intermediate	states	occur	fleetingly	
if	at	all.	The	second	is	that	the	different	percepts	alternate	periodically.145		

	
In	the	case	of	Richter’s	overpainted	photographs,	this	ambiguity	is	less	a	

figural	ambiguity	than	the	creation	of	spatial	ambiguity.	Stability	occurs	only	

when	the	space	is	either	open	or	closed,	but	with	Richter’s	overpainted	

photographs,	the	space	is	both	opened	and	collapsed	(that	is,	the	

photographic	element	collapses	space)	and	thus	creates	an	unstable,	

ambiguous	space.	An	analogous	physical	system,	as	Attneave	offers,	is	as	a	

trapdoor	that	is	stable	only	when	it	is	either	open	or	closed.		

	
The	questioning	of	reality	is	a	prominent	concern	in	Richter’s	practice,	and	his	

overpainted	photographs,	I	believe,	address	this	concern	most	directly.	

As	Elger	describes,		

[T]hese	overpainted	photographs	concentrate	Gerhard	Richter’s	main	artistic	
concept:	a	skeptical	questioning	of	our	experiences	of	reality	and	an	attempt	to	
grasp	that	reality	with	the	help	of	different	painterly	processes	[Richter	states	
that]	“photography	has	almost	no	reality,	it	is	quasi	just	picture.	And	painting	
always	has	reality;	the	paint	is	tangible,	has	presence;	but	it	always	results	in	a	
picture…I	have	taken	small	photographs	which	I	then	smeared	with	paint.	This	
brought	aspects	of	the	problem	together.”146	
	

While	Richter	discusses	these	artworks	through	questions	of	reality,	I	focus	

on	the	spatial	aspects	of	the	coming	together	of	these	disparate	elements,	

where	photographic	space	collides	with	painterly	space	to	create	a	new	space,	

or,	as	Elger	writes,	“the	illusionist	depiction	melds	with	the	materiality	of	the	

paint	to	form	a	new	indissoluble	/(inextricable)	pictorial	unit”.147	This	new	

space,	as	previously	discussed,	is	an	unstable	one.	

	

	

																																																								
145	Ibid.,	98.	
146	Richter	in	Elger,	“Epilogue,”	np.	
147	Elger,	“Epilogue,”	np.	



	

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The	Haptic	and	Optic:	Painting	and	Photography	
	
In	A	Thousand	Plateaus,	Deleuze	and	Guattari	develop	an	aesthetic	concept	

around	the	haptic.148	They	do	this	by	distinguishing	optical	vision	(regard	

optique)	and	haptic	vision	(regard	haptique).	Whereas	optical	vision	enables	

us	to	perceive	depth,	haptic	vision	explains	our	perception	of	that	which	is	in	

proximity.	The	haptic	is	defined	by	Deleuze	and	Guattari	as	“close-range	

vision,	as	distinguished	from	long-distance	vision.	[It	is]	‘tactile,’	or	rather	

‘haptic’	space,	as	distinguished	from	optical	space”.149	Deleuze	prefers	haptic	

over	tactile	vision	as	“it	does	not	establish	an	opposition	between	two	sense	

organs	but	rather	invites	the	assumption	that	the	eye	itself	may	fulfill	this	

nonoptical	function”.150	That	is	to	suggest	that	the	eye	has	the	ability	to	

perceive	texture	without	physical	contact	with	the	object.		

	
This	distinction	is	important	to	understanding	the	different	kinds	of	space	

evident	in	Richter’s	overpainted	photographs,	where	the	haptic	can	be	used	to	

describe	the	painted	elements	in	contrast	to	the	photographic	elements	in	

these	works.	Deleuze’s	aesthetic	concepts	of	the	‘haptic’	and	optic	help	to	

elucidate	how	both	the	photographic	and	painterly	elements	of	these	

artworks	create	a	spatial	depth	via	the	palpable	tactility	of	the	smeared	paint	

over	the	homogenously	smooth	photograph.	In	considering	the	painted	

element	of	Richter’s	artwork,	we	can	understand	the	smears	of	pastose	paint	

as	close	vision–haptic	space,	whereas	the	photographs	present	a	distant	

vision–optical	space.	In	understanding	how	these	concepts	are	important	to	

our	perception	of	space,	we	can	then	further	consider	how	the	bringing	

together	of	these	concepts	of	space	in	Richter’s	compositions	generates	new	

spatial	relations.	

	
Through	this	analysis,	we	can	understand	Richter’s	overpainted	photographs	

as	‘making	difference’—a	space	of	difference	that	is	more	than	the	sum	of	its	

																																																								
148	As	discussed	in	Chapter	1,	Deleuze’s	development	of	the	concept	of	the	haptic	owes	much	to	Riegl.	
149	Gilles	Deleuze	and	Félix	Guattari,	A	Thousand	Plateaus:	Capitalism	and	Schizophrenia,	trans.	Brian	
Massumi	(Minneapolis:	University	of	Minnesota	Press,	1987),	572.	
150	Ibid.	



	

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parts—offering	possibilities	for	creating	new	spatial	relations	within	painting.	

Through	Krauss’	’differential	specificity’,	we	can	understand	the	space	of	

difference	in	Richter’s	work,	as	created	by	the	juxtaposition	of	opposing	

mediums—photography	and	painting.	Through	Hawker’s	re-reading	of	

Derrida’s	concept	of	idiom,	the	space	of	difference	is	conceptually	understood	

through	the	failure	of	translation.	Finally,	the	perception	of	the	space	of	

difference	can	be	understood	via	Deleuze’s	concept	of	the	haptic.		

	
Andreas	Eriksson	
	

The	body	is	like	a	windscreen	for	the	mind	against	the	infinite.151	
—Quentin	Meillassoux		

	

The	work	of	Swedish	artist	Andreas	Eriksson	(b.	1975)	provides	another	

example	of	contemporary	painting	concerned	with	both	matter	and	space.	

Despite	there	being	very	little	critical	writing	about	this	artist	in	English,	I	will	

explore	the	spatial	and	aesthetic	concepts	Deleuze	describes	regarding	the	

haptic	in	relation	to	Eriksson’s	artworks.	While	his	oeuvre	spans	the	mediums	

of	painting,	photography	and	sculpture,	I	am	specifically	concerned	with	his	

frieze	artworks	Promenad	(2008,	figures	28	&	29),	which	combines	both	

photography	and	painting,	and	his	painting	Trädstam	(grå)	(2010,	figure	30).	

I	argue	that	new	spatial	relations	occur	in	the	composition	of	Eriksson’s	frieze	

artworks,	where	both	the	photographic	illusion	of	space	and	painting’s	

material	space	appear	together.	In	comparison,	I	argue	that	Eriksson’s	

painting	Trädstam	(grå)	creates	new	spatial	relations	within	the	single	

painted	canvas.	Through	an	understanding	of	multiplicity,	the	unstable	space	

is	created	solely	in	the	medium	of	paint.		

	
Certain	events	in	Eriksson’s	recent	history	serve	to	contextualise	the	

recurring	themes	of	his	practice.	Afflicted	by	a	hypersensitivity	to	

electromagnetic	radiation,	Eriksson	is	not	able	to	live	in	large	cities.	At	its	
																																																								
151	Excerpted	from	“The	body	is	like	a	windscreen	for	the	mind	against	the	infinite:	whereas	in	every	
parcel	of	matter,	however	minute	it	might	be,	we	can	envisage	an	infinity	of	information,	the	body	
conquers	finitude	through	the	power	of	refusal.”	Quentin	Meillassoux,	"Subtraction	and	Contraction:	
Deleuze,	Immanence,	and	Matter	and	Memory,"	Collapse	Vol.	III:	Unknown	Deleuze	[+	Speculative	
realism]	3,	no.	1	(2007):	74.		



