German-born, Brussels-based artist Felix Kindermann extends and translates the concept of social sculpture for the present day, fusing sculpture, sound, and performance to examine how individuals navigate—resist or conform to—collective structures. Drawing from spatial music, conceptual installation, and critical social theory, he treats voices, everyday objects, and architectural fragments as inputs to his creative process, rearranging them to expose the tension between individual agency and group cohesion. His adaptive installations and precise, modular scores invite viewers to move through shifting constellations of sound and form, turning galleries into laboratories for testing social boundaries. By translating complex questions about belonging, class signals, and media framing into clear visual and acoustic situations, Kindermann has helped broaden contemporary sculpture’s scope and has influenced artists and curators who seek new ways to make social dynamics tangible.
The sunlight in my studio and human behaviour.
I don't listen to anything. To make work I have to concentrate which requires my full commitment. Unfortunately there is often loud traffic outside my studio, so I wear the strongest headphones I could find to cancel the noise.
A dream would be showing my a cappella performance Choir Piece in New York. Especially because I feel the work belongs to the city with its ever-changing social dynamics which have always inspired me. The performance is about the complexity of our times, about cohabitation and how we communicate and deal with one another. I commissioned the score from Natalie Dietterich, a brilliant composer who herself lived in New York and attended Princeton and Yale, studying with David Lang and Steve Mackey and now teaches at the Yale Department of Music.
People may think it's a walk in the park, but it isn't.
The most important teacher during my studies was my professor, Michael Lingner, at HfbK Hamburg. While helping him move, we struggled to assemble a seemingly simple Egon Eiermann table. Amused by our failure, he said, “If you get stuck, step outside the house, come back, and start all over again.” Of course, the house was a metaphor—but we started all over again, and it worked. I took it as a lesson. If you get stuck, change perspective.
I've got three: Dia Beacon, MoMA, Museum Ludwig.
Talking about perspective, it depends on how far away I am from them and from which angle I face them—but I think what strikes me first is someone's body language. I remember traveling through Ireland on my own when I was twenty. One day I was hiking across the small island of Inisheer when a man appeared far away on the horizon, walking straight in my direction. Apart from the fact that it was the slowest encounter of my life, I quite remember his physique. When our paths finally crossed, we awkwardly greeted each other without stopping or talking. When I finally arrived at the other end of the island, I realized that he was probably the lighthouse keeper on his way to the pub to watch the annual Hurling final.
Toothpaste.
The dictionary.
New York!!!
Versa.
"I love you."
I've read the dictionary.
The moment you skydive out of a plane might fit this idea of something particularly exciting. I did that and it was in fact very scary. But personally I feel, if the definition of something adventurous is to experience something exciting or unusual, then it is indeed this life as an artist in its entirety. Even though it got familiar, it remains endlessly exciting.
Having drinks with good friends.
Being able to have lifelong and loving relationships with my partner, family, and friends.
I would be trying to become one.
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