If you could offer a stage to one radical artist yourself, who would it be and why?

Albrecht Dürer, of course. A Renaissance master who wielded his artistry to subtly challenge the power structures of his time, with a precision that would make any contemporary “disruptor” look clumsy. Dürer had a way of sneaking in critiques so fine, his patrons thought they were merely admiring their own grandeur, not realizing he was portraying their absurdity. Let’s not forget that Dürer understood “going viral” long before social media; his works spread across Europe without a single #ad in sight. Imagine what he could do today with nothing but a pencil and an ego.

What is something you hate dealing with, and why?

Ah, definitely last-minute interview requests. Especially those that were sent weeks ago, only to be delayed, then retimed just as the festival has wrapped up, reappearing as “timeless” filler content on some digital graveyard of archives. Maybe it’s simply a symptom of our constant overstimulation – a sort of hyperactive urgency where requests are fired off and quickly forgotten, as if artists, like organisers, weren’t juggling their own deadlines. So please, let’s make sure this interview reaches the audience while the momentum is still alive.

The HIMMELSBACH Catalogue of Ideas spans playful campaigns to critical reflections on social art. What would be lost or gained through executing one of these ideas? Is dialogue or action more important?

The catalogue – 15 years of unexecuted social monuments and surreal provocations – is an invitation to a different kind of activism. While I respect the dedication of traditional activists, they often work from a standpoint of opposition, with rigid enemy images that end up making caricatures of both sides. By contrast, my work seeks to embrace ambivalence: that uncomfortable space where conflicting stories meet, where meaning isn’t fixed but continuously negotiated.

What we gain by executing these ideas is precisely this – an opportunity for dialogue to exist alongside action, for curiosity to lead to discomfort, laughter, and, ultimately, change. Take, for instance, the “Memorial Ground for Ungranted Art Applications” – conceptual garden of ‘lost’ art that publicly celebrates rejected artists by embedding their proposals in public spaces. It’s both a mirror and a movement, reclaiming attention by subverting expectations.

What we might lose is certainty and easy conclusions; these projects avoid neat answers. They invite exploration rather than resolution. Dialogue and action, in my view, are inseparable. I dream of something like a “Reserve for Ambivalence” (Gedoogzone of Reservaat voor Ambivalentie) – dedicated space in places like the Stedelijk Museum where, free from disclaimers, challenging work can openly clash and coexist, provoking real reflection in audiences.

How important are humour and irony to engaging with the concept of wokeness?

Humour and irony serve as a compass through the labyrinth of media, allowing us to engage with the absurd without alienating. It’s a way to “poke” rather than provoke, or to navigate the dense machinery of bureaucratic wokeness that sometimes seems more intent on administering awareness than achieving it. Reality, in my view, is made of tectonic plates, and humour arises in the friction between them. Humour isn’t the goal; it’s the byproduct of questioning reality itself.

Take the “Woke Award” – by approaching wokeness playfully, we break down ideological walls and invite real discussion. My hope is to dismantle rigid, performative activism and revive genuine dialogue, where laughter – and maybe a little irony – unlocks doors long closed by agendas.