	

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worst,	his	condition	has	meant	he	can	hardly	be	near	electricity	at	all.152	For	

this	reason,	Eriksson	“moved	to	a	forest,	far	away	from	any	electronic	

devices”,	in	Medelplana,	Sweden,	surrounded	by	nature,	and	in	“involuntary	

isolation”	from	the	outside	world.153	As	Jennifer	Higgie	argues,	this	move	had	

a	significant	impact	on	Eriksson’s	practice,	whereby	“the	natural	world	

became,	to	a	certain	extent,	a	place	of	both	safety	and	imprisonment;	this	

echoed	in	his	work	…	express[ing]	both	a	connection	to	and	ambivalence	

toward	his	surroundings”.154	

	
	

	
Figure	26	Andreas	Eriksson	Content	is	a	Glimpse	no.	10	2008		
	

What	first	drew	me	to	explore	Eriksson’s	practice	was	his	sculptural	series	

entitled	Content	Is	a	Glimpse155	(2008,	figure	26).	This	work	is	composed	of	

bronze	casts	of	birds	that	died	when	colliding	into	the	window	of	the	artist’s	

studio,	believing	the	illusive	reflection	of	nature	on	the	glass.	Eriksson	
																																																								
152	Magnus	af	Petersens,	"In	the	Pavilion,"	in	Andreas	Eriksson	(Sweden	and	Berlin:	Moderna	Museet	and	
Sternberg	Press,	2011),	126.	
153	Andreas	Eriksson,	Daniel	Birnbaum,	and	Hans	Ulrich	Obrist,	"Andreas	Eriksson	Interviewed	by	
Daniel	Birnbaum	and	Hans	Ulrich	Obrist	at	Moderna	Museet	on	11	February,	2011,"	in	Andreas	Eriksson,	
145.	
154	Jennifer	Higgie,	"Andreas	Eriksson,"	in	Andreas	Eriksson,	165–66.	
155	The	title	of	Eriksson’s	series	is	a	quotation	by	Willem	de	Kooning:	“Content	is	a	glimpse	of	something,	
an	encounter	like	a	flash.	It’s	very	tiny—very	tiny,	content.”	De	Kooning	quoted	in	David	Sylvester,	
Interviews	with	American	Artists	(New	Haven	and	London:	Yale	University	Press,	2001),	50.		



	

	 67	

describes	that	what	the	birds	did	by	way	of	believing	in	illusion	“is	the	perfect	

circumstance	for	looking	at	art…to	be	able	to	walk	into	the	room	or	to	believe	

so	much	in	the	room	that	you	accept	the	picture	…and	you	go	into	it”.156		

	
As	Hawker	states,	“at	the	most	fundamental	level,	the	‘success’	of	

representation	lies	in	its	being	taken	for	the	object	or	idea	it	represents”.157	

This	idea,	of	course,	has	been	the	desire	of	figurative	painters	throughout	

history,	as	well	as	many	contemporary	abstract	painters	from	Frank	Stella	to	

Julian	Opie,	the	latter	stating	“what	I	would	really	like	to	do	is	make	a	painting	

and	then	walk	into	it”.158		

	
Eriksson’s	colliding	birds	recall	the	oft-cited	anecdote	that	tells	of	the	

competition	between	rival	Greek	painters	Zeuxis	and	Parrhasios.	As	the	story	

goes:	

Zeuxis	produced	a	picture	of	grapes	so	dexterously	represented	that	birds	
began	to	fly	down	to	eat	from	the	painted	vine.	Whereupon	Parrhasius	
designed	so	lifelike	a	picture	of	a	curtain	that	Zeuxis,	proud	of	the	verdict	of	the	
birds,	requested	that	the	curtain	should	now	be	drawn	back	and	the	picture	
displayed.	When	he	realized	his	mistake,	with	a	modesty	that	did	him	honour,	
he	yielded	up	the	palm,	saying	that	whereas	he	had	managed	to	deceive	only	
birds,	Parrhasius	had	deceived	an	artist.159	

	
Essentially,	this	“parable	of	realism”160	describes	how	illusionism,	as	a	mode	

of	representation,	elides	the	picture	plane.	The	illusion	of	space	afforded	by	

the	reflection	on	Eriksson’s	studio	window	thus	parallels	the	realism	of	

Zeuxis’	grapes.	Dominant	analyses	of	the	classic	Greek	myth	have	fixated	on	

the	illusion	of	reality	via	the	trick	of	the	eye,	trompe	l’oeil;	however,	what	

occurs	here	is	the	active	process	of	selectivity	in	perception.	Eriksson’s	

'window'	functions	at	another	level	to	the	mere	positioning	of	classical	

mimesis.	I	explore	this	process	of	selection	shortly	through	the	writing	of	

Meillassoux.	

	
																																																								
156	Eriksson,	Birnbaum,	and	Obrist,	“Andreas	Eriksson	Interviewed,”	152.	
157	Hawker,	“The	Idiom	in	Photography	as	Truth	in	Painting.”	552.		
158	Julian	Opie	quoted	in	the	exhibition	catalogue	Julian	Opie	(London:	British	Council,	1997),	52. 
159	Pliny	quoted	in	Bryson	Vision	and	Painting,	1.	
160	Norman	Bryson,	Looking	at	the	Overlooked:	Four	Essays	on	Still	Life	Painting	(Cambridge,	MA:	
Harvard	University	Press,	1990),	30.	



	

	 68	

As	Norman	Bryson	states,	the	topic	of	the	competition	between	Zeuxis	and	

Parrhasios	is	illusionism,	“but	it	is	illusionism	of	a	very	particular	kind”.161	

One	must	ask	the	question,	what	does	the	bird	in	the	Eriksson	example	see?	If	

what	the	bird	sees	is	merely	the	illusory	space—a	continuation	of	the	space	it	

is	in—this	would	imply	that	the	bird	does	not	see	its	own	reflection	or	

register	that	the	reflection	it	sees	is	a	reversal	of	the	space	it	is	in.	This	

implication	further	suggests	that	this	experience	of	illusion	cannot	be	a	purely	

optical	one,	for,	if	it	were,	then	the	bird	could	not	avoid	its	own	image	once	it	

came	within	a	certain	refractive	field.	Thus,	something	else	is	at	play.	The	

illusion	in	this	case	is	not	a	trick	of	the	eye,	trompe	l’oeil,	but	is	in	fact	to	do	

with	the	reality	of	our	selective	perception.	This	is	based	on	equal	

suppression	as	well	as	reception	of	visual	data.	Thus,	what	the	bird	is	seeing	

in	the	case	of	Eriksson	is	an	extension	of	the	space	it	is	already	in	but	it	is	

suppressing	the	visual	cues	present	in	the	reflected	space—that	of	its	own	

reflection	and	that	of	the	space	in	reverse.		

	
In	Meillassoux’s	critique	of	Bergson’s	theory	of	pure	perception—which	

Meillassoux	terms	a	subtractive	theory	of	perception—he	seeks	to	establish	

that	what	we	perceive	is	“but	a	tiny	part	of	the	images	which	form	our	

environment”.162	This	is	in	part	due	to	our	selective	perception.	Meillassoux	

explains	that	firstly	“the	body	selects	a	finite	number	of	options	at	the	

expense	of	an	infinity	of	images	which	pass	through	it	without	trace”,163	and	

secondly,	“the	mind	chooses	an	option	at	the	expense	of	a	finite	number	of	

equally	possible	options.”164	Thus,	via	this	highly	selective	process,	what	

remains	of	reality	is	somewhat	diminished,	or,	to	use	Meillassoux’s	term,	an	

‘impoverished’	version	of	reality.	This	is	contrary	to	how	we	are	conditioned	

to	think	of	perception.	Our	assumption	is	that	the	external	world	(physical	

reality)	is	mapped	out	perfectly	onto	our	internal	view	of	it.	However,	we	

cannot	experience	physical	reality	directly	and	so	we	live	inside	the	world	of	

																																																								
161	Ibid.,	32.	
162	Meillassoux,	"Subtraction	and	Contraction,”	73.	
163	Ibid.,	75.	
164	Ibid.	



	

	 69	

our	perceptions.	Our	perceptual	system	is	constructed	so	that	what	we	

experience	feels	like	physical	reality.165	

	

What	I	find	of	particular	interest	in	the	Content	Is	a	Glimpse	series	is	not	so	

much	the	specificity	of	the	sculptures	but	the	link	in	the	process	of	creation	to	

the	indexical	and	illusory,	similar	to	that	discussed	in	Richter’s	overpainted	

photographs.	After	the	birds	meet	their	fate,	Eriksson	casts	their	dead	bodies	

in	bronze;	as	a	form	of	imprint,	the	cast	can	be	likened	to	a	photograph.	The	

indexical	in	the	case	of	Eriksson’s	series	is	the	literal	transmigration	of	death	

through	the	casting	process	of	the	birds	that	paid	the	ultimate	price	of	

illusion,	whereas	in	Richter’s	case,	it	is	the	frozen/captured	in	the	analogue	

photographs	created	by	the	traces	of	light	on	sensitive	emulsion.	

