Spira9Art

Blandine Martin

Blandine Martin is a French-born, London-based visual artist working primarily in textiles and sculpture. Rooted in memory, loss, and emotional inheritance, her material-led practice transforms discarded domestic fabrics into saturated, densely stitched forms. Through intuitive processes such as wrapping, layering, and “furious stitching,” she creates sculptural landscapes that blur the boundaries between body and terrain. Her work often explores personal and collective histories, mapping invisible emotional geographies through textile-based installations and soft sculptures. Recent exhibitions include Time-to-Time (Safehouse 1, 2025), OutLANDish (Asylum Chapel, 2025), the RWA Open (Royal West of England Academy, 2025), and EIDOS — The Shape of Those with No Shape at Indra Gallery, curated by @spira9art.

Blandine Martin

Blandine is currently Artist in Residence at Hammersmith Academy, where she curates the HA Mini Art Gallery and mentor's young artists. She studied Architecture in London and developed her artistic voice through experimental art programs including The Other MA (TOMA), the MASS Correspondence Course, and a two-year Advanced Textile course at City Lit. In August 2026, she will undertake a three-week research residency at Stephen Swindells’ studio in France. She is a member of ArtCan and the Unprimed Collective.

Your work often begins with intuitive gestures such as wrapping, layering, and furious stitching. How do you see this as a form of thinking or remembering? What does your process reveal to you emotionally or psychologically as you work?

My process often starts with a sense of urgency, a necessity to work. Wrapping, layering, tearing, and what I call furious stitching emerge as automatic gestures. It’s an intuitive way to explore the many layers of emotion. It’s not always conscious. The repetition grounds me. It becomes both chaotic and meditative—a rhythm that allows me to sit with thoughts. I suppose it’s how I process what’s too hard to put into words—grief, memory, shame, longing. The result is a mass of energy which is no longer invisible.

Your work often begins with intuitive gestures such as wrapping, layering, and furious stitching. How do you see this as a form of thinking or remembering? What does your process reveal to you emotionally or psychologically as you work?

Your soft sculptures blur boundaries between body and landscape, memory and material. What draws you to this liminal, shifting space? Are you consciously mapping emotional topographies, and if so, whose?

These sculptures are the outcomes of a very personal journey that began after losing my mother in 2018. She passed away before I could reach her in hospital—I had no idea she was unwell. The pain, mixed with intense guilt, was overwhelming. I think I’ve been trying to find her ever since through my work to apologise, to speak to her again—by returning, both in my mind and physically, to the places where we were once happy such as the Ardeche and Provence, I thought it would bring her closer to me to our mother daughter story . I know I’m guilty of being overly nostalgic, of casting too much light on a past that wasn’t always so bright. But in my memory, those places offered a sense of belonging and care I needed to hold on to while processing her brutal departure. I’ve learned a lot about myself through grief. I think I became a lot more nicer. Eventually, I came to accept that the past is the past and no matter how far I travel back, I can’t change the outcome. I had to forgive both of us. That understanding began to shape my work. It folded into the materials, becoming more abstracted. I started to think of us as simply human but also as one with the land, not separate from it. I’m drawn to that in-between space where the body becomes landscape, where memory becomes matter. It’s there I feel closest to understanding something of my truth. I’m mapping something emotional and invisible—not just mine, but perhaps something we all unfortunately share sooner or later, we are all going to face loss, absence, and longing.When it comes to the materials and objects, fabric allows me to express that fluid, unresolved emotional space. I try to hold those contradictions in form that always evolving never static.

Discarded domestic textiles are a key material in your work. How do you select these objects? Do you see them as emotional relics, and what stories or energies do you feel they carry into your sculptures?

I’m drawn to objects that already has history. An old duvets , tea towels, pillowcases paired old chairs , household objects , photos often sourced from charity shops or passed down. These textiles and objects are like emotional vessels, an archive: they’ve absorbed years of domestic life, intimate gestures, unspoken histories. I choose them for their energy, their weight their brokenness, When I cut into them or stitch through them, I’m collaborating with memory, inviting their past lives to resurface, distort, or transform within the new forms I build and bring them back to life again.

There’s an intensity and almost ritualistic force in the way you construct your works. Would you describe your practice as a kind of ritual? What role does repetition, labour, or gesture play in shaping the atmosphere of your work?

