Stephan Blumenschein’s artistic practice focuses on institutional spaces, as well as the histories, ideological fantasies, and social hierarchies they reflect. In recent years, his work has centered primarily on mental healthcare—a field in which he as an artist now also frequently works directly with clients. His work takes diverse forms, ranging from sound pieces and architectural interventions to image collages and sculptures. Across two exhibition spaces at Kunstenlab, he presents new work resulting from an intensive residency period.

Stephan is interested in how mental healthcare institutions, both past and present, have structured their environments to restrict the autonomy of their clients (over their body, movements and expression). From this perspective, he examined the building and archives of Museum Dr. Guislain, located within the former Jozef Guislain psychiatric hospital (parts of which remain in use). Inside the museum archives he felt paralyzed by the intense atmosphere carried by the objects he encountered: from stained straitjackets and electroshock devices to anatomical models of female reproductive organs and medico-spiritual artifacts taken from cultures around the world. It’s through this combination of objects that the archive speaks volumes about the violent, sexist, and racist legacy of the history of psychiatry. How do you, as an artist and as a human, respond to the pain, sorrow, and complicity interwoven with such institutions?

As he sought to answer this question, three specific objects came to play a central role. The first were the building’s windows, featuring bars concealed behind wooden ornaments, to make the facility feel and look less like a prison. He saw another attempt to mask the painful reality of the institution in the birdcages containing canaries, that appear in various common areas in historical photographs. Canaries were popular for their exotic appearance, but also because they could be taught to whistle cheerful tunes. In doing so, they seemed to hold up a suggestive mirror to visitors, clients, and staff, implying that one could be happy despite being captive. Yet, the artist sees in these birds a more painful reflection of how the clients—like the birds—were confined, viewed as "other" (exotic), and kept under constant observation.

In contrast to these objects, that were designed to remain closed, was a music box the artist discovered in the archive. When he opened it, the dancing figure turned out to be missing (or have escaped); consequently, the small mirrors reflected only the artist himself and the archive surrounding him. Meanwhile, a fragile, stumbling melody poured from the box and drifted through the space. To the artist, this represented a fitting response to the heavy atmosphere of the archive. After all, sound can open up space for a connection between the physical and the mental—a connection for which there is often little room in institutions like this.

His artistic practice shifted from critically examining past and existing conditions to creating new ones. In recent years, through activities such as sound workshops, listening sessions, and open studios, the artist now creates space within various institutions for clients to express themselves safely and feel taken seriously, without being reduced to their mental health condition. At Kunstenlab, Stephan Blumenschein presents an intriguing combination of objects and visual material that reflects both his research at the museum and his ongoing work in mental healthcare institutions. His exhibition, ‘Walking and closing one’s eyes’, offers an honest exploration of how we can relate to things we would rather look away from—without hiding them behind beautiful ornaments or forced, cheerful tunes.

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