	
Shadows	are	transient,	evasive	and	if	we	are	to	believe	in	Plato’s	cave	

metaphor,	unreal.	Above	all	they	are	evanescent.		
—Magnus	af	Petersens166	

	
	

	
Figure	27	Andreas	Eriksson	Car	Passing	by	at	20:36	h,	07.07.2007	2007	
	

																																																								
165	Christof	Koch,	“Looks	Can	Deceive:	Why	Perception	and	Reality	Don’t	Always	Match	Up”	Scientific	
American	Mind	21,	no.	3	(2010):	20–21.	
	
166	Petersens,	“In	the	Pavilion,”	125.	



	

	 70	

In	another	series,	Eriksson	painted	the	shadows	on	the	walls	at	night	from	

passing	cars	whose	headlights	illuminated	the	night	for	a	moment	and	cast	

shadows	of	the	objects	on	his	windowsill	or	the	artist	himself	standing	by	the	

window.	The	titles	of	these	paintings,	such	as	Car	Passing	by	at	20:36	h,	

07.07.2007	(2007,	figure	27),	refer	very	specifically	to	the	moment	in	time	

when	the	projection	of	light	from	the	cars	outside	enters	the	interior	space	of	

Eriksson’s	living	room.	This	fleeting	event	is	photographed	then	painted	with	

an	airbrush	pen	and	pigment	without	a	binder.	Eriksson	then	had	a	

professional	spray	painter	spray	over	the	entire	surface	with	water-based	

grey	paint.	The	result	is	that	the	pigment	of	the	underpainting	dissolves,	

allowing	the	shadow	shapes	to	bleed	through	and	appear	again	on	the	

surface.	Eriksson	describes	this	as	“a	physical	process,	not	a	painting”,167	

somewhat	like	the	developing	of	a	photograph.	The	spatiality	in	these	works	

is	both	formal	and	conceptual;	through	its	material	means,	Eriksson	achieves	

“a	spatial	depth	in	an	otherwise	relatively	flat	image	[and]	the	space	that	must	

exist	between	objects	and	their	shadows	and	the	light	outside	the	window	is	

created	on	a	more	conceptual	than	visual	plane”.168	According	to	curator	

Magnus	af	Petersens,	Eriksson’s	‘shadow	paintings’	are	“a	lucid	play	between	

depth	and	surface,	one	of	the	fundamental	problems	of	painting”.169	These	

paintings	also	engage	explicitly	with	the	concepts	of	interiority	and	

exteriority.	

	
The	Window	
	
Windows	are	a	recurring	presence	in	Eriksson’s	works	and	a	provocative	

means	for	exploring	material	and	spatial	concepts.	I	have	long	been	fascinated	

with	the	idea	of	painting	as	a	transparent	window	to	the	world	versus	

painting	as	an	opaque	object.	As	identified	in	Chapter	1,	the	window	is	

significant	to	the	spatiality	that	concerns	my	research	and	engages	with	key	

philosophical	ideas	from	Plato	to	now	about	interiority	and	exteriority,	the	

‘real’	and	the	illusory.	
																																																								
167	Eriksson,	Birnbaum,	and	Obrist,	“Andreas	Eriksson	Interviewed,”	151.	
168	Petersens,	“In	the	Pavilion,”	125.	
169	Ibid.,	124.	



	

	 71	

	
Much	of	Eriksson’s	work	refers	to	the	window	in	both	a	metaphorical	sense	

and	as	a	physical	truth.	The	canvas	as	a	window	is	a	painterly	convention	

going	back	half	a	millennium	when	artists	began	striving	for	illusion	in	their	

painting,	an	ideal	that	was	denounced	by	modernism,	which	instead	stressed	

materiality	and	flatness.	This	modernist	re-evaluation	of	the	canvas	is	present	

in	Eriksson’s	painting,	which	applies	the	flat	and	material	qualities,	but	also	

distinctly	plays	on	the	idea	of	the	canvas	as	window.170	To	use	Buchloh’s	

terms,	Eriksson’s	work	achieves	a	“dialectical	synthesis	of	two	seemingly	

incompatible	epistemes	of	painting”.171	The	spatial	concerns	within	Eriksson’s	

works	engage	with	concepts	of	interiority	and	exteriority	through	reference	

to	the	window,	both	the	canvas	as	a	window	and	as	a	space	before	or	between	

space.	

	
Figure	28	Andreas	Eriksson	Promenad	2008	
	
	

	
Illustration	29	Andreas	Eriksson	Promenad	2008		

	
In	figures	28	and	29,	both	titled	Promenad,172	Eriksson	explores	spatial	

concepts	on	both	a	material	and	conceptual	level.	As	the	title	suggests,	the	

images	in	these	artworks	are	identified	on	the	artist’s	daily	walk.	Deleuze’s	

concepts	of	repetition	and	the	haptic	are	visibly	manifest	in	Promenad,	and	

are	also	central	to	my	analysis	of	these	two	artworks.	
																																																								
170	Ibid.,	123–24.	
171	Buchloh	quoted	in	Stefan	Gronert,	“Demonstrations	of	Sight:	The	Transformation	of	Image	and	
Object	in	Gerhard	Richter’s	Windows,”	in	Fresh	Widow,	191.	
172	Promenad	2008	is	two	artworks.	These	are	the	only	ones	(to	date)	with	the	title	Promenad	(Walk).	
Eriksson	often	works	with	these	types	of	frieze-works	where	he	combines	photography	with	painting.	
In	his	exhibition	Landskap	(till	Kjarval)	at	Galleri	Riis	Stockholm	in	2013,	he	made	a	very	large	frieze,	
covering	a	whole	room.	This	work	contained	photography,	painting,	and	plaster	and	textile	works.		



	

	 72	

	
Promenad	(2008,	figure	29)	is	composed	of	five	images.	Read	from	left	to	

right,	the	parts	alternate	from	photographic	image	to	painted	surface	in	a	

seamless	composition.	I	use	the	word	seamless	in	that,	while	the	surfaces	

differ	from	the	smooth	surface	of	the	photograph	to	the	tactile	painted	

surface,	the	recurring	motifs	and	subdued	palette	are	continuous.	As	

Petersens	writes,	“Both	painting	and	photography	are	based	on	the	visual	

sensations	experienced	by	the	artist	on	observing	his	immediate	

surroundings.”173	On	his	daily	walks,	Eriksson	has	photographed	details	and	

fragments	of	the	nature	that	surrounds	his	studio,	including	tangled	branches,	

layers	of	snow,	and	moss-covered	tree	trunks.	The	presence	of	the	painted	

surface	enhances	the	abstract	and	painterly	qualities	of	the	snow	and	the	

trees	within	the	photographs.	As	each	image	relates	to	the	next,	a	dialogue	

between	the	photograph	and	the	painting	occurs	on	a	material	level	as	well	as	

in	the	shift	of	spatial	relationships.	Surface	tension	is	created	as	the	eye	

traverses	from	left	to	right	and	is	pushed	and	pulled	in	and	out,	focusing	on	

the	distant	and	close	elements	in	turn.	What	interests	me	most	about	this	

work	is	the	creation	of	spatial	relations.	Arrhenius	describes	this	by	saying	

“[o]n	the	one	hand,	we	have	the	painterly,	material	qualities	of	the	painting	

and	its	capacity	to	create	an	entirely	new	image	space.	On	the	other	hand,	

there	is	the	accentuation	of	the	photograph’s	aura	of	bearing	witness	and	

being	an	index,	of	having	been	there.”174	

	
Deleuze’s	conception	of	the	haptic	and	repetition	assists	in	exploring	not	only	

the	material	space	that	Eriksson	makes	in	these	works	but	also	a	conceptual	

space.	By	conceptual	space,	I	am	referring	to	that	which	occurs	in	the	

mind/imagination:	“The	role	of	the	imagination,	or	the	mind	which	

contemplates	in	its	multiple	and	fragmented	states,	is	to	draw	something	new	

from	repetition,	to	draw	difference	from	it.”175	

	

																																																								
173	Petersens,	“In	the	Pavilion,”	124.	
174	Sara	Arrhenius,	"Migration	through	Materials,"	in	Andreas	Eriksson:	Roundabouts	(London:	Koenig	
Books,	2014),	9–15.	
175	Deleuze,	Difference	and	Repetition,	97.	



