Frozen Movements, Liquid Light: Anselm Reyle on Painting, Pop and the Power of Materials

Anselm Reyle has long been one of the most enigmatic voices in contemporary art. Working across painting and sculpture, his practice mines the aesthetics of modernism, abstraction and pop, but twists them into something harder to place. From discarded foils to chrome-drenched gestures, Reyle finds new life in materials others might overlook, bringing the language of the street, the shopfront and subculture into the white cube. His work balances control and chaos, nostalgia and future-facing vision. In this conversation, he reflects on the roots of his visual language, the evolving role of chance in his studio, and the thinking behind his new Chrome Brushstroke series. With Reyle, nothing is quite what it seems. The gesture becomes a surface, the surface becomes a mirror, and the mirror reflects the viewer back into the work.

Your work plays with the language of modernism, taking its forms and materials and pushing them in new directions. Do you see this as using the language and labels of art history to make your work, or as a disruption to these very labels? 

I see it more as a continuation of modernism. I believe that the entire development of modernism was only made possible through the disruption of what already existed. 

You’ve often worked with found materials like foil and neon, giving them a second life. This seems to counter the single-use, mass-produced doctrine which often defines our treatment of materials, is there a sense of urgency in rescuing these aesthetics? 

I work with colours and materials that fascinate me. I studied painting and was drawn to abstraction. But painting really became interesting for me the moment I began integrating colours and materials I had found into my works. In Berlin, these were primarily materials from the urban environment. The neon colours came from subculture, and the foils, for example, are used as decorative elements in shop windows and also in clubs. 

Anselm Reyle, Untitled, 2023, Mixed media, neon, cable, acrylic and glass, 174 x 152 x 30 cm

You play with, in your work, the industrial and the handmade and the unique and the mass-produced. Do you ever find this visual language limiting and is there liberty in working within these very limitations? 

I see my roots partly in abstract painting. It still fascinates me today because, for me, it can never be fully decoded and there is always a sense of mystery that remains. At the same time, I feel rooted in subculture and pop culture, which are closely connected to and responsive to our consumer society. As for the other part of your question; a certain limitation can also mean freedom. A painting, for example, is usually defined and thus limited by its surface or support. But within that surface, anything is possible. A world of its own can emerge, which in turn represents the greatest possible freedom. Toward the end of my studies, however, I began to install found objects in space alongside my paintings. That’s ultimately what led me to sculpture.

In visual culture, it seems abstraction is everywhere. Where do you place yourself in this landscape of abstraction and do you understand your own work as part of this landscape or existing somewhere else? 

I’ve always been interested in abstraction in art, but less so in the ivory tower-like, hermetic aspects of abstract painting. Many people feel they don’t understand abstract works as they don’t feel addressed by them and as a result, this field remains accessible to only a few. I was interested in opening up what I saw as something encrusted, academic, and self-satisfied. More and more, I had the feeling that this could be achieved by incorporating materials from our everyday lives: materials, colours, and surfaces that fascinate me and others alike.

Your transformation of industrial materials into something new blurs the lines between painting and sculpture. Are the distinctions between the two becoming less important or do you favour one working process over the other? 

My roots are clearly in painting. I studied painting and have been teaching a painting class at the university for over 20 years now. However, it’s not important to me which discipline my students work in and some of them have never even held a paintbrush in their hands. I only came to sculpture at the end of my studies, through incorporating found materials and objects. By now, sculpture makes up a significant part of my practice. Painting, however, has always accompanied me, and I continue to develop it further. 

 Anselm Reyle, Halo, 2024, glazed ceramic, 78 x 38 x 38 cm

There is a strong sense of rhythm in your compositions. Beyond art, are there any key influences in how you construct a piece? 

You mentioned rhythm. If my work has something musical to it, I’m very happy about that. Music has always been a part of my life and certainly a strong influence – both pop culture and subculture alike. 

From seeing the outcomes of your working process, it seems there is a balance of control and chance in producing a work. Do you view your working process in this way and have there been moments where you let either ‘control’ or ‘chance’ take over? 

In recent years, I’ve made a conscious effort to let go of control and allow for more freedom. I’ve always tried to incorporate chance and mistakes into my work, but not to the extent I have in the past few years. I feel that the materials and visual language my team and I have developed over the last 20 years can now be used in a more liberated way. 

Image credit: Verena Bruening

Your new Chrome Brushstroke series captures movement but freezes it in a metallic form and there being a contrast in these new works: the brushstroke is a symbol of human touch but there is also a clear mechanical quality here. What first led you to these ideas and are you playing with questions of authenticity and technology in their relation to art today?

As for the gestural aspect in this new body of work, in a way, it’s a return to my roots. It was in this manner that I painted at the beginning of my studies. Even back then, I was interested in questioning the gesture itself. In Abstract Expressionism and Art Informel, the gesture was celebrated as something genius. However, this glorification was already being questioned and ironized by Roy Lichtenstein in Pop Art, and that critical stance has since developed a long and rich history. He was among the first to stage and freeze the gesture in a comic-like manner. The technical process is relatively complex. Each individual impasto brushstroke is chrome plated by a specialized company and later mounted onto the painting. This, of course, stands in stark contrast to the spontaneous gesture. Both elements are united within the work.

Your new chrome brushstrokes reflect light much like your foil works, but they also merge digital process with the hand-painted gesture. Is this a continuation of your painting practice, or are we looking at a new way of rethinking the brushstroke altogether?

The reflection of light, of course, has a similar effect, creating a mirrored surface and introduces a sense of dynamism through the viewer’s movement. This is clearly a continuation of my painting practice. The series actually emerged from the idea of immersing myself in an impressionistic painting and zooming in on details. The painting process then took on a life of its own, and the brushstrokes began to throw wild parties.

In Reyle’s hands, the brushstroke slips between past and present, surface and illusion. What begins as a gesture ends as a mirror with the viewer, perhaps unknowingly, becoming part of the painting and the very parties that these brush-strokes throw.