In this expansive and reflective dialogue, artist Al Hassan Issah and architect Baerbel Mueller come together to explore the fertile intersections between materiality, objecthood, architecture, and artistic practice. Moving fluidly between Kumasi and Accra, studio and city, canvas and construction, their exchange reveals how materials—whether bamboo, concrete, metal, or found urban fragments—serve not merely as mediums, but as active agents in shaping thought, form, and meaning. Grounded in deeply contextual approaches, both practitioners reflect on how cultural, environmental, and historical forces inform their work, while also interrogating the shifting boundaries between art, architecture, and lived experience. What emerges is a layered conversation about translation: from material to object, from city to studio, and from observation to creation.

“I love materials. I generally think of them as senior cousins to ideas. For me, it always begins with a material, then an object—something tangible, like the material itself, that can be or has been shaped into form—which catches my attention within the city. It acts like a match, sparking small fires of ideas in my mind. I then begin to translate these into my object-oriented paintings”. ~Al Hassan Issah

Al Hassan Issah: You have been pretty busy this year as far as I can see, how are you doing with all your upcoming projects?

Baerbel Mueller: Yes, indeed, there has been a lot going on in parallel over the last 12 months, with beautiful and challenging projects within all my different set-ups. For nav_s baerbel mueller, my practice, the most relevant project was co-curating the exhibition ECOLOGIES & POLITICS OF THE LIVING for the Vienna Biennale for Change 2021, together with Ibrahim Mahama and Elisabeth Falkensteiner, and conceptualizing and co-designing a university campus in and for northern Ghana, in collaboration with Juergen Strohmayer. For [applied] Foreign Affairs, my lab at the I oA (Institute of Architecture) at the Angewandte / University of Applied Arts Vienna, we conceptualized and started a longer-term project titled TAMALE TERRITORIES, which investigates the inner-urban peripheries and urban ecologies of Tamale. We recently completed the first project phase, and will continue more in depth from this point with an expanded team, again in collaboration with the UDS and SCCA. At I oA, I became a co-editor and co-founder of an ambitious project titled forA on the urban, for which our aim is to generate a relevant multilog on current urban phenomena and challenges – I am quite excited about this ongoing discursive project, which involves the most interesting voices from all over the world. Luckily, I spent almost six of the last 12 months in Ghana, where daily life was less affected by the pandemic than in Europe, at least for me and most of the people around me… What I missed was having a construction site, or realization project on an architectural scale following the previous year, when we completed Nubuke Extended.

AHI: I have been paying attention to your practice for quite some time now and I understand you have designed some of the most interesting structures I know of in Ghana, notably, the Haduwa Arts and Cultural Center in Apam and the new extension of Nubuke Foundation (where I will have the honor of showing my work this coming December). Thank you and everyone who worked tirelessly on this space, in and around which we artists can show our works. The switch in material and form is extremely interesting and deep for me. From working with a natural material like bamboo (on the Haduwa Arts and Cultural Center project), which, to me, is a more experimental approach in architecture, to working with concrete slabs (on the Nubuke Extended), which is also more brutalist/modernist in
character. Could you share with me the reason behind the switch in material and form, as well as some of the challenges and new findings in working on both projects?

BM: A very interesting observation and topic to talk about. I am somehow obsessed with the notion of context in architecture, and consider my architecture – and the projects developed with my students, such as the Haduwa Apata in Apam – to be contextual architecture. To me, context is the most beautiful and relevant parameter and backbone we have as architects. It can serve and inspire us – from the poetic to the pragmatic to the provocative – and thereby the shifts in-between are where the unexpected can best evolve. So, I start a project by carefully investigating its given cultural and environmental context, to then come up with translations of both. That generates the typology and materiality of the project, and more. To me, this is the most beautiful part – it is within the creative process where you decide which (contextual) parameters are relevant and inform a research and design, and how you translate these. And again, this translation can be manifested spatially, programmatically, through the choice of material, etc., and should speak to and for our time. It is not about copying or mimicking the past, or the vernacular, for example, which should rather serve as sources of inspiration and an archive of spatial knowledge; a repertoire of existing (spatial) manifestations of cultural and environmental expressions of a specific context.