	

	 73	

	
	
	
	
	
	
	
Difference	and	Repetition	

	
Repetition	changes	nothing	in	the	object	repeated,	but	does	change	something	

in	the	mind	which	contemplates	it.		
—Gilles	Deleuze176		

	
Deleuze’s	discussion	of	repetition	and	its	haunted	relationship	to	thought	

processes	offers	an	effective	way	of	interpreting	Promenad.	Originally,	I	tried	

to	describe	what	was	happening	between	the	elements	in	Eriksson’s	

Promenad	in	terms	of	space—space	that	exists	conceptually	between	the	

elements	that	are	in	themselves	representations	of	space.	That	is,	the	

painting’s	optically	perceived	space	and	photography’s	indexical	capture	of	

space.	However,	a	more	eloquent	description	might	be	Deleuze’s	defining	

statement	of	difference:	“difference	lies	between	two	repetitions”.177	He	goes	

on	to	question	“is	it	not	also	to	say,	conversely,	that	repetition	lies	between	

two	differences,	that	it	allows	us	to	pass	from	one	order	of	difference	to	

another?”178		

	
In	Promenad,	we	witness	the	relationship	between	the	idea	of	the	painted	

equivalent	and	the	photographic	image.	The	asymmetrical	relationship	

between	one	thing	and	another	problematises	our	relationship	to	repetition.	

Eriksson’s	repetition	is	in	the	image	as	each	image	relates	to	the	next.	The	

asymmetry	is	profoundly	related	to	how	we	experience	reality.	For	example,	

in	figure	29,	photographs	show	slightly	different	perspectives	of	the	same	

branch	of	a	tree.	The	painting	horizontally	flips	the	branch,	creating	

arrhythmia	in	the	pattern	of	repetition:	what	occurs	within	this	one	part	of	

																																																								
176	Ibid.,	90.	
177	Ibid.,	97.	
178	Ibid.	



	

	 74	

the	composition	does	not	occur	in	the	next.	This	is	less	about	a	material	

capture	of	time	as	in	a	photograph,	and	more	to	do	with	the	spectre	of	shifts	

in	how	we	experience	different	points	of	perspective.	

	
Repetition,	in	this	sense,	functions	as	a	value.	Eriksson	is	not	simply	repeating	

subject	matter	or	repeating	the	material;	rather,	what	he	repeats	is	an	

abstract	value,	an	unseen	element.	In	Deleuze’s	text	Difference	and	Repetition,	

repetition	is	likened	to	the	unconscious	of	representation,	meaning	that	there	

is	another	text	being	evoked.	Or,	as	I	argue,	this	abstract	value	that	is	being	

evoked	is	an	unstable	space	of	possibility.		

	
To	briefly	revisit	Deleuze’s	concept	of	the	haptic	and	optic,	as	discussed	in	my	

analysis	of	Richter’s	overpainted	photographs,	it	can	be	said	that	the	painted	

elements	of	Promenad	present	a	close	vision–haptic	space,	whereas	the	

photographs	present	the	viewer	with	a	distant	vision–optical	space.	What	is	

interesting	about	this	combination	is	the	relationship	that	develops	between	

these	elements.	While	the	“tactile	quality	of	painting	is	generally	absent	in	

photographs,	where	all	information	is	visual,	Andreas	Eriksson’s	photos	in	

many	ways	reflect	the	aspects	found	in	his	paintings”.179	The	abstract	

qualities	in	the	photographs	are	represented	in	the	painting.	The	resultant	

spatial	reading	of	the	totality	of	these	elements	cannot	be	located	in	painting	

or	photography,	illusion	or	abstraction,	not	one	or	the	other,	but	both.	

Thinking	occurs	in	the	interstice;	thus,	the	work	is	completed	by	the	viewer’s	

perception.	

																																																								
179	Petersens,	“In	the	Pavilion,”	124.	



	

	 75	

	
Figure	30	Andreas	Eriksson	Trädstam	(grå)	2010	
	
Smooth	and	Striated	Space		
	
The	comparison	of	Promenad	and	Trädstam	(grå)	(2010,	figure	30)	reveals	an	

interesting	shift	in	Eriksson’s	landscapes	that	moves	away	from	the	overt	use	

of	photography	and	painterly	elements	that	are	composed	beside	one	another	

in	Promenad	to	the	multilayered,	striated	space	of	the	single	painted	canvas.	

What	Eriksson	explored	in	Promenad	through	divided	means,	and	the	

conclusions	he	made	from	this	work,	are	now	seen	combined	on	a	single	

canvas	of	monumental	scale.	Still,	as	with	Promenad,	the	eye	moves	in	and	out	

of	the	space;	however,	the	single	canvas	affords	for	additional	

interpenetration	of	the	foreground	and	background.	The	grey	horizontal	

streaks	of	paint	suggest	movement	that	is	in	contrast	with	the	stasis	of	the	

vertical	trunk.	

	
The	woven	space	Eriksson	has	created	can	be	illuminated	by	Deleuze’s	

concept	of	striated	space,	which	constitutes	both	vertical	and	horizontal	

elements	that	intertwine	perpendicularly.	These	two	elements	have	different	

functions:	one	is	fixed,	the	other	mobile,	passing	above	and	beneath	the	



	

	 76	

fixed.180	In	Trädstam	(grå),	what	we	can	recognise	as	a	tree	trunk	acts	as	the	

fixed	and	vertical	element,	while	the	horizontal	striations	are	mobile.		

	
Dispensing	with	Deleuze’s	term	‘striated	space’	and	preferencing	the	term	

‘streaking	of	space’,	Austrian	theorist	Gerald	Raunig	draws	from	Deleuze’s	

ideas	of	‘territorialisation’	and	‘reterritorialisation’181	in	order	to	argue	for	a	

reassesment	of	the	importance	of	cultural	and	knowledge	production.	He	

draws	on	Deleuze's	concept	of	reterritorialisation	to	chart	alternative	

horizons	for	resistance	in	the	art	world. Within	Raunig’s	text	Factories	of	

Knowledge:	Industries	of	Creativity	(2013),	he	asks	“how	to	connect	smoothing	

and	streaking,	how	to	mutually	interweave	the	fabrication	of	smooth	and	

streaked	spaces.”182	Synonymous	with	Deleuze’s	‘striated	space’,	Raunig’s	

‘streaking	of	space’	describes	a	space	not	in	opposition	to	‘smooth	space’;	

rather,	both	Deleuze	and	Raunig	confirm	a	multiplicity	of	space.	Raunig	

describes	“reterritorialisation	and	deterritorialisation	not	as	opposite,	but	

rather	as	complementary,	even	simultaneous”.183		

	
Multiplicity	
	
Eriksson’s	Trädstam	(grå)	(2010,	figure	30)	contains	the	residual	elements	of	

a	tree	trunk	that	operates	as	an	encounter	between	heterogeneous	elements	

that	separate	and	weave	to	create	a	space	that	can	be	understood	as	a	kind	of	

multiplicity.	It	is	fragmented,	multiple	and	heterogeneous—the	present	

condition	of	abstract	painting,	it	is	connective,	rather	than	essentialist	or	

reductive.184	As	we	know,	Greenberg	sees	abstraction	partly	defined	by	the	

suppression	of	illusionistic	space	or	of	any	particular	form	that	might	allude	

to	such	space.	Modernist	essentialism	was	defined	by	what	painting	should	

avoid:	illusionism,	transparency,	narrative,	and	figuration.	In	John	Rajchman’s	

re-reading	of	Deleuze,	he	argues	for	a	sense	of	abstraction	that	is	opposed	to	

																																																								
180	Deleuze	and	Guattari,	A	Thousand	Plateaus,	552.	
181	See	Deleuze	and	Guattari,	A	Thousand	Plateaus.	
182	Gerald	Raunig,	Factories	of	Knowledge,	Industries	of	Creativity,	trans.	Aileen	Derieg	(Los	Angeles:	
Semiotext(e)	/	Intervention	Series,	2013),	16.	
183	Ibid.,	15.	
184	David	Ryan,	Talking	Painting:	Dialogues	with	Twelve	Contemporary	Abstract	Painters	(London:	
Routledge,	2002)	2.		



