The Land Art and Interventions in Nature catalogue for artist Miki Velciov inaugurates a series of editorial projects initiated by the Tehnoarte Association, aimed at highlighting artists who have influenced the Timișoara art scene in the last decade. This first volume documents 16 projects produced by Velciov between 2016 and 2023, showcasing the cohesion of his work, which took shape since his undergraduate years in the painting department at the Faculty of Arts and Design (with the work Oculus, 2015). His ephemeral works, often created in isolated places, are documented in the catalogue, becoming unique testimonies of fleeting creations, while technical details, sketches, measurements, topographical analysis, photographs, including aerial drone images, manage to capture the conceptual scale of the works.

Taking into account the lack of a program in Romanian art universities that would include trans-disciplinary art forms such as performance, land-art, political art, installation, digital, etc. that would involve collaboration with professors from other faculties, it becomes evident that artists rely more on personal research to arrive to their own discourse. So, we learn that Miki started his studies in painting at the Faculty of Arts and Design, West University of Timișoara during his adulthood. I would have liked this part of the biography to have been included in an interview with the artist. It would have aided the unfamiliar reader to understand the conceptual approach and would have been helpful for young artists to identify themselves. Having met Miki in his studio, having entered the space carefully constructed by his hands, I believe that the artist himself is difficult to capture in these texts, which nevertheless bring a sense of justice to his work. 

Ileana Pintilie opens the series of articles and recalls artists who are mindful of the climate crisis, their fight against the commercialization of art and the environmental movement that gave birth to American land-art. As a profoundly anti-capitalist movement that rejected alignment with the production of objects meant to perpetuate a transactional system operating within commercial galleries, land artists were acutely aware of the urgency of action. In the text “Traces in the Landscape”, Ileana Pintilie highlights Velciov’s sensitivity to nature, who instead of using classical painting tools creates deep textures directly in the layers of grass or in furrows of earth, in the spirit of the “extended field of sculpture” defined by theorist Rosalind Krauss. Just like the artists who roamed the vast empty American landscapes, leaving the cities, Miki searches for suitable spaces after conducting measurements invisible to others — even when creating “commissioned” works during residencies. The artist begins with the concept, “as its primary nucleus, then slowly building itself up by incorporating the necessary visual elements. He draws his inspiration from the surrounding nature, which motivates him and provides him with a bundle of synesthetic sensations, then processes the concrete data, sublimates, and transforms them into abstract concepts with vague references to the original source of inspiration. These condensed forms, which contain within them – symbolically – concrete fragments, are then compositionally arranged in situ, after rigorous mathematical calculations and an elaborate, almost engineering-like action.” explains Ileana Pintilie. 

The author divides Velciov’s work into, on the one hand, landscape interventions aimed at a return to nature — where the human trace disappears after the act of intervention, often visible only from an aerial perspective (and therefore invisible to the human eye) — and, on the other hand, monumental installations that can only be perceived from a singular human perspective, that of a “privileged point of view”. Works such as Biodiversity, Labyrinth and River are designed to be perceived from a perspective inaccessible to the observer at ground level. The disregard for direct human perspective and the need for a bird’s-eye view to decipher them brings them closer to geoglyphs or shapes in grain fields seen as messages to an instance outside humanity. Documenting these works by drone becomes the only means by which they can be perceived in their entirety. Although, on the ground, the volunteers who took part in the construction of the Labyrinth are captured in the images as they walk through the corridors of the work or sit inside it, their experience is fragmentary, limited by their own position. They cannot grasp the overall form, only the immediate route in front of and behind them – a metaphor for life, where individual perspective is always limited to the immediate present, as successive sequences governed by a point of view centered on their own existence. Through this strategy, the artist denies the viewer access to a full understanding of the work during direct experience, reserving the total perspective for aerial documentation only – the equivalent of an “outsider’s” gaze that transcends ordinary human positioning.

Gabrielle Schwarz’s text is written from the position offered by the two-dimensionality of the screen and from the objective perspective of a critic who has not physically encountered the artist or his work. One could say it is a “privileged” gaze, “untainted” by the subjectivity that permeates the other four texts written by the artist’s collaborators. Schwarz begins with a fundamental question: what is land art? She emphasizes that there is no official manifesto or a fixed list of artists to define this movement, but in general terms, land art can be understood as any work made in and with the natural landscape. The author notes that although elements of the Arte Povera movement and conceptualism were initially only borrowed, the movement eventually expanded more toward minimalism, with its reductive constructions made of iron, aluminum, or concrete. Over time, with the demise of the “golden generation,” the phenomenon began to fade, and very few artists continued to make land art according to its original principles — a movement that abandoned museums and galleries in favor of non-transportable, site-specific constructions. In recent decades, the term has been misused to refer to almost any object or structure placed in nature. Schwarz also points out that, in Eastern Europe, land art unfortunately often unfolded outside official art systems and was poorly documented during the Soviet era.

