Portrait of Christian John Munks. Courtesy of the artist and OTP Copenhagen. Photo by Lasse Dearman.
OTP: What is it about working from life that you find most interesting?
CJM: Unfortunately, I don’t work from life as much as I would like to. That’s because I’m quite self-conscious about my process (I prefer not to have people in my studio), and because I spend so much time on each painting that I haven’t dared to ask anyone yet to sit for the whole process - not even my partner.
If I’m going to observe a person over such a long period, they will naturally also have to observe me, and the thought that someone could follow the process of a painting from start to finish is extremely intimidating. That they would witness all the ugly phases my paintings go through - all the mistakes, my despair, my self-doubt, and my anxiety.
We’ve talked before about Frank Auerbach, who used the same sitters on a weekly basis, year after year, throughout his entire career. He must have felt really comfortable with his models, and that’s ideal. But how do you get people to sit for 46 years?
However I would also like to challenge myself at some point, because my most beautiful and contemplative moments in the studio are those without a screen or photograph between me and the canvas. In those moments, time stands still and my vision sharpens. But as it is now, I’m limited to painting my own hands, the room, and the objects that surround me. I can also paint my face and body in the mirror that hangs on my wall, but even then, you could argue whether that truly counts as “from life.”
In other words, I have to rely on images or memory/imagination if I want to work from subjects other than myself and my studio environment.
Christian John Munks, Uden titel (morgen), 2026, oil on panel, 28 x 22.8 cm / 11 x 9 inches [framed in oak], courtesy of the artist and OTP Copenhagen.
OTP: Would you describe your approach to painting as traditional? Is it correct that you render a dark underpainting of each of the figures before building a layer of flesh on top?
CJM: In my studio, I have two older books on painting that I use in my practice: Max Doerner’s The Materials of the Artist and Their Use in Painting and Peder Hald’s Maleriets teknik (for Danish audiences). I originally bought Doerner’s book because I once read that Lucian Freud was enthusiastic about it. The other was recommended to me by a teacher at the art academy.
Almost all of my technical knowledge of painting comes from these two books. I use them as reference works when I need information about pigments, binders, priming, and so on. I like to mix my own gesso in the same way as the old masters and experiment with grinding my own oil paints. In that sense, you could say I have a traditional approach to painting when it comes to materials and the ground.
But when it comes to the actual painting process, everything is chaos and certainly not traditional. I’m sure a classically trained artist would be appalled if they saw my process and technique, because I don’t really know what one should or shouldn’t do. My entire process is “learning by doing” and rarely begins the same way twice.
That said, it’s true that I often paint a kind of grisaille when shaping faces and bodies—although some would probably be more inclined to call it a muddy underlayer.
Christian John Munks, Uden titel (nat), 2026, oil on linen, 58.6 x 40.7 cm / 23 x 16 inches [framed in oak], courtesy of the artist and OTP Copenhagen.
OTP: Several of your previous paintings have used film stills to inform the composition or the pose of figures. What sort of stills capture your imagination - are there specific directors you return to?
CJM: I have been inspired for a long time by coming-of-age films from the 1970s and 80s - especially Danish classics with soundtracks by Sebastian or Søren Kragh-Jacobsen. But also others like Maurice Pialat’s Graduate First, and Roy Andersson’s A Swedish Love Story or They Call Us Misfits, which you and I have already talked quite a bit about. For some reason, I feel very at home in that universe: knitted jumpers, corduroy, and mopeds.
I recently came across the term 'anemoia', which describes the feeling of being nostalgic for a time or place you’ve never actually lived through. I generally experience quite a lot of anemoia, but I’m especially nostalgic for the youth I never had in the 1970s.
I also had a period where I often took the actor Denis Lavant as my point of departure particularly his roles in films by Leos Carax, and Claire Denis’ Beau Travail. There’s something deeply fascinating about Lavant’s physiognomy and the way he moves his body. I have tried to paint him many times, but never succeeded. Each time I tried, he gradually transformed into someone else in the process. Little by little, I erased his features and replaced them with my own, until it looked more like me than him. Even though I never managed to paint him, he’s still hidden beneath several layers of paint in a few of my works - like a ghost.
