Aistė Stancikaitė: The World Awake

Aistė Stancikaitė, Prelude, 140x170cm, oil and acrylic on linen. Courtesy of GNYP gallery and the artist.

By JOSH NILAND April 21, 2025

Last fall, alarmed by the present, and looking at future prospects for western democracy teetering, and offering even more dire of a threat to artists, a vivid and very uplifting exhibition appeared to me as an epiphany courtesy of the ten-year-old GNYP Gallery in Berlin.

There, revelations—outlining an undeniable ur-consciousness, pointing to the existence of multiple dimensions, psychic beings, and the centrality of biopolitics over both in life a priori—emanated from the mystic pink, purple, and ‘disco-dusk-blue’ paintings introduced into an extremely charged social current by Aistė Stancikaitė over a tumultuous past year.

Her work in Crossings, expanding on an earlier show Dreamwalkers held in March at The Cabin LA, and prepared at a challenging and radical moment for many other artists living in Germany under threat of visa reprisals and other government crackdowns, follows more insular earlier single-color illustrations series with a Deleuze-like progression into pure cosmic assemblies.
 

Aistė Stancikaitė, Nauji Krantai, 160x160cm, oil and acrylic on linen. Courtesy of GNYP gallery and the artist.
 

The rendition of uncovering, voyage, and self-discovery (inscribed, too, by Spranger’s concept of the soul as a process) is turned back against the audience, beckoning them in towards this new experience of freedom, reality, and perception. It works to remind us that there is absolutely another way of being separated from politics. I had the feeling of existing at the start of a new paradigm shift: everything came together as the title suggests, heightened by an awareness that something else is taking place—away from the surface.

Deep, often unconscious connections between the viewer and the subject ignite these works as an expression of her desire to break free from dynamics she attributes to the 'inherited constraints' of painting. A 'stardust'-like sprayed acrylic finish applied thereafter belies their complex superpositioning calling on an awakening of the spirit, and along with it, the birth of a new age. Like me, some may find this is the only way forward amidst the uncertainty of tomorrow. In the end, I was left with questions that run the gamut of her current creative process and intentions.

Stancikaitė grasped at the answers to these while expounding on a changed zeitgeist in the city for a look at her process following the announcement of her first solo institutional show at the Kunstverein Dresden next January.
 

Aistė Stancikaitė, Cadenza, 150x180cm, oil and acrylic on linen. Courtesy of GNYP gallery and the artist.
 

JN: What do you bring to this work in terms of your personal existential understanding?

AS: I don’t see existence as something fixed but as a process of uncovering and questioning. Just as in my life outside of work, I’m always exploring what’s beneath the surface—both in myself and the world around me. I bring that same curiosity into my work by creating spaces where different realities, memories, and subconscious layers overlap. Jung’s idea of the shadow self is deeply important to me—the parts of ourselves we ignore or suppress still shape us. I don’t see the unknown as something to fear but as something to explore. That sense of discovery is always present in my work, whether on a personal, collective, or even a more abstract level. I haven’t read the Upanishads, but I can see the themes they explore resonating with the more existential questions I consider.

At the same time, I’m drawn to how we exist within the structures of our world—the push and pull between progress and tradition, identity and change. Donna Haraway’s ideas on hybridity and shifting identities influence both my thinking and how I move through life. I see the self as fluid, always evolving. And that’s a constant theme in my work. It’s never about finding fixed answers about opening up new ways of seeing and understanding.

JN: I like to think of the boundaries in the paintings as the boundaries of consciousness. The astral plane is embedded in the figure. At the same time, the presence of planes is apparent and pointed to the art pedagogical sense. Who else’s theory or philosophical texts guided you into these paintings?

AS: That’s an interesting take, and it resonates with some of my ideas. I don’t necessarily see the boundaries in my paintings as boundaries of consciousness but rather as layers of reality or glimpses into the subconscious. These planes aren’t barriers; they’re more like windows into something deeper, suggesting there’s always more beyond what we see. While creating these, I was influenced by Paul Preciado’s writings on dreams and reality, as well as Jung’s concept of the shadow self. Jung’s ideas about the subconscious and the hidden parts of ourselves are central to my work. I’m fascinated by how we’re often surprised by what we discover within ourselves, even though it’s always been there.

In addition, Donna Haraway’s A Cyborg Manifesto informed my thinking too, especially her discussions on gender. I see the unknown within us as a kind of alternate universe—beyond societal binaries and conditioning. I’m particularly interested in the tension between the progress of our world and its simultaneous retreat into outdated structures. It’s something I often think about in my work.

