I’m writing this short blog post from 8,372 meters above the ground, sitting (un)comfortably in seat 17D on my way to New York. Too exhausted to make progress on my thesis research, too tired to start a movie, but just energized enough to write a few lines, I wanted to reflect on my latest working session with Nil.
It had been a while since I last saw Nil at her home. She has since moved into a smaller apartment, still in the same building she’s lived in for the past 50 years. It was April 13th. A rather grey day, with a few breaks of sunlight. As I stepped into the courtyard, I immediately spotted Nil’s small face through her wide-open window — she was waiting for me and waved as soon as our eyes met.
The building smells of construction — it’s been months since a real estate agency bought it to turn it into luxury apartments. The renovations are dragging on. I step into her new apartment: her bedroom is on the left, and to the right, a small corridor leads to her study-kitchen-living space. Nil is doing well here. Her old apartment, filled with memories of her late husband, had started to feel heavy. She’s glad to still have the same view of the beautiful garden. I find the same books from her old studio. Fewer in number, but she seems to have kept the most precious ones close to her; the rest have either been discarded or moved to her studio, where she rarely goes. In the back, her golden lion still proudly sits in its original box on the shelf. In the kitchenette, Nil makes me a small cup of tea — Earl Grey with milk, just how I like it — and brings out some butter cookies. We’re ready to begin.
The goal of this work session was to discuss the book, finalize the chapters, and decide on the works that will be featured. I’m not sure if I should tell you more now or save it for the next blog post… Oh go on, I’ll save it for next time! I’ll dedicate a full post to the book’s content — without giving too much away. What I can say for now is that we agreed on a structure of three thematic chapters, each anchored by three to four of Nil’s works. As I’ve mentioned before, the main lens of the book is materiality, which gives us a unique perspective on Nil’s practice and career.
What I treasure most from these meetings with Nil are the way our conversations drift, the archive-objects she shows me, and the memories she shares. I was especially lucky this time to get a glimpse into the private world she shared with her husband. Nil brought out what she calls her “Golden Book,” a catalogue of contemporary music that she filled with drawings and notes. After each concert she attended with her husband, she told me, she would enrich the catalogue using oil pastels. She also carefully preserved receipts from their post-concert dinners. I loved it — a deeply personal archive full of tenderness, which she rightly considers a work of art.
One more thing I wanted to share: exclusive works will appear in the book! And when I say “exclusive,” I mean pieces that have never — or only very rarely — been shown to the public before. I’ll tell you more soon! It seems our discussions around materiality truly inspired Nil, who dug deep into her memory to point me toward works — and delicate production notes — that align with our theme and offer fresh insight into her practice.
As the plane glides over the Atlantic, I think back to that day — April 13th — as a precious moment, suspended in time. Working with Nil is, each time, a lesson in slowness and attention. Because ultimately, what we’re trying to do here is keep these embodied, sensitive, intimate archives alive — to give them space to be heard, to resonate.