To refer to the projects you mentioned, the Haduwa Apata and Nubuke Extended:

The original brief in Apam was to come up with a master plan for a cultural institution for the performing arts. My initial advice was – as I knew there would not be the means to realize a whole institution at once – to focus on the core space of a performing arts institution, which is a stage. And then I thought it would be even more radical to start the design process from the scale of the human body. My [a]FA student team collaborated with students from the school of performing arts at Legon University – the Lab DC; we investigated the site together through body-space exercises in order to gain true insights into it. In parallel, we looked at everyday gatherings and special occasions, e.g., funerals, to understand their spatial set ups; to come up with a spatial proposal for performative interventions that do not involve a frontal theatre or stage, which is actually a western typology. So, what we have in Apam is informed by the cultural context in ground plan, whereby the roofscape, and the choice of material was informed by environmental parameters, such as wind and sun directions, which influenced the positioning of the Apata. The choice of material – bamboo – resulted from looking at coastal structures, the wish to work with a locally available material, and to demonstrate an example of bamboo architecture in Ghana, where bamboo up until then had mostly been used for smaller structures, sheds, fences and furniture, not for larger buildings or as a constructive building material.

At Nubuke, the initial motive was about forming a relationship with what was there already. We didn ́t start from the point of having a certain architectural language in mind… It was clear that the existing garden was not to be lost, and the bungalow was not to be demolished. It was about re-orienting the Nubuke grounds, and therefore Nubuke Extended was shaped and positioned to act as the unifying character on site: sitting above the existing garden, framing a stage for concerts and performances, providing a green area featuring Nubuke ́s Indian almond tree at its centre. Besides that, the position and shape of the building was generated by climatic parameters, and the idea of movement and circulation. It was important for us to gain maximal natural ventilation, therefore the large apertures are oriented towards the main wind directions, southwest to north. It was also relevant to create a gallery space that allows you to experience a diversity of spatial situations, and that you enjoy navigating within. The choice of exposed concrete as the main material resulted from three factors: first, it was important to us to make sure that the art and the people are in the foreground, and that the building itself would be raw and somehow monolithic; second, it is a statement on or counternarrative to what you see all over Accra, maybe even all over urban Ghana: the overkill of materials and decoration, which come across as rather fake, and here I am talking about plastic stuff like claddings imported from China or Turkey or elsewhere. All the beauty you find in the architectural gestures in more rural settings in Ghana is hardly to be found in Accra, I mean at least as of a decade ago. There are more interesting things going on right now in the built environment , but there was a lot less back in 2016… Last but not least, maintenance is a challenge in the tropical climate of Accra, with all the salty air coming from the ocean, so the notion of solidity (which I am usually not so interested in) has played a role…

But I would like to hear more about your take on the notion of material and ornament, in general and in your art, in what you collect and document and produce as an artist!

AHI: I am particularly drawn to the latter part of your statement, where you outlined the three reasons behind the choice of exposed concrete. The second point you raised is especially important to me, as it has consistently served as a point of departure in my practice whenever I begin to think about or make a painting. The “overkill of materials and decoration,” as you describe it—often expressed through vibrant colours and dynamic forms—functions as a key driver of my approach to colour. I have drawn extensively from the city, particularly from buildings, kiosks, and cars, in developing the palette for the body of work I will be presenting later this year.

It also connects to the reflections that emerge as I study the city for ongoing projects. I find myself drawn to the contemporary social, economic, and political landscape, which is significantly shaped by influences from China, Turkey, and Europe more broadly. These influences manifest in everything from imported building materials to the clothing—both new and second-hand—that circulates within local markets. It is within this field of attraction that my thinking begins, eventually leading into the making of the work. There is an irony in the fact that I enter the space with precisely those elements you have sought to minimise—namely, exuberant colour—translated into paintings, perhaps through different material conditions.

At the same time, the ever-growing material and object culture in Ghana—particularly in Kumasi—is strongly evident in my work. It is through processes of object-making and material manipulation, often intended for domestic or public use, that I begin to address some of my questions about painting. I am especially interested in how certain objects—such as gates, balustrades, streetlight poles, coffins, wardrobes, sofas, and drying lines—resonate with specific historical epochs, including the Baroque and Rococo periods of 17th-century Europe. The ornamental forms on these objects are often imported from Europe and Asia, or produced by local craftsmen who have inherited their methods through apprenticeship systems that can be genealogically traced to the colonial past. These are the kinds of thoughts that frequently occupy my mind as I move through the city.

I love materials. I generally think of them as senior cousins to ideas. For me, it always begins with a material, then an object—something tangible, like the material itself, that can be or has been shaped into form—which catches my attention within the city. It acts like a match, sparking small fires of ideas in my mind. I then begin to translate these into my object-oriented paintings.