	

	 77	

this	“via	negative”.185	Instead,	Rajchman’s	point	is	to	stress	the	differences	

between	an	abstraction	that	is	bound	up	with	saying	‘not…’	and	one	that	

enunciates	‘and…’.	The	relation	between	mediums,	he	argues,	“is	one	not	of	

negation	but	of	connection.”186	Thus,	the	‘stripping	down’,	‘clearing-away’	

process	of	formalist	modernism	is	replaced	with	an	“abstraction	that	consists	

in	an	impure	mixture	and	mixing	up.	Prior	to	Forms,	a	reassemblage	that	

moves	towards	an	outside	rather	than	a	purification	that	turns	up	to	essential	

Ideas	or	in	toward	the	constitutive	‘forms’	of	a	medium”.187	As	we	witness	in	

Trädstam	(grå),	Eriksson	creates	a	space	that	is	heterogeneous	and	

incongruous.	This	is	a	space	of	multiplicity	that	moves	away	from	modernist	

essentialism	via	negativa.	In	A	Thousand	Plateaus,	Deleuze	and	Guattari	

declare	that	multiplicity,	more	than	a	matter	of	logic,	is	something	one	must	

make	or	do,	and	learn	by	making	or	doing—le	multiple,	il	faut	le	faire.	We	

must	always	make	connections,	since	they	are	not	already	given.188	

	
Through	my	analysis	of	these	selected	artworks	by	Eriksson,	I	have	come	

closer	to	understanding	the	questionings	of	space	that	have	arisen	in	my	own	

studio	research.	Through	Deleuze’s	concepts	of	the	haptic/optic	and	

smooth/striated,	I	argue	that	one	can	locate	unstable	space	in	the	spatial	

relations	in	Eriksson’s	frieze	artworks,	where	both	the	photographic	illusion	

of	space	and	painting’s	material	space	appear	alongside	one	another.	Lastly,	I	

argue	that	the	unstable	space	need	not	only	occur	in	the	opposing	mediums	of	

photography	and	painting	but	that	through	an	understanding	of	multiplicity,	

the	unstable	space	can	be	created	solely	in	the	medium	of	paint,	as	is	the	case	

in	Eriksson’s	Trädstam	(grå).	This	is	a	point	of	departure	for	my	own	creative	

research,	which	is	concerned	with	the	reconciliation	of	illusion	and	

materiality	solely	through	the	medium	of	paint	and	presented	for	the	most	

part	on	a	single	canvas.	The	representation	of	this	unstable	space	is	the	

driving	force	behind	my	research	practice.		

	

																																																								
185	John	Rajchman,	Constructions	(Cambridge,	MA;	London:	MIT	Press,	1998).	
186	Ibid.,	74.	
187	Ibid.	
188	John	Rajchman,	The	Deleuze	Connections	(Cambridge,	MA:	MIT	Press,	2000),	6.		



	

	 78	

The	focus	of	my	critique	throughout	this	chapter	has	been	to	establish	and	

analyse	what	I	term	‘unstable	space’.	It	is	this	space	that	I	have	explored	in	my	

own	creative	practice	and	will	discuss	in	detail	through	examples	of	my	

creative	research	output	in	the	following	chapter.	



	

	

	
	



	

	

Chapter	3	
	



	

	

Chapter	3	 The	Unstable	Space	in	
Contemporary	Painting	

	
Space—it	is	always	in	the	process	of	being	made.	It	is	never	finished;	
never	closed.	Perhaps	we	could	imagine	space	as	a	simultaneity	of	

stories-so-far.	
—Doreen	Massey189	

	

																																																								
189	Doreen	Massey,	For	Space	(Thousand	Oaks,	CA:	Sage,	2005),	9.	



	

	 80	

This	chapter	will	examine	the	creative	outcomes	of	my	research,	focusing	on	

the	representation	of	‘unstable	space’	within	my	painting	practice.	It	will	

provide	a	chronological	overview	of	the	studio	project,	placing	emphasis	on	

how	this	practice-led	enquiry	developed	from	each	proceeding	body	of	work.		

	
How	We	See	What	We	See		
The	first	series	of	paintings	that	engaged	with	concepts	related	to	the	window	

were	created	in	2011	and	exhibited	in	the	Project	Gallery,	Queensland	College	

of	Art	(QCA),	Griffith	University,	Brisbane.	These	paintings	engaged	with	the	

everyday	distant	experience	of	the	landscape	through	the	windows	of	buses,	

cars	and	trains	and	extended	to	include	the	‘windows’	of	cameras	and	on	

mobile	phones.	Specifically,	the	work	was	concerned	with	the	way	that	we	are	

accustomed	to	view	the	landscape	at	this	distance.	Obscured	by	the	very	

frame	that	presents	it,	the	landscape	as	subject	becomes	secondary	to	ideas	of	

visual	perception,	that	is—how	we	see	what	we	see.	Rather	than	using	the	

landscape	as	subject,	I	exploited	the	conditions	of	my	place	in	relation	to	the	

landscape	in	order	to	explore,	through	material	means,	the	phenomenon	of	

this	type	of	visual	perception	in	the	context	of	the	everyday.	Contemplating	

how	we	look	through	windows	as	frames	or	veils.	I	perceived	this	process	of	

looking	as	the	creation	of	a	formless	blur,	an	obscurity	of	colour	and	

abstraction.	I	used	a	line	in	my	paintings	to	demarcate	and	emphasise	the	

boundaries	between	the	infinite	exterior	landscape	and	the	viewer’s	interior	

position.		

	



	

	 81	

	
Figure	31	Michelle	Mansford	Untitled	7:55	2011	

	
Derrida’s	delineation	of	the	Kantian	sublime	in	The	Truth	in	Painting	offers	

valuable	insight	to	the	polemic	of	the	frame	(parergon),	while	Friedberg’s	The	

Virtual	Window:	From	Alberti	to	Microsoft	has	been	an	important	text	with	

which	to	understand	how	we	see	through	both	the	past	and	present	frames	

and	windows,	both	as	metaphor,	and	architectural	component.	In	order	to	

discuss	spatial	experience,	I	draw	on	Raunig’s	concept	of	streaking	of	space,	

Deleuze’s	concept	of	smooth	and	striated	space,	as	well	as	Deleuze’s	re-

reading	of	Henri	Bergson’s	Matter	and	Memory	to	help	elucidate	the	notions	

of	interiority	and	exteriority.	

	



	

	 82	

	
Figure	32	Michelle	Mansford	Untitled	2011	

	
	
In	an	early	experience	of	travelling	in	the	back	seat	of	my	parents’	car,	I	

became	aware	of	my	reflection	in	the	glass.	This	reflection	of	myself	was	

outside	myself	as	“an	image	in	the	world”.190	Tracing	with	my	eyes	the	

contour	of	my	physical	self	and	simultaneously	feeling	my	physical	self	

seated,	I	realised	that	I	occupied	more	space	than	my	junior	mind	had	thought	

up	until	that	point.	This	experience	had	a	profound	effect	on	me:	an	

awareness	of	occupying	both	interior	and	exterior	space.	Bergson	explains	

that	the	surface	of	the	body’s	skin,	“the	common	limit	of	the	external	and	the	

internal,	is	the	only	portion	of	space	which	is	both	perceived	and	felt”.191	As	

such,	interiority	and	exteriority	are	conflated	on	this	surface.	To	put	this	

experience	another	way,	the	presence	of	oneself	appears	as	both	reversed	

																																																								
190	Henri	Bergson	Matter	and	Memory	(New	York:	Zone	Books,	1991).		
191	Ibid.,	57.	



	

	 83	

image	and	visage	as	well	as	the	presence	of	oneself	as	active	visual	scrutineer.	

This	is	a	momentary	encounter—seeing	your	own	seeing—within	the	active	

pluralistic	and	dynamic	field	of	the	real	as	well	as	the	return	of	one’s	own	gaze	

through	the	intermediary	of	the	screen/window.	

	
It	was	not	until	many	years	later,	while	commuting	to	my	studio	with	my	head	

tiredly	resting	on	the	train	window,	that	I	recalled	this	experience	and	began	

to	question	how	I	could	explore	this	conscious	viewing	of	active	sight	in	my	

painting.	I	began	by	photographing	the	landscape	(exterior	space)	through	

the	windows	of	buses,	cars,	and	trains—particularly	on	my	hour-long-train	

journey	to	and	from	my	studio.	Having	photographically	captured	fragments	

of	my	journeys,	I	began	to	reflect	on	these	images.	The	experience	of	a	distant	

engagement	of	the	landscape	obscured	by	the	very	frame	that	presented	it	

was	intriguing	on	one	level,	but	it	was	the	undefined	landscapes	that	

appeared192	to	hurtle	by	and	the	streaks	of	colour	passing	my	lens,	rendering	

the	landscape	formless,	obscured	by	reflections,	shadows	and	scratches	on	

the	window	pane.	The	landscape	was	held	at	a	distance	behind	this	veil	and	I	

became	acutely	aware	of	the	different	spaces	that	played	a	role	in	this	

experience.		