Yes, it sometimes feels like a ritual. There’s something necessary in the repetition of stitching, tearing, all the work in general but also a private act. Over time, the gestures accumulate and it gives a saturated form. It’s not performative though it could be which I like to explore eventually. Many things I want to explore that’s my problem!

Art

Interview

Architecture gave me a deep awareness of space, form, materials, concepts and the idea of “home” as both a structure and a feeling. Textiles, often seen as domestic or feminine materials, allows me to work with these concepts that is tactile and so versatile .

Your installations seem to speak to what is often hidden: emotional inheritance, grief, and silence. What are you trying to make visible through your forms? Do you see your sculptures as protective, vulnerable, or something else entirely?

Yes , I think I’m trying to make visible what is often invisible because it’s not easy to speak about so in a way I control or try to make sense to all the unprocessed feelings , the burden , intergenerational trauma and the weighty silence that happens when all the unfinished conversations remains with you . Maybe it’s like exorcising all that into a form that can be seen and touched . So yes I guess my sculptures become sites for those feelings to exist in physical space that’s manageable and but for me they need to be visually interesting. I see them as both protective and vulnerable, loud and quiet and it’s about making the ugly stuff beautiful in their brokenness.

Your work has been shown in spaces like Safehouse 1 and Asylum Chapel, sites with strong architectural and emotional presence. How do you approach responding to a place? What kind of conversation happens between your work and the site?

Yes, they’re such great places to show work. Plus, it suits my work. So for example, for OutLANDish, curated by Rebecca Dean, when I made the installation Between Here and Now, I had to think carefully about the kind of journey I wanted to create for myself, the audience, the curator, and the building itself. With spaces like the Asylum Chapel or Safehouse 1, you can’t ignore their presence as they’re not white cubes, they’re not just backdrops; they become part of the work. I treat the site as a collaboration, and like any collaboration, you’ve got to work with it, not against it. As part of the work , I like to zoom in by focusing on a section of floor, a crack in the wall, study the textures, the existing materials and then slowly zoom out, from the light filtering through the windows, the full atmosphere, how people move through the space, and, very importantly, the history, its role within the immediate environment. Then, at some point, you have to just start making. The process and ideas will evolve as I make, so trusting that I’ve absorbed enough without letting it overwhelm the process is vital. I hold onto a few key impressions and go with it. It’s about listening to the space, the curator, and the materials, and letting that conversation shape what unfolds. I trust myself, the process, and I’m not afraid to change what doesn’t work — particularly on site. Which happened with the Asylum Chapel. When you make work outside, then bring it into the space it’s going to be shown in, it doesn’t always work out as you thought it would. In the chapel, the installation changed places twice and I wasn’t happy, it didn’t match my expectations. So I had to split the work, use the space better. You have to be prepared to change things last minute. But I think it’s part of the challenge.

You’ve moved through architecture, experimental art programs, and intensive textile training. How do these intersect in your current practice? Are there tensions or unexpected harmonies between structure and softness in your work?

They all feed into each other. Architecture gave me a deep awareness of space, form, materials, concepts and the idea of “home” as both a structure and a feeling. Textiles, often seen as domestic or feminine materials, allows me to work with these concepts that is tactile and so versatile . With The alternative art programmes—TOMA and MASS these helped me question my personal assumptions and where I fit in what we called the art world , connect with other artists which is so important as I believe you don’t grow alone though I do work alone .

As an artist in Residence at Hammersmith Academy, you mentor young artists while curating a mini gallery space. How do you see your role in nurturing others, and how do you balance this with sustaining your own creative energy?

It’s really about conversation—ongoing dialogue. The HA Mini Art Gallery became a playful way to explore big ideas in a small format. The miniature scale draws people in, activates their imagination, and invites for a kind of imagination. I think artists are just overgrown children—or rebellious teenagers—curious, slightly defiant, and hungry to connect. Being around students takes me out of my own head. It’s a different kind of creative energy, more immediate and less internal. That exchange keeps me going.

You’ll soon begin a research residency at Stephen Swindells’ studio in France. What questions are you carrying into this next phase? Are there any materials, collaborations, or new emotional landscapes you're excited to explore?

