Harlequin Reverie

Sara Berman‘s genius is a conversation between painting and textiles. Exploring the uncomfortable nuances of the female bodily experience, her works invite the audience to observe the point where art and identity collide. Here clothing transforms beyond mere fabric, blurring the boundaries between inside and outside.

hube: How did you first discover and become interested in the Harlequin character, and what drew you to incorporate it into your artistic practice?

Sara Berman: The Harlequin character came about quite soon after I graduated from Slade. Throughout my whole time at Slade, I was quite careful to avoid the use of clothing in my work because, as a fashion designer, I was aware of its importance. I didn’t want to take that lightly. With that sort of responsibility, I just decided to avoid it altogether.

This wasn’t really an issue in the development of my work until I had my first solo show in Hong Kong; I suddenly realised that I wasn’t comfortable with the nudity of my women, I did not understand why they had to be nude. I became uncertain of what my intention was. Later in New York, I saw Picasso’s Harlequin. This interested me. I thought to myself: “What an interesting costume!”

I did some research into the topic of Harlequins and found out that, when played by a man, the Harlequin is actually an Arlecchino — a joker, a lovable rogue, a buffoon with a lot of agency. When played by a woman though, — which would happen rarely — the Harlequin stands as Arlecchino’s mistress, a sort of an adjunct to him. More rarely, a woman unconnected to Arleccino but a woman nonetheless. And this character is always a Trickster W*ore with the voice of a Harpy and no agency whatsoever.

This really interested me. I slowly began playing with this as a costume — my women, literally clothed as the Harlequin. As time’s gone on, this shifted into more of an abstraction and became a part of the foundation of the painting.

h: At Armory 2022, you showcased the video “Trickster W*ore,” created in collaboration with Anthony Byrne, among other video works in your portfolio. Could you elaborate on your experience as a performer embodying the Harlequin character directly on camera?

SB: The first time I attempted to do it consciously I worked with a brilliant choreographer Theo Koppel. We worked for six months to develop a language and movement around Arlecchino. But when the time to film came, I ended up totally jettisoning the routine we had developed and instead operating with the intention of those movements. It ended up being a very free form, a session where Anthony and I decided to connect very deeply and work together almost through the exclusion of everything else. It ended up being a night of free dance expression and movement, which I think in the end felt right for where the character was in my mind at that time.

I have become aware of how important my politics are in my work. Obviously, they have always been there. It’s impossible to ignore that but it feels particularly strong and critically important at the moment. I’m thinking really carefully about how I use myself, paint myself, and acknowledge that I am in fact working as a performance artist within painting. I think I’m aware of myself as a sort of abstract objectification. And that becomes performative.

h: Has your relationship with your body changed over the course of your artistic practice?

SB: No, it has not. I’m not trying to twist my body into being something other, I’m not trying to force it to embody something else. I’m trying to capture where it is, where it feels, what it feels. It’s not what it looks like that concerns me.

h: Could you provide additional insights into your process of crafting your work, beginning with the mapping and the essence of the composition?

SB: I’m quite instinctive when it comes to composition. The performative aspect of the work affects the composition both felt and viewed. I think that I’m looking for a compositional hook, and that will be a guiding influence, but my starting point is always the Arlecchino, the trope of the Trickster W*ore. So I’ll start with that trope which is the basis of all my work and then I’ll start dealing with my compositional concerns, which are linked very much to my emotional concerns.

h: Could you share a pivotal moment or experience that significantly influenced the direction of your artistic journey?

SB: I’d like to think there were but, in reality, it goes backwards and forwards. I think I’m about to push through to something that I believe might be on the other side and might be important, but then I’ll get there and I’ll be nothing or I’ll fall over myself. Pivots are dangerous because they come around again. And it’s a constant pivot, a pivot back, a pivot forward, a pivot round.

I’d like to think it is intentional — because intentionality is so important to me — but it’s something I’m continually fighting for and getting frustrated by. Maybe getting part of the way there and then realising that it didn’t work: actually, I was entirely wrong and I pushed all the way through for nothing and then I have to go back again. It’s a rhythm, certainly not always a comfortable one.

h: Could you share insights into the most intriguing semiotic meanings in clothing that you’ve come across and delved into within your artistic endeavours?

SB: All clothing tells a story of some sort, so it’s not as though one will be more interesting than another. The semiotics of a dress can be so subtle, but they always exist. So whether I’m choosing to paint a jacket that has a strong shoulder or I’m going to look at soft draping, I always focus on storytelling rather than one story being more important than the other, and the subtleties of storytelling. The twist in the tale, so to speak.

h: With how close humans are to technology and how alluring the virtual world can be, how do you feel wearable art and clothing can be a way to reconnect with our bodies?  

SB: This is a really interesting area. I make work with textiles as well; that’s why clothing is so wonderful because it is where we connect our bodies, it’s our second skin. It can be a really deep expression of who we are and how we want to connect with the world because it’s what people see. It’s the messages we send out. That’s a really interesting future for wearable art.

h: Are there particular artists or movements that have inspired or influenced your artistic practice? Who would you like to collaborate with?

SB:  Eva Hesse is dead, so that would be a problem. Her work with regard to space and the body is really interesting.

I’m always really fascinated by some sculptors and painters who are quite traditionalist in their approaches, but innovative in their ideas. There are too many on the list but a few are Alice Neel, Claude Cahun, Chantal Joffe, Nicola Tyson, and Giorgio Morandi.

h: Which three words would you choose to describe the future?

SB: Uncertain. Tender, brittle, fragile. I think the world is bruised. Everything feels fraught at the moment. There’s a lack of consciousness. We’ve found ourselves at a particular point in time where we’re very, very frightened to find ourselves on the wrong side, and it is not as though we know what the right side is. I want my world to be smaller. I feel very watchful and I’m trying not to be judgmental because I also feel a lot of sympathy and kindness for what appears to be huge fear, huge damage, and huge uncertainty.

That’s not really three words, is it?