Visions of Wonder with Sabrina Brouwers

Upon entering Sabrina Brouwers's studio, I am immediately struck by how calm I feel. Instantly and without resistance, I am drawn to the angular formations of her works, their sharp, dependable lines and interlinking circles, and the complementary spaces they occupy. Despite a lifelong aversion to geometry, I find myself oddly soothed by the dimensions of her pieces. 

There's just something so... satisfying about them, I remark to Brouwers. That makes sense, she replies with a glint in her eye. Brouwers's abstract exploration of physical surroundings results in compositions made up of elementary architectural forms. These forms allow her to explore the positive psychological effects of visual simplicity. When I ask Brouwers about the roots of this interest, she introduces me to the Gestalt Theory. 

Loosely translated, the German term ‘Gestalt’ (pronounced “ge-shtalt”) means arrangement or formation. It refers to how the brain perceives and organises separate elements into a unified whole. This organisation, Brouwers explains, offers a scientific rationale for how altering spacing, arrangement, and timing can significantly affect how we receive and integrate information. In viewing art, our minds naturally crave patterns and unity within the composition. Structured arrangements, therefore, foster a pacifying sense of order and stability. 

Despite the changing perspectives her works may evoke, where the eye starts, ends, and navigates from different angles with every glance, there's a reassuring sense of directionality. Inspired by Sol Lewitt's rule-based approach, Brouwers constructs her meticulously measured grids from one almost hidden treasure-like cross. All her lines converge at this authoritative point, providing a constant reference amidst the dynamic viewing experience. 

While these pieces may not fit traditional figurative definitions, Brouwers emphasises the intentional presence of the human form. Amidst the harsh edges, sharp lines, and slender cracks, something soft and human emerges, amplified by subtle smudge marks left by the artist, reminders of human touch, and her deliberate choice of earthy, flesh-toned palettes.

In her latest works, Brouwers incorporates high-visibility vinyl. Sometimes, only fragments of the vinyl are visible, whilst in other works, they form protective, cocoon-like frames around central elements, offering a unique interplay of exposure and concealment within the artwork. The vinyl material reacts dynamically to light and angle, meaning its appearance changes as you move around the pieces. This effect is most noticeable in the evening or night when the artwork picks up and reflects the city lights.

What enchants me here is the realisation that her works continue to evolve even after Brouwers has left the studio. Devoid of human presence, the laws of physics prevail, causing them to shimmer, warp, and reflect the light that gets in. Undeterred by the apparent rigidity of these grid-like structures, the artworks never settle into complete stillness. 

Returning to the focal points of her works, Brouwers emphasises the significance of positioning these points at the heart of what she terms "windows." This choice invites contemplation on the symbolic role of eyes as windows to the soul across various cultures. Her “windows” offer glimpses into the intellectual depths of Visions Of, prompting reflections on the narratives embedded within the walls of everyday structures and the lingering presence they hold even after being abandoned or demolished.

Brouwers wishes for parts of previous layers to be visible, not only to reveal the layers of the creative process but to suggest something beyond what first meets the eye; “I cut and tear and scour bits of the painting away from the surface.” This process acknowledges the entropy of its own construction and nods towards the vulnerability of all human-made objects. We are reminded that even the most stable structures eventually succumb to decay.  

I pivot, once again, in our conversation back to the almost medicinal nature of these windowed works, particularly the act of smashing the concrete required to build Trespass I and II. It's not surprising that some of Brouwers's recent works delve into themes of violence and kineticism, breaking down structures as a departure from the perceived safety of geometry and objectivity. 

There is a certain fulfilment in building something up only to dismantle it, accepting its eventual demise—a practice echoing non-attachment principles found in various healing traditions. While Brouwers impresses there is no specific spiritual message in her work, she encourages viewers to draw out their own narratives and interpretations. These windows remain open to be explored; these boundaries beckon you to trespass and wonder. What comes in and what comes out is entirely up to the viewer.