BM: What you are describing here and what I see in your art and photography – which illustrates how you perceive the material world of Ghana, of Kumasi – is that you don’t look at so-called ‘overkill’ of imported materials, or the pure, sometimes awkward application of them by contractors and builders, as I do – but that instead you investigate how they’ve been appropriated, how they are played with structurally and aesthetically, consciously decorated with, and how they are hybridized culturally, thereby – and in combination – becoming something of their own. You talked about the Baroque, but what you capture or do is also heavily referring to, or referencing, material use in the Arabic or Islamic world, where symmetry, for example, and ornament and opulence play crucial roles. And from what you read into this you create your own objects and paintings. You referred to your paintings and the translation of the colourscapes you identify and interpret around you in the built environment of Kumasi, etc., but you also work with other materials, such as metal. I want to hear more about that!

AHI: Yes, I draw connections to the Baroque and Rococo because of recurring aesthetic elements found in many of our buildings. Some of these styles reached us from the West through colonialism and the trans-Atlantic slave trade. We have also inherited a range of forms and visual languages—evident in our architecture—through encounters with Islamic traditions. As a result, Islamic iconographies are strongly present in my work.

This is also tied to my upbringing in a Muslim community (Zango), where I have long been exposed to compelling architectural forms, vibrant colours in clothing, and intricate henna designs created on bodies during festivities. My work and processes respond to these layered experiences of time, space, and material, all of which contribute to the social and political landscape we inhabit today.

My engagement with metal (as well as wood) stems from an interest in constructing and building within painting. At a certain point in my practice, I wanted to produce drawings that were physically made—such as heating iron rods and hammering them into shape—rather than simply drawing with charcoal on paper. I was also interested in creating objects that were built, through processes like welding and forming, so that what I had seen could exist as the painting itself rather than being depicted on a canvas. Ultimately, I sought a form of painting that is structurally constructed. Working in this way helped me address my concerns about the limitations of traditional canvas painting.

BM: It is fascinating that you’ve not only freed yourself from traditional canvas painting, but that you’ve also invented for yourself, and applied, an entire repertoire of in-between form(at)s and modes of (re)presentation, which range from ‘loose’ 2D paintings that are not caged in a frame and fall and fold freely, to 2.5D (two-and-a-half-dimensional) paintings or painted objects, to installation arrangements that defy any clear or known categorization in their form – as do their materiality, colorscape and conceptualization – and celebrate the ultimately hybrid layering and collaging. It is also intriguing how you incorporate and appropriate found objects, elements of ready-mades, and how their patinas give the works a certain aura and timelessness, but also an embeddedness within their context. And speaking of context, I am very interested in understanding what it means to you to take elements, material, hardware and inspiration from the city into your studio and then into a gallery space – or then back into the city. What is the difference for you between trans-locating them from your studio into a ‘clean’ exhibition space or back into the city where they somehow came from? E.g., your piece Adonko (2020) – which I only know from photos – does something completely different in a white cube than it would in an outdoor urban environment…

AHI: That work was one of the test installations I created during my studio residency, using an old drying line. I had initially made many drawings of such forms in my notebook, only to return home and find that an old one we had used back in 2005 was still in use. I quickly mounted some of my paintings onto it to get a sense of how the idea might function in physical space. It worked in a compelling way.

Friends and family who visited the studio engaged with it in ways that shifted my perception of painting. I remember one of my friends trying to spin it, but it didn’t move because the structure had been built for stability. I then began to imagine how it could be mechanised to rotate, allowing it to function as a kinetic painting.

I mention this anecdote in relation to my experience with both outdoor installations and indoor presentations. When my paintings were installed outdoors in the botanical gardens for the Failure is the Key group exhibition, the audience played a different, yet very interesting, role in engaging with the works. People felt comfortable enough to touch them; bats left droppings on them; the wind continuously affected them; and both rain and sunlight altered them over time. In this context, I realised that the work was not static—it kept changing over the course of the exhibition.

This differs significantly from their presentation in a gallery space, where the paintings often carry a sense of sacredness. Viewers are typically not permitted to touch them, or even approach them too closely. It is compelling to observe how a work of art can assume two distinct characters in two different environments.

For my exhibition at the Nubuke Foundation, I intend to present some flag-based works both inside the gallery space and outside on the field, in order to explore how they operate across these contrasting conditions.

