IN CONVERSATION WITH EMILIE BAUSAGER

Artist Emilie Bausager works across sculpture and installation, exploring the relationship between people, nature and the landscapes we inhabit. With a background in both fine art and landscape architecture, her practice is formed by a fascination with natural materials, traditional craft and the knowledge and traditions embedded in them. Her exhibition Cottage Industry is currently on view in our Flagship Store at Gammel Kongevej 82.

How would you describe your practice and the way you work?

My practice moves between sculpture, installation and public space, often drawing on materials and histories that are deeply connected to the landscapes we inhabit. I am interested in the ways we shape land, and how in turn it shapes us, socially, culturally and ecologically. Much of my work begins with research into a particular place, its histories, materials and local knowledge, before developing into installations that bring together natural and constructed elements.

I tend to work conceptually, but I want the work to remain tactile and accessible. Humour, familiar materials and everyday references often become entry points into larger questions around our relationship with nature, ownership, care and environmental change. Collaboration is also central to my practice, whether through conversations with craftspeople, ecologists or local communities, allowing the work to be informed by the people and places it exists within.

Your installation Cottage industry is currently on view at our Flagship Store. Can you tell us about the work and where the initial idea came from?

The installation is a physical sketch for a larger work that explores reeds as both a natural material and a cultural one. They are a material that exists between land and water and have been used for centuries in architecture, craft and everyday life.

The initial idea grew from both personal memory and my interest in traditional reed harvesting and thatching. Growing up, I spent a great deal of time at my grandparents' summerhouse on the Danish coast, close to a wetland landscape where reeds stretched across the shoreline. Some of my earliest memories are of walking along the boardwalks through them, feeling completely enclosed by their height, listening to the sound of the wind moving through them and watching their colours shift with the changing seasons. Those sensory experiences have stayed with me and became the starting point for this new material exploration.

As I began researching traditional craft practices, I became interested in the knowledge embedded within reed harvesting and thatching. Rather than treating reeds simply as a building material, I wanted to explore their sculptural qualities and the stories they carry about our relationship with landscape, labour and resourcefulness. Bringing them into a contemporary setting creates a dialogue between historical craft traditions and present day conversations about sustainability, material value and the way we engage with the natural world.

You have a background in both fine art and landscape architecture. How do these two disciplines influence your practice and the way you work?

The two disciplines constantly inform one another. Landscape architecture taught me to think carefully about context, ecology, materiality and the practical realities of working within a site. It also gave me an understanding of how people move through and experience spaces over time.

My artistic practice allows me to ask more open ended questions and to approach those same spaces through narrative, symbolism and emotion. Rather than seeing landscape simply as something to be designed, I think about it as something that holds memory, politics and cultural meaning.

Together they have shaped a practice that is both site responsive and conceptually driven. Whether I am making an exhibition or developing a public artwork, I am always thinking about how a work can respond to its surroundings while inviting people to reconsider their own relationship with the landscape.

What role does architecture play in your practice today?

Architecture is an important reference point because it sits between people and landscape. I am interested in the ways buildings both protect us from nature and depend upon it through their materials, construction and relationship to place.

Many of the materials I work with have architectural histories, and I enjoy repositioning them within sculptural contexts where they can be experienced differently. I am particularly interested in traditional building techniques and vernacular architecture because they reveal a close relationship between local materials, climate and craft knowledge. These histories offer an alternative perspective to contemporary building cultures that often prioritise standardisation and extraction over place-specific knowledge.

Architecture also influences how I think about scale, movement and the experience of a work. I often imagine installations less as isolated objects and more as environments that people move through and encounter physically.

Reeds are the primary material in this installation. Where did your interest in working with reeds begin, and what draws you to them as a material in your practice?

My practice and my work have taught me a lot about patience, control (or the lack of it), and acceptance. We never know what the future holds, we cannot control every situation, and we must accept the present for what it is. Modeling is unpredMy interest in reeds began through both personal experience and later research into british building techniques.

As my practice developed, my childhood memories met a growing interest in traditional thatching and reed harvesting. I became fascinated by how such an ordinary plant could hold such a rich history of craftsmanship, local knowledge and ecological significance.

What draws me to reeds is their ability to exist in a continual cycle of growth, harvest and regeneration. They are a living, renewable resource that returns year after year, making them both ecologically sustainable and deeply connected to the rhythms of the landscape. At the same time, they are simultaneously fragile and incredibly resilient

As a material they carry visible traces of the landscape they come from. They retain a sense of seasonality, weather and place, making them feel alive even after they have been harvested. That connection to landscape is something I want to preserve within the work rather than conceal.ictable - in every way. Through my practice, I’ve learned to accept that and to be at peace with it. Knowing that whatever may happen is meant for me, I lean into the universe with trust. (It takes daily practice…)

Do you see any parallels between working with reeds and thatching, and working with jewelry?

Absolutely. Although they exist at very different scales, both rely on an intimate understanding of material and an extraordinary level of precision. In both jewelry and thatching, small, repetitive gestures accumulate into something much larger than the individual components.

I am interested in the shared process of transformation. Both begin with a raw natural material that is shaped through knowledge, patience and craftsmanship into something refined and enduring. Whether it is harvested reeds or precious metals drawn from the earth, both materials undergo a careful process of making that reveals their potential rather than concealing their origins. That act of refinement, of understanding the inherent qualities of a material and working with rather than against them, is something I find deeply compelling.

Value is constructed through craftsmanship. Jewelry is often associated with precious materials and permanence, while reeds are considered humble and abundant. Yet both demand years of accumulated knowledge and skilled making. Placing these traditions alongside one another challenges assumptions about what we consider valuable and encourages a broader appreciation of craft, material intelligence and the labour embedded within making.

Both practices also share a close relationship with the body. Reeds and jewelry therefore operate at opposite ends of the same spectrum, one intimate and one architectural, yet both shape how we experience the world physically.

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