Interview with Gianfranco Merati — Contemporary Art Curator Magazine

Gianfranco, your images are a dialogue between perception and materiality, revealing an unseen reality that exists within natural structures. Given your background in economics and your engagement with philosophy, do you see your work as an empirical exercise in aesthetics, or is it an ontological inquiry—an attempt to redefine the boundaries of what can be known and perceived through a lens?

Beauty is everywhere is the title I gave to my first book, which is coming out in mid-April. With that, I mean that the world that surrounds us has beauty in every corner. But beaty in the context of my work is intended not merely as an aesthetic attribute. Rather, it is intended more broadly as the result of the exploration and the observation of what we call our reality and what such process often reveals.

For example, rotting tree leaves may not be a place we would instinctively go to, if we were looking for beauty in the aesthetic sense. And yet, when a decomposing leaf is observed carefully, it reveals its fundamental architecture, which reminds us how powerful Nature’s work is. In that sense, we can reveal beauty in a decomposing object, not because it is intrinsically aesthetically pleasing, but because it holds information that reveals complex processes that leaves us – or at least me – in awe. And that is the kind of beauty I am chasing.

In short – and to go back to your question – no, my work is most definitely not an empirical exercise in aesthetics. It is my own exploration into our reality, in an attempt to understand it more profoundly.

We can then debate whether what we call reality is indeed “the” reality or whether we exist as a subcomponent of some kind of a larger thing that is the true reality; i.e. whether we are a dimension or projection of something bigger that is in essence the true reality. After all, some of the most prominent contemporary physicists seem to suggest that the Holographic Principle is a very promising hypothesis, but that is for another day.

Your process relies on scientific research—understanding the chemical properties of materials, manipulating light with precision, and constructing controlled environments to extract unseen visual truths. And yet, the final images lean toward abstraction, allowing for ambiguity, interpretation, and even poetic dissonance. How do you navigate this paradox? Do you believe true art emerges from the tension between control and chaos?

Indeed, if I was interested in representing reality with precision and stop there, I would produce scientific images. Like the ones one would see in scientific papers or in forensics. But that is not what I am interested in.

What you highlight as a possible paradox is the crux of my research. I don’t know if it is a paradox or something else, but what I do know is that, through the abstraction and the invitation to enquiry, to know more, I get closer to my ultimate goal, which – as we discussed in the opening - is to understand our “reality” more profoundly.

The tension between control and chaos that you highlight is indeed an important ingredient in the creative endeavour. Although, when we venture into definitions such as “true art”, it is a complex territory, as I would imagine that there would be an infinite number of definitions on what true art is.

I will swim in my lane here, and simply note that in my own creative process indeed order and chaos often coexist and both contribute to the final outcome. A good example of what I just said would be my series called The Alchemy Of Life. In that series I explore properties of various compounds and, although I know broadly speaking what to expect from the compounds in terms of behaviour, each session and each mix of compounds leaves a large margin for the unknown to take place and to surprise. That element of unknown is what leads to discovery, which in turn may generate interesting outcomes from an artistic perspective.

You have referenced Rupert Sheldrake’s Morphic Resonance, a theory suggesting that forms and patterns develop through a shared, non-local memory. Your work similarly uncovers recurring structures—fractals, tessellations, and geometric echoes across different scales of nature. Do you see your photography as a way of visually articulating a universal language of form? And if so, do you think this ‘visual syntax’ has a deeper, possibly metaphysical, significance?

I am particularly interested in the set of questions that relate to how living organisms maintain order. This is one of the fundamental questions that Erwin Schrödinger investigates in his popular 1944 book “What Is Life?”. As the natural tendency of physical systems is to move towards disorder, it is not obvious how living organisms – including us - maintain order and structure. In other words, the question is how our millions of cells give form to what we are in our physical selves, as opposed to diverge in a state of chaos. In this context life is an exception as, unlike inanimate matter, living organisms “fight” against disorder by continuously taking in energy (e.g. food, sunlight) to sustain their structure and complexity.