BM: It is exciting to think of your artworks being inscribed in both the Nubuke grounds and the Nubuke Extended building, your flags situated in the garden, as well as inside the building – exposed to sunlight, performing in the wind, and embedded in green, but also located indoors in the concrete tube. I am curious where and how exactly you will position them, hang them, lay them out, or put them up. Nubuke Extended is not a white cube, it is not a hermetic space, there are visual connections to the outside and daylight everywhere, and you don ́t have clean white walls. The raw materiality creates an atmosphere of its own. I am curious how your art, the range of works you will show – from flags, to paintings, to objects, to projections – will relate to it: the diverse spatial situations, the color of the concrete, the structured surface of the walls. And if these will become the backgrounds for your pieces, or if the space and your works will be in dialog (which I assume), or even melt into one another, e.g., when you project moving images on the walls, as you did in your intervention Sister Danto no (2020), of which the structured surface of a kiosk became an integral part. Using your words, I am curious which ‘different characters’ your works will exhibit at Nubuke. I said before that I am very interested in understanding what it means to you to take elements, material, hardware and inspiration from the city into your studio and then into a gallery space – and back into the city. Therefore it would be interesting to me if you played something back into the city, had some satellite events or interventions elsewhere in Accra. Or if you translocated the exact same family of works you decide to show at Nubuke into one of Accra ́s neighbourhoods. Have you ever thought about doing something like that? Or, have you thought about what will come after Nubuke, even before your exhibition goes up there?

AHI: I have been thinking about my work and the exhibition space for some time now. Each time I visit the space, I imagine my work as an extract from the building itself. It is like inserting a syringe into a wall and extracting all the layers of paint that have accumulated over the years, then leaving the syringe leaning against the wall, filled with those colours for others to see.

I do not think of the concrete walls as a background for the paintings or objects. Instead, I imagine my work as a kind of negation of the walls. All the imagined layers of colour that may have existed on those walls over time—through different projects by different artists—are embedded within my paintings.

Additionally, the film that will be projected onto the textured façade serves as a further extension of how the work becomes part of the space. In Sister Danto No. (2020), for example, I was interested in highly textured surfaces for projection, which led me to choose a kiosk already covered with posters. I am particularly interested in what happens when stop-motion animation—where inanimate forms such as painting, drawing, and photography are pushed toward movement—is projected onto a wall that already contains what I describe as “urban collages.”

I am equally curious and excited to see what will happen when the works are finally installed, and when all the ideas and imaginings that informed them are fully materialised. I look forward to seeing my work in dialogue with yours and that of Juergen Strohmayer.

More recently, I have also been returning to the city with collages placed in different locations, allowing passersby who encounter posters in those spaces to connect with the exhibition. I began this approach after the lockdown last year, and it will be exciting to revisit it. I also intend to install some of the flag works in the farms across the street from the Nubuke Foundation. While this will depend on ongoing negotiations, it is something I would very much like to realise.

BM: Your term ‘urban collages’ and the concept behind it is quite powerful to me, as it reflects, captures and credits our present time so well and beautifully in all its natural and material manifestations, where everything is influenced by everything, and nothing exists on its own (in time and space), everything is hybridized, all is contaminated, nothing is raw and pure or of only one origin anymore. I also like that you intend to truly engage with our architecture, the Nubuke Extended building, instead of just using it as containment for your works, as some other artists and curators would. And spreading your flags into the city, into the farms outside of the Nubuke grounds – I cannot wait to see this! You will also need to allow for the consequences of this gesture, for the loss of control, as these flags will be on their own, ‘alone’ in the city: they could be appropriated by others in any form, they could disappear…

My thesis project, “Listening Kumasi” (Kumasi, 2002), was about the conception and design of a network of spaces spread throughout the city like acupuncture points, and related to each other by invisible traces. Ever since I became interested in the idea of ‘urban acupuncture’, which is always relational, and where every waypoint/needle has radiating effects into its respective context. And you, as a son of Kumasi, will ‘acupuncture’ Accra now, with your flags piercing into the ground like acupuncture needles – but you will also create a (hidden and inclusive) network with the distribution of your collages freely moving through urban space. This will change Accra, I strongly believe in the relevance and the artistic, political and civil impact of projects like this by artists like you. Wonderful!

AHI: Thank you very much. I look forward to this exhibition and the conversation it generates with your work after.