Yes, I’m really excited about this residency in summer 2026. I’ve been thinking a lot about archaeology both literally and symbolically. I’m interested in the visual language of excavation, of digging through layers to uncover meaning, and how that resonates with us on a human level. There’s a strong symbolic connection between the way we bury feelings, grief, memory and how our collective histories are buried in the ground. I see clear parallels between the layers hidden within us and those embedded in the landscape. I want to explore these ideas through textiles and found materials from the local area, and possibly collaborate with people from the region. It’s a continuation of what I’ve already been doing, but with a broader, more outward-facing dimension. It feels like an opening, a chance to reflect on what connects us as humans across time. There’s something deeply comforting in that.

Blandine Martin

Blandine Martin

Blandine Martin

Your work often begins with intuitive gestures such as wrapping, layering, and furious stitching. How do you see this as a form of thinking or remembering? What does your process reveal to you emotionally or psychologically as you work?

Your work often begins with intuitive gestures such as wrapping, layering, and furious stitching. How do you see this as a form of thinking or remembering? What does your process reveal to you emotionally or psychologically as you work?

Your work often begins with intuitive gestures such as wrapping, layering, and furious stitching. How do you see this as a form of thinking or remembering? What does your process reveal to you emotionally or psychologically as you work?

Your work often begins with intuitive gestures such as wrapping, layering, and furious stitching. How do you see this as a form of thinking or remembering? What does your process reveal to you emotionally or psychologically as you work?

Your soft sculptures blur boundaries between body and landscape, memory and material. What draws you to this liminal, shifting space? Are you consciously mapping emotional topographies, and if so, whose?

Your soft sculptures blur boundaries between body and landscape, memory and material. What draws you to this liminal, shifting space? Are you consciously mapping emotional topographies, and if so, whose?

Discarded domestic textiles are a key material in your work. How do you select these objects? Do you see them as emotional relics, and what stories or energies do you feel they carry into your sculptures?

Discarded domestic textiles are a key material in your work. How do you select these objects? Do you see them as emotional relics, and what stories or energies do you feel they carry into your sculptures?

There’s an intensity and almost ritualistic force in the way you construct your works. Would you describe your practice as a kind of ritual? What role does repetition, labour, or gesture play in shaping the atmosphere of your work?

There’s an intensity and almost ritualistic force in the way you construct your works. Would you describe your practice as a kind of ritual? What role does repetition, labour, or gesture play in shaping the atmosphere of your work?

Art

Art

Art

Interview

Interview

Interview

Architecture gave me a deep awareness of space, form, materials, concepts and the idea of “home” as both a structure and a feeling. Textiles, often seen as domestic or feminine materials, allows me to work with these concepts that is tactile and so versatile .

Your installations seem to speak to what is often hidden: emotional inheritance, grief, and silence. What are you trying to make visible through your forms? Do you see your sculptures as protective, vulnerable, or something else entirely?

Your installations seem to speak to what is often hidden: emotional inheritance, grief, and silence. What are you trying to make visible through your forms? Do you see your sculptures as protective, vulnerable, or something else entirely?

Your work has been shown in spaces like Safehouse 1 and Asylum Chapel, sites with strong architectural and emotional presence. How do you approach responding to a place? What kind of conversation happens between your work and the site?

Your work has been shown in spaces like Safehouse 1 and Asylum Chapel, sites with strong architectural and emotional presence. How do you approach responding to a place? What kind of conversation happens between your work and the site?

You’ve moved through architecture, experimental art programs, and intensive textile training. How do these intersect in your current practice? Are there tensions or unexpected harmonies between structure and softness in your work?

You’ve moved through architecture, experimental art programs, and intensive textile training. How do these intersect in your current practice? Are there tensions or unexpected harmonies between structure and softness in your work?

As an artist in Residence at Hammersmith Academy, you mentor young artists while curating a mini gallery space. How do you see your role in nurturing others, and how do you balance this with sustaining your own creative energy?

As an artist in Residence at Hammersmith Academy, you mentor young artists while curating a mini gallery space. How do you see your role in nurturing others, and how do you balance this with sustaining your own creative energy?

You’ll soon begin a research residency at Stephen Swindells’ studio in France. What questions are you carrying into this next phase? Are there any materials, collaborations, or new emotional landscapes you're excited to explore?

You’ll soon begin a research residency at Stephen Swindells’ studio in France. What questions are you carrying into this next phase? Are there any materials, collaborations, or new emotional landscapes you're excited to explore?

info@spira9.art