Sheldrake asks similar questions but more around what gives shape to living organisms. Amongst many other things, he is interested in understanding how, as DNA is the same in a leaf and in a root of the same plant for example, leaves and roots take their distinct shape. Through is Morphic Resonance hypothesis, he theorises that there are invisible blueprints that shape how organisms grow and behave. Sheldrake’s hypothesis is highly controversial in scientific community, but I believe that it deserves at minimum a sensible and fair debate. Sheldrake provides experimental evidence and that should be analysed in detail, something that only a few scientists have been prepared to do, so far.

Whether or not his hypotheses hold water is not for me to say, as I am not a scientist nor do I pretend to be one. However, it seems that some key characteristics of the functioning of physical systems are not fully explainable with existing science. Therefore, at minimum we should investigate alternative hypotheses to test whether they may be viable explanations or even stepping stone insights to help in paving the way to achieve such explanations.

For whatever reason, I am interested in Maverik scientists. I am keen to see what happens at the edges of science and there are a few such scientist that I am following. Not least our very own Nobel Laureate Roger Penrose, who since 1989 argues that the human mind cannot be fully explained by classical computation and that consciousness must involve something beyond algorithmic processing.

So, back to your question around language of form: it is a very interesting point. But more than a universal language of form, I use the medium to develop a language for enquiry and discovery.

In one of my series, which I named Resonance, I explore how vibrations create shapes in fluids, through a phenomenon studied by Michael Faraday and hence named Faraday Waves. The effects are mesmerising but they also prompt questions similar to the ones above: what gives shape to the reality as we know it? Could fields/vibrations have a role?

In this sense, I guess I am answering yes to you last question, i.e. ultimately the language that I use has a significance that extends beyond the visual plane.

Light is both your raw material and your subject—it shapes, distorts, and gives form to your compositions, yet it remains intangible, existing only in its interaction with matter. In this sense, do you see your work as part of an alchemical tradition—one that seeks to transmute the ephemeral into permanence, the unseen into the visible? And how do you define light: is it merely a tool, or does it possess its own artistic agency?

Indeed, the analogy with alchemy works for me, especially as it relates to transmuting the unseen to the visible. As we discussed at the beginning of this conversation, revealing the beauty that characterises what we call reality is at the core of my interest and research.

Is light merely a tool? No, in my view is far more than that. Any photographer knows that the interplay of shadows, reflections and exposure levels creates moods, emotions and depth. In this sense one could argue that light is therefore a tool. However, at times it is light itself that is the star of the show in terms of resulting art form.

Talking of light at more fundamental level, in one of my series – called Light Paintings – I use laser beams as both the means to create the result (i.e. art form) and the resulting art form itself. By definition, lasers maintain their coherence so that light can be focused into a very narrow beam. I take laser light sources and I disrupt that coherence. This process allows me to use light almost like a paint brush to create what I call light paintings. The resulting images have a three-dimensional property, where different colours of light appear to exist at different levels of depth. Light, in this case, is the very means by which discovery is achieved as well as the art form created.

You have spoken about testing the limits of visual perception. But are those limits dictated by the physics of optics and photography, or by the cognitive mechanisms of human vision itself? Do you believe that the brain inherently resists seeing certain structures, and if so, does your work act as a means of disrupting these neurological limitations?

The limits of visual perception I mentioned, are definitely not the limits dictated by the physics of optics. I am referring to cognitive limits of the human mind. By pushing into the abstract in some cases or the hyper-realism in others, I aspire to creating images that challenge or, in the most extreme cases, subvert what we think we know about how what we call reality renders itself to us.

I don’t think that the brain resists seeing certain structures, but we may not be used to seeing reality in the way that I represent it.

Also, if we talk about the brain, then we need to open the door to the possibility that it is a filter that allows only a portion of a wider reality in. And if that is the case, as some recent research suggests, then perhaps there is room for presenting to the brain representations of reality that are different from what we are used to seeing in our everyday interactions with such reality. In other words, there may be room for widening the perception of reality or loosening the “filter” a little and letting a wider rendering of reality in.

Your creative process is shaped by constraint—whether it’s working within the small confines of your night studio, dealing with materials that resist predictability, or working without digital manipulation. Do you believe constraints are necessary for artistic innovation? Could absolute freedom—where everything is possible—paradoxically become an obstacle to true artistic discovery?

Constraints are a beautiful thing. At first, we may see them as a curse, however, history shows that great innovations often arise from necessity, when people are forced to think differently.