	
My	perception	of	scratches	on	the	surface	of	the	window	highlighted	the	

presence	of	the	frame	and	emphasised	distance.	Like	the	status	of	the	bacteria	

that	float	across	the	fluid	surface	of	the	eye	or	like	dust	in	the	air,	these	

phenomena	are	a	meta-reminder	of	distance.	This	distance	must	function	as	

something	like	a	fiction	inside	the	experience	of	our	seeing:	a	radical	

compression	of	the	pluralistic	and	active	spaces	in	operation.	As	such,	I	

developed	a	series	of	paintings	that	explored	the	screen	or	window	as	a	

metaphor	for	the	body	to	examine	the	experiences	of	interiority	and	

exteriority,	surface,	figure,	ground	and	distance.	

	

																																																								
192	I	emphasise	‘appeared’	here	as	we	know	this	is	not	the	case;	the	landscape	is	in	stasis,	the	train	is	in	
motion	and	myself	as	the	viewer	is	static.			



	

	 84	

In	questioning	this	experience	and	rejecting	any	romantic	notions	of	

displacement,193	I	was	interested	in	the	tension	between	the	photographic	

apprehension	of	this	experience,	which	is	defined	by	the	complexities	of	

motion—rest,	stasis	and	flux—and	my	perceptual	apprehension	of	this	

phenomenon	through	the	screen	or	window.	In	a	sense,	the	window	becomes	

a	metaphor	for	the	turbulent	space	between	my	interiority	and	exteriority.	I	

recognise	this	space	to	be	where	my	actual	experience	of	this	phenomenon	

was	occurring.	

	
The	photo	image/screen	is	always	at	one	remove.	The	camera	or	screen	

captures	the	fictive	disarrangement	of	complex	and	interacting	spaces	

through	the	brutal	imposition	of	time	as	an	arrested	fusion	of	dynamical	

elements,	compressed	and	flattened	into	a	new	stasis	that	is	itself	unseen	or	

experienced	except	for	as	a	fleeting	coupling	and	temporary	unity	between	

dynamic	spaces	in	flux.	

	
Locating	the	experience	within	striations	that	appear	as	visual	data	on	the	

screen	of	viewing	engages	with	Deleuze’s	ideas	of	reterritorialisation.	Gerald	

Raunig’s	interpretation	of	reterritorialisation	in	Factories	of	Knowledge,	

Industries	of	Creativity	states	that	“reterritorialisation	emerges	in	streaking	

the	territory”.194	He	suggests	that	reterritorialisation	exists	as	“a	stream	of	

streaking	spaces,	sometimes	subterranean,	sometimes	sweeping	everything	

along	on	the	surfaces	of	material	and	media	spaces…”195	This	idea	of	

‘streaking	of	space’	to	assemble,	condense	and	intensify,	not	as	familiar	

territory,	stable	and	originary	but	rather	as	a	reterritorialisation	occupying	

space	and	its	striations,	is	most	relevant	to	my	work	as,	in	this	sense,	the	

seemingly	fugitive	marks	that	I	have	painted	can	be	understood	as	

reterritorialisation.	Importantly,	Raunig	differentiates	reterritorialisation	

from	‘stable’	space,	confirming	that	the	streaking	of	space	in	these	paintings	is	

an	unstable	space.		

	
																																																								
193	Valid	as	they	might	be	in	another	context,	they	are	not	relevant	to	this	particular	research.	
194	Raunig,	Factories	of	Knowledge,	14.	
195	Ibid.,	70.	



	

	 85	

While	travelling	on	a	train	or	in	a	car,	we	are	reconciling	that	space	but	also	

reconciling	the	idea	of	something	that	seems	to	move	itself.	That	is	to	say,	the	

space	outside	seems	to	move.	Paradoxically,	one’s	space	of	viewing	seems	to	

be	stable	or	in	stasis.	This	movement	seems	to	move	itself,	deterritorialising	

or	reterritorializing,	not	as	opposites	but	as	simultaneous	complementaries.	

The	effect	is	the	rush/flux	and	stable/stasis	somehow	equate	to	each	other.		

	
My	methodology	reflects	the	everyday	experience	of	accessing	the	world	

through	screens,	using	the	camera	on	my	mobile	phone	as	well	as	an	

inexpensive	low-resolution	digital	camera	to	gather	my	source	image	

photographs.	In	my	work,	I	have	embraced	the	imperfections	of	my	amateur	

photography,	using	blurring	and	cropping	as	strategies	for	further	

abstraction.	Specifically,	I	have	repeated	the	blur	of	movement	witnessed	as	a	

visual	experience	on	the	train	and	the	harsh	cropping	performed	by	the	frame	

of	the	train	window.		

	
Reading	the	series	that	is	hung	horizontally	from	left	to	right,	the	viewer	is	

able	to	experience	the	rhythm	and	movement	of	the	train,	the	streaking	of	the	

landscape	reconstructed	into	abstract	form.	This	‘abstraction’	is	itself	

particular,	carrying	the	residue	of	multiple	elements	and	presences,	some	

seen	and	some	not.	The	use	of	the	frame	in	these	paintings	adds	to	the	

disruption	of	the	picturesque.	As	a	flat	formal	device,	it	confronts	the	picture	

with	abstraction.	The	frame	thus	serves	to	abstract	while	simultaneously	

existing	as	a	flat	abstract	form	in	and	of	itself.	The	frames	within	my	paintings	

have	been	created	by	masking	an	area	from	the	remaining	surface	that	is	then	

painted.	This	leaves	the	masked	frame	as	a	smooth	matte	non-colour,	

contrasting	with	the	colour	and	gloss	finish	of	the	illusory	painted	space.	The	

bands	of	non-colour	function	here	as	a	spatial	division,	where	the	edge	of	the	

illusory	space	meets	the	hard	abstract	edge	and	evokes	the	presence	of	

another	space.	The	band	of	non-colour	is	a	static	element	within	the	painting’s	

composition.	

	



	

	 86	

The	paintings	create	an	ambiguous	space	of	movement	and	transition—this	is	

not	a	non-place	as	a	negative,	but	in	Deleuzian	terms,	a	space	of	becoming.	

The	paintings	comprise	both	close	vision	and	far	distance	to	suggest	to	the	

viewer	space	that	exists	between	these	two	points.	It	is	a	turbulent	space,	an	

unstable	space.		

	
The	frame	creates	a	spatial	awareness	of	interior	and	exterior.	In	his	essay	

“Parergon”	in	The	Truth	of	Painting,	Derrida	explains	how	when	we	are	

looking	at	a	painting,	the	frame	is	taken	to	be	part	of	the	wall,	but	when	we	

look	at	the	wall,	the	frame	is	taken	to	be	part	of	the	painting.	The	frame	

“stands	out	against	two	grounds,	but	with	respect	to	each	of	these	two	

grounds,	it	merges	into	the	other”.196	The	frame	demarcates	that	which	is	

interior	and	exterior	to	the	work;	yet,	in	our	understanding	and	response	to	

the	work,	this	boundary	becomes	invisible:	

There	is	always	a	form	on	a	ground,	but	the	parergon	is	a	form	which	has	as	its	
traditional	determination	not	that	it	stands	out	but	that	it	disappears,	buries	
itself,	effaces	itself,	melts	away	at	the	moment	it	deploys	its	greatest	energy.	
The	frame	is	in	no	case	a	background	in	the	way	that	the	milieu	or	the	work	
can	be,	but	neither	is	its	thickness	as	margin	a	figure.	Or	at	least	it	is	a	figure	
which	comes	away	of	its	own	accord.197	

	
Although	Derrida	is	referring	to	the	external	frame	of	paintings,	it	is	equally	

relevant	to	address	the	internal	frames	within	my	paintings	in	a	similar	way.	

He	goes	on	to	state	that	the	frame	“in	its	purity	…	ought	to	remain	colourless,	

deprived	of	all	empirical	sensory	materiality”.198	The	deprivation	of	the	

empirical	sensory	materiality	and	the	non-colour	of	the	internal	frames	

within	my	paintings	heighten	the	visual	experience	of	what	we	see;	that	is,	

that	which	remains	visible.	Importantly,	this	idea	carries	with	it	the	status	of	

the	looked	at	but	not	seen,	a	presence	that	oscillates	between	the	visible	and	

invisible.	

