In his recent solo exhibition “Limit everything to the essential, but do not remove the poetry” at Galerie Ramakers (1 February–1 March 2026), Reinoud Oudshoorn presented a constellation of sculptures in steel, wood, and frosted glass that appeared at once meticulously resolved and precariously held. Installed across walls, corners, and floors, the works did not simply articulate space, they recalibrated it. Their geometric discipline established a rigorous visual order, yet within this precision lingered a quiet instability: a tension between structure and suspension. In the following interview, Oudshoorn speaks about his working process, his long-standing exploration of perspective, and the discipline required for his constructions to hold both literally and figuratively.

Elâ Atakan: While looking at your glass works, one senses that depth is both revealed and suspended at the same time; behind what is visible, there seems to be a subtle, almost mist-like ambiguity. With such minimal intervention, you construct a space where perspective appears to be simultaneously activated and destabilized. Is this dual movement between producing depth and withholding it an extension of your early engagement with perspective in two dimensions, now translated into sculptural form?

Reinoud Oudshoorn: My creative process has several stages. First comes the dialogue between myself and the empty white wall in my studio. Through this absence of presence, my imagination is let free to roam. At a certain point, new ideas start to evolve.

The second stage is when I explore my ideas in simple small line drawings. Thirdly, I will then choose one or more of these line drawings to, in actual size, investigate the construction of the 3D end-piece.

The drawings in my 2026 solo exhibition refer to three of my wooden sculptures which are made with multiple layers of waterproof birch plywood. The drawings are an integral part of the construction process, not only to get a feel for the size and dimensions of the end piece but also to literally know how to cut each layer of wood.

For my steel constructions, the work is usually built and welded on top of the life-size drawings, which will more often than not be damaged or burnt by the heat of the welding.

E.A: Although your sculptures are made of industrial and often cold materials such as steel and glass, they evoke a planetary alignment, a kind of cosmic order. There is a palpable tension between organic associations and mechanical precision. Is this contrast intentional? And does the delicate balance you establish between gravity and counterforce contribute to this almost celestial sensibility?

R.O: My choice of material is as pure and honest as I can get it. Neither the steel nor the glass pretend to be anything else than what they are. Maybe the connection with nature is that a tree does not pretend to be a tree.

I certainly explore certain contradictions in touch and physical weight. For example, with the seeming softness of the brittle frosted glass or the floating nature of the large and heavy steel pieces.

E.A: Your works on paper are rendered with extraordinary precision, so balanced and geometrically resolved that they appear nearly untouched by the hand. Do you consider drawing a preparatory stage for the sculpture, or is it the most distilled and autonomous form of your thinking? How do you understand the relationship between the absolute control visible in the drawings and the physical tension embedded in the sculptural works?

R.O: The drawings are a vital part of the entire construction process of any one of my works. The so-called precision of the work drawings is to enable a similar exactness in the cutting of the glass, wood, or steel.

At the same time, I embrace the subtle inaccuracies which give my work that unique, human, empathetic quality. For this reason, my drawings and calculations are handmade; I do not use a computer or digital construction program. Nor are the sculptures made in a machine-type factory setting by other people.

E.A: The placement of your works, some at eye level, others close to the floor, together with the varied tactility of materials, from warm wood to fragile glass and cool metal, seems to choreograph the viewer’s body in space. Is this modulation of height and material a deliberate strategy to guide bodily movement and perception? Within a system that appears geometrically perfect, does the presence of wood introduce a conscious rupture or softness?

R.O: The perspective used in every work is based on a single horizon. This line is always set at 1.65 meters. Although each sculpture is hanging at a different height from the floor, all their vanishing points will share the same horizon.

For this reason, in every one of my solo exhibitions, the separate pieces also create a unified whole. This structure gives the viewer, without them necessarily realizing it, an experience whereby their physical relationship to the sculptures changes as they walk through the space, whilst simultaneously remaining the same due to the shared horizon.

E.A: In your most recent exhibition, the circular forms introduce a sense of repetition and cyclical return. The production of space in these works seems intertwined with a meditation on time. Is this circularity a temporal proposition, or another way of expanding spatial perception? When a work is completed, do you experience a distance between the design and yourself as its maker, or does the process aim to dissolve that gap?

R.O: For me, a circular form flows unimpeded into space. And this is one of my present investigations, both with the large pieces as well as the smaller steel and glass ones.

For your second question, once a work is finished it no longer belongs to me — it stands by itself, and once again I become the spectator.

E.A: In the catalogue, the photographs documenting the fabrication process reveal an almost microscopic attention to detail, a millimetric precision that mirrors the minimal perfection of both your sculptures and drawings. Could you describe how your making process unfolds? Is this technical exactitude an inherent extension of your conceptual framework, or does it emerge gradually through the discipline of production?

R.O: My technical exactitude is pragmatic. With this kind of geometric artwork, if not precise, it will literally and figuratively collapse.

Installation views from the exhibition “Limit everything to the essential, but do not remove the poetry”, Galerie Ramakers, The Hague, February – March 2026.
D-23 (2023), steel, frosted glass, 59 × 35 × 14 cm; F-25 Daglicht 2 (2025), steel, 10 parts, 82.5 × 305 × 33 cm; H-25 (2025), black steel, 8 parts, 11 × 224 × 39 cm; I-25 (2025), birch plywood (water-resistant), 91 × 66 × 22 cm; C-22 (2022), lead, wood, 73 × 52 × 14 cm; C-23 (2023), steel, frosted glass, 61 × 60 × 7 cm; D-23 (2023), steel, frosted glass, 59 × 35 × 14 cm