Therefore, I embrace the constraints I work with and use them to my advantage in order to fuel my creative enterprise.

As for my conscious decision to minimise the digital manipulation of the images, that relates to the desire to maintain a strong discipline in getting an image in the way I want it, right in camera. This requires care and attention to details while shooting and it therefore forces me to actively think about how to achieve a final result in camera that is as close as possible to what I have in mind for a given project. Typically, I only adjust colours and exposure, and I clean noise, if necessary. I have absolutely nothing against heavy digital manipulations on images. In fact, in some cases, the digital manipulation is a key part of the creative process. I chose a different route, because a) I enjoy shooting more than processing and b) I want to minimise interference with the reality that I depict. I want to look at it in its untouched fashion, as that is the route that I see leading to the maximum learning or discovery.

Many of your images create a disorienting sense of scale—an insect wing becomes an architectural blueprint, a sugar crystal resembles a vast ice shelf, a droplet of ferrofluid suggests a planetary landscape. Do you intentionally blur the lines between the microscopic and the cosmic, and if so, do you think this collapse of scale has deeper implications for how we perceive our place in the universe?

Spot on! Yes, I do all that deliberately and I do so for the reasons you suggest. If you look at a small piece of rock and you abstract it in such a way that it becomes impossible to determine its real-life size, it may appear to you as an observer as a set of mountains and valleys. Equally, looking at fluids interacting in a small container, may give the impression of aerial photography of a river delta.

In short, the idea here is that our reality seems to have a common visual language that applies to the very small as well as to the very big. In this sense nature’s “source code” seems to apply analogously to small and to large things.

And therefore, as you say, this raises the question of what our position in the universe is. If indeed we are the expression of some sort of universal code, which creates our reality (including us), then it is understandable that the very small and the very large have commonalities in the way that we perceive them.

Your process involves a deep engagement with technology—high-speed cameras, controlled lighting environments, and experimental materials. Yet, you describe your approach to color selection as intuitive. Do you think technological mastery can coexist with instinctive artistic decisions, or do you feel that the hyper-technical nature of your work ever threatens to overshadow intuition?

From a strictly photographic perspective, my equipment is pretty standard. When I talk about high-speed photography, the high speed is achieved through lights – flashes, in layperson’s terms – not by some sort of special camera.

It is true that I sometimes resort to special shooting techniques, to help achieve the result I want, but most of the tech belongs to the object or phenomenon captured.

As for the coexistence of technological mastery and instinctive artistic decisions, I am firmly convinced that this is indeed the case. In the same way that a musician combines the technical mastery of the instrument with her or his own instinctive decisions when composing and/or performing.

Photography has long been associated with objectivity—the ability to capture ‘reality’ as it is. Yet, your work systematically dismantles this notion, revealing layers of reality that are imperceptible to the naked eye. Given that your process involves the selection, manipulation, and transformation of material properties, do you believe that anyphotograph can ever be truly objective? Or is photography, by its very nature, an act of interpretation?

As we discussed at the beginning, I am not so interested in documenting things, facts or events. At least not at present. As for capturing reality as is, I believe that there is always a layer of interpretation between a perceived notion of “one or true reality” and a photograph of it. Even the most successful attempts to represent “reality” as is, have to contend with the fact that each viewer will filter that reality through their interpretation of it.

Is photography in itself an act of interpretation? Probably yes, as even a forensic image could be interpreted differently by different people. However, while the interpretation of a photograph my always be subjective, the act of capturing an image can have various degrees of objectivity and creativity attached to it.

Your upcoming book consolidates three years of rigorous experimentation, visual exploration, and conceptual inquiry. Beyond merely documenting your work, do you see it as an intellectual manifesto—a declaration of your artistic and philosophical convictions? If so, what central thesis or unresolved question does this body of work present to the viewer? And do you think the images in this book serve as answers, or do they pose more questions than they resolve?

The book, which is coming out around mid-April, contains most of the messages that we have been discussing here. It certainly documents the work that I created over the last three years and, in doing so, it also discusses various philosophical concepts, providing opportunities for reflection, for those who want to take those opportunities.

I wouldn’t go as far as calling it an intellectual manifesto, though. More simply a journey of discovery or re-discovery of portions of the world that surround us.

Website: https://www.gmerati.com
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