JN: In what ways does the Crossings series betray that?

AS: I wouldn’t say it betrays those ideas—it plays with them differently. The repetition of the same face and the idea of multiplicity reflect the same themes: a single entity containing many layers, some more visible than others. This repetition invites questions: are these faces the same state of being, are they different perspectives of one entity, or something else altogether? It’s a kind of exploration of perception and reality—what’s surface, what’s beneath, and what’s real.
 

Installation view, 2025, courtesy of GNYP and the artist.

JN: How does the rest of this inform your work process?

AS: I’ve always been drawn to the hidden, darker aspects of being human—not in a moral sense, but in terms of the unknown. Jung’s idea of the shadow resonates with me. I wonder if it’s only “dark” until we acknowledge it and integrate into our conscious life. Once something is brought into the light, it becomes part of our reality, even if it’s uncomfortable or difficult. When I create, I’m trying to uncover those hidden layers—first in myself, but I think they’re universal. My creative process feels like digging through an inner archive, processing what I find, and turning it into something visual. It’s intuitive, like the subconscious itself.

JN: You said “subconscious.” Is there an “urban consciousness?” An artistic consciousness? In what context do you make your art?

AS: Living in Berlin has shaped me in many ways. I moved here a few years ago, drawn to its creative energy but without a set plan. The city encourages critical thinking and challenges conformity— people here actively engage, speak up, and push against the status quo. Recent political and cultural events have only reinforced that spirit. When I hear terms like “urban consciousness” or “artistic consciousness,” I think of collective consciousness—a shared set of values and experiences within a group. Each environment has its own unspoken rulebook for belonging, shaping how we move through the world. But true consciousness, to me, happens when we step back and question those norms. I try not to confine myself to labels, or at least stay aware when I do.

JN: I feel like Berlin is one of the last western art capitals that is not as parochial, and is actually a place where artists can be proud of participating in the creative scene. What have the events in the last year-plus in the Middle East introduced within that? Are you afraid of it suffering an intellectual decline as a result of the repression and political crackdowns that artists have faced?
 

Aistė Stancikaitė, Finale, 180x210cm, oil and acrylic on linen. Courtesy of GNYP gallery and the artist.
 

AS: Berlin has long been a place where artists challenge ideas, question power structures, and engage critically with the world. Right now, though, the conditions for open dialogue are becoming more fragile. Many artists have faced professional and personal risks simply for expressing solidarity or critical perspectives. When cultural spaces, institutions, and funding bodies begin policing discourse, it limits the very thing that makes Berlin what it is: a space for dissent, discussion, and radical thought.

However, I don’t worry about an intellectual decline. I don’t think artists are becoming less engaged. In fact, restrictions often fuel creativity in unexpected ways. Artists find alternative routes for expression, resistance, and community-building. I still believe in the city’s spirit and the power of its creative community, and I’m confident that Berlin will remain a place where these voices are heard.

JN: What kind of space is there for the “awakened” voices to speak and get others to open their minds? Can you talk about personal attainment, and knowing when you’ve become truly “free?”

AS: It’s been a challenging time for artists in Germany, especially with cultural funding cuts and political scrutiny. Personally, I haven’t been directly affected since I don’t rely on state funding, but I’ve seen others struggle. Artists rely on freedom of speech—not just in politics but in all forms of expression. Yet, the reality is that not everyone can afford to speak out when it might cost the opportunities. That shouldn’t be the case in a democracy, and it’s concerning that it is.

I believe real change happens through dialogue, not confrontation—by engaging with people outside our own perspectives. As for being “free”, I don’t think total freedom exists. We’re all shaped by societal structures, and even as we grow, we remain connected to them in some way. But self-awareness allows us to recognize and challenge these influences. Freedom, to me, isn’t a final state but an ongoing process—constantly questioning, unlearning, and choosing differently when needed.

JN: Why do you want to paint? Is it primarily because of this?

AS: I paint to better understand myself and the experience of being human. To me, uncovering layers of the self is essential to living more consciously and connecting deeply with the world. Beyond personal exploration, there’s a natural desire to share my perspective with others. Art, for me, is a form of dialogue—a way to create connections, invite reflection, and open conversations. While my work begins as a personal process, sharing it allows it to reach others, challenge perceptions, and expand beyond my own experience.

Aistė Stancikaitė was born in Lithuania in 1988 and currently lives and works in Berlin. WM