In general, many of my paintings are a kind of loose reinterpretation of film scenes. Several of the paintings in Verdens sidste aften, for example, are reinterpretations of specific scenes from films by Ingmar Bergman.
Christian John Munks, Som i Fantasia (Moondog), 2026, oil on panel, 32.8 x 43 cm / 12 ⅞ x 16 ⅞ inches [framed in oak], courtesy of the artist and OTP Copenhagen.
OTP: People often ask if your works are portraits. I know you push back a bit at this sort of characterisation. How do you distinguish your work from the traditional portrait genre?
CJM: Yes, that’s right. It pains me when people call my paintings portraits. There are probably two reasons for that. First, the word “portrait” inevitably puts the focus on likeness, and I don’t want my paintings to be seen or judged on that basis. It also puts unnecessary pressure on me. I can quickly become hyper-focused on making my characters resemble their reference, and that doesn’t do anything good for the paintings.
Fundamentally, it doesn’t matter to me whether proportions or skin tones fit. I’m constantly trying to resist that kind of perfectionism; it makes me feel trapped. I find it far more interesting to create specific atmospheres and emotions, and to make the faces feel living and vibrating.
Secondly, a basic requirement of classical portrait painting is that the subject is aware of being observed and painted. The characters in my paintings, as a rule, are not.
Christian John Munks, Tåredalen, 2026, oil on linen, 31.7 x 45.8 cm / 12 ½ x 18 inches [framed in oak], courtesy of the artist and OTP Copenhagen.
OTP: Fabric surfaces seem to provide a protective or concealing role in some of these works - but they also offer sections of abstraction in the paintings. Could I ask you to talk a bit about the symbolism of textiles in your paintings?
CJM: It’s true that textiles hold a lot of meaning for me, and it is difficult not to let them fill a lot of my paintings. I am not entirely sure why, but it is probably because, even though I have stripped the motifs of objects and things, I still need something that can place them, at least loosely, in time and space. Textiles are good at doing that in a subtle way. They are also an opportunity for me to insert a more personal reference into the painting.
Christian John Munks, Verdens sidste aften, 2026, oil on linen, 71.8 x 45.8 cm / 28 ¼ x 18 inches [framed in oak], courtesy of the artist and OTP Copenhagen.
OTP: Sometimes there seems to be a blurring between interior and exterior space in your works, as if the environment of the painting is on the threshold of the two. Do you usually have a clear idea of whether the motif in a painting is situated indoors/ outdoors?
CJM: I am never in doubt about what sort of space my characters inhabit. While I stand and paint, I create stories in my head that are tied to the motif, and even though the environment is often only suggested by monochrome surfaces, I know, as the artist, what is happening within and beyond those surfaces. And I know whether the character is placed inside or outside, or somewhere in between. The paintings have their own internal logic, in a sense.
I have an irritating need to cut right to the core and empty the space of objects, so that the viewer is not distracted by unnecessary connotations. At other times, I like to imagine that the characters are standing on an empty theatre stage in front of a heavy, dusty backdrop. Perhaps there is a prop in one hand or a single piece of furniture. Just that.
Christian John Munks, Intermezzo, 2026, oil on linen, 23 x 34.4 cm / 9 x 13 ½ inches [framed in oak], courtesy of the artist and OTP Copenhagen.
OTP: Painting hands is often particularly difficult for many artists, and yet the language and symbolism of hands seen to play a key role in your paintings. What is it about hand gestures that is most interesting to you?
CJM: Good question. However, I’m not sure I can answer it. No, I can’t answer it. But I also find hands difficult to paint, and I’m not sure I’ll do it again. [laughter]
Christian John Munks' studio. Photo by Lasse Dearman, courtesy of the artist and OTP Copenhagen.
Christian John Munks (b. 1985) lives and works in Copenhagen, Denmark. The artist attended the Funen Art Academy, having previously studied Film Studies at Lund University. Recent exhibitions include: Verdens sidste aften at OTP Copenhagen (Copenhagen; DK), Haystacks at New York Life Gallery (New York, NY; US), The Historian at OTP Copenhagen (Copenhagen; DK), Stirring Stills at Minor Gallery (Copenhagen; DK), Scotopia at CABIN (New York, NY; US) and Silvers in the Void at MAMOTH (London; UK).