	
The	concept	of	“seeing	through”	is	directly	relevant	to	what	I	am	exploring	in	

my	work.	For	Derrida,	we	choose	to	see	or	not	see	(the	wall).	This	occurs	

																																																								
196	Derrida,	The	Truth	in	Painting,	61.	
197	Ibid.	
198	Ibid.,	64.	



	

	 87	

before	the	frame	and	after	the	edge	of	the	eye,	or	the	field	of	vision	of	the	

body,	has	already	determined	what	is	included	or	excluded.	We	turn	our	head	

and	impose	limits	on	the	reception	of	both	what	is	there	and	what	is	part	of	

the	experience	of	our	seeing,	as	well	as	presenting	for	interrogation	those	

phenomena	occurring	within	this	new	rarefied	field	extracted	from	the	

dynamic	of	what	is	everywhere	at	once.	The	frame,	thus	being	neither	figure	

nor	ground,	becomes	a	space.		

	

In	Friedberg’s	discussion	of	the	window,	she	states	that	the	window	is	not	

only	an	architecture	of	space,	but	also	of	time.	In	this	respect,	each	painting	in	

the	series	How	We	See	What	We	See	captures	a	fleeting	moment,	suspending	

and	compressing	time	and	space.	The	contrast	between	the	flux	and	stasis	is	

attempted	by	the	representation	of	the	frame.	What	is	seen	and	not	seen	

becomes	a	metaphor	of	the	dynamic	processes	of	selective	observation.	The	

spatial	ambiguity	existent	in	this	experience	was	a	portent	to	ideas	that	drove	

the	next	series	of	paintings,	For	We	Are	Where	We	Are	Not.	

	
For	We	Are	Where	We	Are	Not	
Upon	reflection	of	the	How	We	See	What	We	See	series,	it	became	apparent	

that	the	striated	space	is	where	the	actual	experience	of	this	phenomenon	is	

occurring,	in	the	turbulence	between	my	interiority	and	my	exteriority.	The	

paintings	that	followed	were	primarily	concerned	with	representing,	through	

striated	marks,	an	ambiguous	and	turbulent	space	grounded	only	by	a	

horizon	line	that	appears	continuous	throughout	each	of	the	paintings.	While	

the	paintings	were	intended	as	autonomous	works,	through	test	installations,	

it	became	apparent	how	they	aggregated	together	to	form	a	series.	This	series	

of	paintings,	comprising	seven	small-scale	panels,	was	exhibited	in	a	group	

exhibition	at	the	Woolloongabba	Art	Gallery,	curated	around	the	varying	

ideas	of	time,	space	and	place.		



	

	 88	

	
Figure	33	Installation	image	of	5	x	paintings	
	
Two	of	the	paintings	resisted	this	aggregation	and	were	thus	exhibited	apart	

from	the	series	of	five.	Similar	to	the	previous	body	of	paintings,	all	of	these	

paintings	used	various	photos	taken	of	the	landscape	through	the	window	of	a	

moving	train.	However,	these	works	focused	on	the	landscape	without	formal	

demarcations	of	interior	and	exterior	present	in	the	paintings	themselves.	

Areas	of	the	source	photographs	were	masked	out	to	form	the	composition	of	

the	painting.	A	slightly	different	approach	was	used	in	the	two	resisting	

panels	where	Tremolo	(figure	34	on	the	left)	was	composed	from	the	masking	

of	a	photograph	yet	Up	Close	with	Distance	(figure	34	on	the	right)	was	

composed	from	the	masking	of	Tremolo	and	is	thus	an	up-close	view,	a	detail	

of	this	painting.	This	method	of	using	the	painting	as	a	source	is	one	I	develop	

in	later	works.	The	up-close	encounter	of	the	illusion	of	space,	not	only	in	my	

own	paintings	but	historical	paintings	becomes	a	source	for	further	

exploration.	

	



	

	 89	

	
Figure	34	(Left)	Michelle	Mansford	Tremolo	2013,	(Right)	Michelle	Mansford	Up	Close	with	Distance	
2013	
	
This	set	of	paintings	aimed	at	representing	the	unstable	space	of	the	

landscape	in	flux.	A	turning	point	that	arose	through	them	was	that	the	frame	

was	no	longer	a	useful	reference	for	my	paintings;	rather,	demarcations	

become	suggestions	of	another	space.	These	paintings	made	no	literal	

reference	to	the	window;	rather,	the	focus	was	the	moving	landscape.	This	is	

not	the	movement	of	the	passenger	of	a	train	in	motion	but	the	movement	

occurring	in	the	landscape.	In	this	conscious	decision	to	remove	any	literal	

reference	to	the	window,	what	is	achieved	is	a	significant	shift	in	our	

perception	of	movement.		

	
The	Ambiguous	Space	of	Reflections		
The	unstable	space	in	my	work	is	further	emphasised	by	adopting	the	

mechanisms	of	reflection.	An	ambiguous	space,	afforded	by	reflection,	

features	in	the	Reflections	on	Brown	Lake	series	and	the	How	We	See	What	We	

See	series	of	paintings	and	can	be	understood	by	referring	to	the	ambiguity	

that	I	explored	through	Attneave’s	writings	in	Chapter	1.	



	

	 90	

	
Figure	35	Installation	image	Reflections	on	Brown	Lake	2015	
	
This	series	of	paintings	aimed	to	push	my	practice	closer	toward	abstraction	

in	order	to	engage	with	pictorial	illusion	through	abstraction.	Additionally,	I	

explored	the	visual	space	within	the	reflective	copper	surface	juxtaposed	with	

the	materiality	of	the	applied	paint.	The	selection	of	copper	as	a	support	for	

this	series	of	oil	paintings	makes	reference	to	the	history	of	painting	as	well	as	

to	the	relationship	between	painting	and	photography.		

	

Painting	on	copper	is	a	practice	that	dates	back	to	the	early	sixteenth	century	

when	a	small	number	of	artists	in	Europe	began	making	oil	paintings	on	

relatively	thin	sheets	of	copper.	Later	in	the	century,	painters	in	the	Spanish	

New	World	followed	suit.199	Copper’s	much	smoother,	harder	and	non-

absorbent	surface,	which	allowed	for	more	precision	compared	to	the	surface	

of	wood	or	canvas,	led	more	and	more	artists	to	use	copper	as	a	support.200	

The	availability	of	copper	plates	is	likely	related	to	their	widespread	use	for	

																																																								
199	Michael	K.	Komanecky,	Copper	as	Canvas:	Two	Centuries	of	Masterpiece	Paintings	on	Copper	1575–	
1775	(New	York	and	Oxford:	Oxford	University	Press,	1999),	3.	
200	Edgar	Peters	Bowron,	“A	Brief	History	of	European	Oil	Paintings	on	Copper,	1560–1775,”	in	Copper	
as	Canvas,	16–17.	



	

	 91	

etching	and	engraving.	Typically,	the	copper	sheets	used	for	etching	and	

painting	were	small	in	scale.	The	practice	of	painting	on	copper	“flourished	in	

the	climate	of	appreciation	for	the	precious	and	remarkable,	the	rare	and	the	

unusual,	the	refined	and	exquisite	that	developed	in	cultivated	humanist	

circles	in	late	sixteenth-century	Europe”.201	Artists	such	as	Rembrandt	(Dutch,	

1606–69)	used	copper	to	paint	on	as	well	as	for	etching	(figure	36);	other	

practitioners	include	Jan	Brueghel	the	Elder	(Flemish,	1568–1625)	and	Paul	

Bril	(Flemish,	1554–1626),	to	name	but	a	few.202	Interestingly,	there	are	

instances	of	artists	reusing	copper	etchings	by	painting	over	them:	“An	artist	

in	the	circle	of	Pieter	Gysels’	reusing	a	Rembrandt	etching	plate	to	paint	a	

landscape	is	one	such	example.”203	

																																																								
201	Ibid.,	11.	
202	In	1998–99,	an	exhibition	developed	by	Phoenix	Art	Museum	curator	Michael	K.	Komanecky	as	a	
joint	venture	with	Kansas	City's	Nelson-Atkins	Museum	and	the	Royal	Cabinet	of	Paintings	Mauritshuis	
in	The	Hague	featured	ninety-one	copper	paintings	by	sixty-five	European	and	Latin	American	artists	
active	between	1575	and	1775.	
203	Isobel	Horovitz,	“The	Materials	and	Techniques	of	European	Paintings	on	Copper	Supports,”	in	
Copper	as	Canvas,	64–65.	
	



	

	 92	

	
Figure	36	Rembrandt	Harmensz.	van	Rijn	Rembrandt	Laughing,	c.	1628		
	

Aside	from	painting	and	etching,	copper	was	used	in	early	photographic	

processes.	Proto-photographer	Joseph	Nicéphore	Niépce	used	copper	plates	

in	his	process	of	héliographie	to	create	pioneering	photographs	such	as	View	

from	the	Window	at	Le	Gras	(1826	figure	14),	as	discussed	in	Chapter	1.	

	
Beyond	historical	reference,	copper	was	selected	as	a	support	because	of	its	

reflective	qualities.	The	dynamic	convergence	of	the	copper	surface	and	the	

oil	paint	provided	a	means	for	exploring	spatial	ambiguity	within	the	confines	

of	the	two-dimensional	space.	The	surface	texture	within	my	paintings	ranges	

considerably	from	the	hard	and	glossy	to	the	soft	and	matte.	The	reflective	

variability	of	the	copper	added	to	the	complexity	and	ambiguity	of	the	

paintings	space,	impacting	on	the	viewer’s	perception	of	depth.	Undefined	

light	and	shadow	were	presented	as	the	copper	surface	reflected	any	

movement	within	the	space	of	viewing.	This	movement	contrasted	with	the	



	

	 93	

stasis	of	the	applied	oil	paint	which	like	a	window,	performed	the	role	of	

framing,	permitting	and	obscuring	the	view	of	the	reflected	image	in	motion.			

	

Up	Close	with	Distance	

The	series	of	paintings	Up	Close	with	Distance	were	inspired	by	up-close	

engagements	with	my	previous	works	as	well	as	historic	examples,	such	as	

Rembrandt’s	Rembrandt	Harmensz	Van	Rijn	(studio	of)	(1660s)	and	Jean-

François	Millet’s	Susanna	and	the	Elders	(c.1846–48)	viewed	at	the	National	

Gallery	of	Victoria.	

	

I	painted	the	up-close	visual	encounter	of	existing	paintings,	focusing	on	the	

ambiguous	space	that	exists	between	the	recognisable	representation	of	

illusion	and	the	materiality	of	the	paint.	This	space	can	be	thought	of	in	

relation	to	Deleuze’s	term	“the	abstract	line”,204	at	which	point	the	illusion	

disseminates	to	reveal	the	materiality	of	the	paint	as	mere	abstract	blobs	or	

smears	of	paint.	This	space	exists	between	illusion	and	material	reality,	and	is	

the	very	space	I	have	aimed	to	represent	in	the	Up	Close	with	Distance	series	

of	paintings:	the	quintessential	unstable	space.		

	
I	consider	aspects	of	my	creative	practice	to	demonstrate	how	painting	can	

reconcile	the	dead-end	of	illusion	and	modernism’s	essentialist	reduction	to	

flatness	to	create	new	spatial	relations	that	speak	to	a	contemporary	

experience	of	space.	

	

																																																								
204	Gilles	Deleuze,	Difference	and	Repetition,	trans.	Paul	Patton	(London	and	New	York:	Continuum,	
2004),	37.	



	

	

	



	

	

Conclusion	



	

	

Conclusion	
	



	

	 96	

	
Illustration	37	Andy	Warhol	Suicide	1964,	silkscreen	on	paper,	unique	print,	101.6	x	76.2	cm	
	

What	sustains	painters’	enduring	interest	in	exploring	space	in	two	

dimensions,	I	believe,	is	painting’s	unique	potential	to	create	both	visual	and	

spatial	tension	through	the	materiality	of	its	production.	Both	visual	and	

haptic	sensations	confirm	painting’s	material	specificity	and	pronounce	its	

significance	in	the	face	of	the	homogenous	and	disembodied	nature	of	new	

media	screens.	Because	art’s	role	is	to	address	the	dominant	ways	of	thinking	

within	our	time,	painting	should	be	evaluated	in	relation	to	technological	

developments	that	change	the	way	we	perceive	the	space	around	us.		

	

Contemporary	experiences	of	space	through	new	media	screens	offer	painters	

a	unique	challenge	that	requires	them	to	think	about	the	representation	of	

space	in	new	ways.	The	philosophies	of	Gilles	Deleuze	and	Jacques	Derrida	

both	offer	a	means	for	contemporary	painters	to	re-think	space	and	its	

representation	in	painting.	Deleuze’s	writings	in	particular	advance	the	image	

of	abstraction;	he	presents	a	novel	view	of	what	abstraction	means	in	art	that	



	

	 97	

is	more	chaotic	or	formless	and	no	longer	defined	in	opposition	to	figure	or	

image.205			

	

This	exegesis	began	with	an	historical	overview	that	established	the	window	

as	an	important	spatial	and	metaphorical	concern	within	painting.	I	drew	a	

connection	between	the	window	and	Plato’s	cave	as	a	frame	of	

representation.	I	revisited	Plato’s	theories	to	specifically	draw	attention	to	the	

dualist	structure	of	his	belief	system	that	posits	tensions	between	interior	and	

exterior,	reality	and	illusion,	nature	and	culture.	I	established	the	term	

‘unstable	space’	by	examining	Deleuze’s	and	Derrida’s	deconstruction	of	

Plato’s	writing;	both	theories	offer	a	coherent	and	creative	means	through	

which	to	discuss	the	exploration	of	this	space	within	my	painting	practice.		

	

Given	Deleuze’s	own	writing	about	the	window,	some	have	questioned	what	

was	the	fatal	lure	of	penetrating	that	space	in	1995,	when	French	radio	

announced	“S’est	définestré”.206	Deleuze	had	committed	suicide	by	throwing	

himself	out	of	a	window	of	his	Paris	apartment	after	his	lengthy	suffering	with	

severe	respiratory	problems.	Some	interpreted	his	suicide	as	his	final	

philosophical	gesture,	an	anecdote	of	thought	occasioned	by	his	thought.207	

Perhaps	in	this	final	act,	Deleuze	did	embody	the	very	concepts	he	created.	

	

Also	in	Chapter	1,	I	discussed	how	the	contemporary	‘windows’	of	media	

screens	have	significantly	shifted	the	metaphor	of	the	singular	window	to	the	

multiplicity	of	windows	within	windows.	I	highlighted	that	this	multiplicity	

reflects	the	way	that	we	currently	experience	space	and	the	effect	this	has	on	

the	thinking	of	space	in	contemporary	painting	practice.	Given	the	

contemporary	experience	of	space,	I	argue	that	its	representation	can	be	

explored	through	painting’s	material	dimension	and	illusory	space,	not	in	

binary	opposition	to	each	other	but	as	simultaneous	complementaries.		

	

																																																								
205	Rajchman,	Constructions,	55.	
206	Friedberg,	The	Virtual	Window,	241.	
207	See	Jean-Pierre	Faye	and	André	Pierre	Colombat	in	Friedberg,	The	Virtual	Window,	347n1.	



	

	 98	

Having	traced	the	development	of	the	window	as	an	important	

representational	device	in	painting,	I	argued	that	it	can	be	used	as	a	

mechanism	to	explore	what	I	term	the	unstable	space	in	painting,	which	

operates	between	spatial	and	representational	theory.	Through	my	analysis	

of	specific	works	of	art	by	Gerhard	Richter	and	Andreas	Eriksson	in	Chapter	2,	

I	asserted	that	while	the	unstable	space	becomes	present	through	the	

relationships	that	play	out	between	the	mediums	of	photography	and	

painting	within	these	artists’	practices,	the	unstable	space	can	be	created	

solely	in	the	medium	of	paint,	as	exemplified	through	Eriksson’s	painting	

Trädstam	(grå)	and	through	my	own	painting	practice.	

	

In	Chapter	3,	I	related	the	findings	of	the	research	to	my	creative	output	so	as	

to	evaluate	my	original	contribution	to	this	field.	My	work	makes	advances	to	

contemplations	on	the	multiplicity	of	spatial	concepts	represented	within	the	

confines	of	a	two-dimensional	surface.	The	representation	of	unstable	space	

within	my	painting	practice	results	from	my	reimagining	of	the	window	as	an	

unstable	space,	my	exploring	of	the	perception	and	representation	of	

ambiguous	space,	and	my	engaging	with	pictorial	illusion	through	abstraction.		

	

I	believe	the	unstable	space	in	painting	can	provide	new	and	meaningful	

relations	embodied	within	its	material	and	visual	dimensions	and	operational	

beyond	its	mere	representation.	I	understand	the	unstable	space	to	be	a	space	

of	connection	and	one	that	not	only	embraces	difference	but	also	celebrates	

difference	in	itself.		

	
	
	



	

	



	

	 99	

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