A defining aspect of Velciov’s practice that Schwarz also emphasizes is the exploration of perspective through the technique of anamorphosis. This strategy involves, as detailed above, the creation of works that can only be properly perceived from a “privileged vantage point” of observation. The author references the photographic series Perspective Corrections by abstract painter Jan Dibbets, which consists of photographs of walls, floors, and meadows on which geometrical shapes are drawn or constructed — shapes that are distorted in reality but become perfect geometric forms (which do not exist naturally) through the camera lens. In this case, photography serves not only as documentation, but also holds value in itself as an object.

Moreover, the author points out a fundamental distinction between Velciov’s practice and the interventions of early land art artists. Some of the early practitioners of land art, while interested in nature, did not always consider the ecological impact of their work. See Michael Heizer’s Double Negative (1969-70), a massive intervention that involved excavating 240,000 tons of earth to create two huge trenches in the Nevada desert, Robert Smithson’s Spiral Jetty, or architectural sculptures that use concrete and other foreign materials to create two huge trenches in the Nevada desert (such as Charles Ross’s Star Axis, Alberto Burri’s Grande Cretto, Nancy Holt’s Sun Tunnels). By contrast, Velciov takes a much more environmentally conscious approach, avoiding destructive interventions and integrating natural elements in a way that respects local ecosystems, a point emphasized by Gabrielle and Ileana Pintilie. This difference reflects a significant shift in the approach to contemporary land art, in which ecological considerations and sustainability are becoming essential. As the only text that draws attention to the potentially destructive nature of land-art, Gabrielle ends with a sobering reminder to the artist: “it is especially appropriate that Velciov should be attentive to the current context of human-driven ecological crisis. Environmental consciousness is, after all, a kind of reverse anamorphosis: the ability to see the true state of the planet, not just as appears from the privileged vantage point. With his eco-conscious interventions, Velciov takes on the history of land art and makes it relevant to the present moment..”

Maria Orosan-Telea also analyzes the use of anamorphosis as a fundamental element in Velciov’s work, emphasizing, however, that his practice aligns more closely with architecture and landscape design — “with the aim of creating harmonious, balanced ensembles or producing optical effects that elongate distances or equalize elements that, in fact, differ in size.” This trait is a defining one and sets Miki Velciov apart from other contemporary artists who engage in both anamorphosis and easel painting. Although the principle of the privileged viewpoint is also present in artistic techniques such as anamorphic painting or virtual reality — where the viewer must adopt a specific position to decipher the image — in Velciov’s case, this strategy does not function as a mere visual trick. Rather than creating an illusionistic experience designed to impress through a mechanical optical transformation, the artist uses perspective to reintegrate the viewer into the landscape. Here lies a fundamental difference: his aim is not simply to manipulate visual perception, but to provoke an awareness of the relationship between man and landscape.

This relationship brings Velciov’s work closer to the ancestral philosophical thinking behind ritual drawing traditions and Japanese meditation gardens, rather than to Renaissance anamorphoses or contemporary digital experimentations. The Japanese karesansui (dry gardens), characterized by the use of white sand and stones to suggest the dynamics of water and natural landscapes, are meant to be contemplated from a fixed, privileged viewpoint, inviting the viewer to reflect. Similarly, the kaiyū-shiki-teien (strolling gardens) guide the visitor through a sequence of carefully composed perspectives, so that each step reveals a new spatial configuration. This logic of fragmented perception is evident in Velciov’s works, where viewers can only experience sections of the installation — unable to perceive the whole simultaneously, except through an external, aerial viewpoint.

“These dematerialized and abstracted forms allude to an ancestral memory, which the artist attempts to resurrect so as to make it provocative and exciting for the public” Pintilie also remarks. Miki’s approach to land art is more reminiscent of universal traditional ritualistic drawing techniques that transcend the boundaries of Western culture, from the Sona models of Angola, the sand drawings of Vanuatu or the Navajo sand paintings. Sona drawings, made by the Chokwe people, are geometric compositions drawn in sand, used to convey stories and essential knowledge. They are drawn and erased in the same performative act, emphasizing the ephemerality and transitory nature of the image.

Similarly, sand drawings in Vanuatu are created by the inhabitants of the archipelago as forms of visual communication and as ritual elements. These images are ephemeral, meant to exist only for the duration of the act of drawing, and are destroyed immediately after completion, similar to the Navajo tradition, where sacred sand paintings are made in ceremonial contexts and must be destroyed after the ritual is completed to prevent any fixation of sacred energy in material objects. The relationship between ephemerality and sacredness is also relevant to Velciov’s land art, which unfolds in a similar process: the intervention in the landscape is temporary, and the very disappearance of the work is part of the artistic concept. These non-western visions encountered on opposite sides of the planet emerged spontaneously, without exposure to the concepts of perspective or an understanding of the underlying mathematical and physical notions. It is an ancestral knowledge acquired by the artist when working respectfully with nature. 

Unlike traditional land art, which focused on monumentality and physical intervention in the landscape, Velciov introduces a subtle conceptual dimension, where the viewer’s temporary experience becomes an integral part of the work (also seen in Dibbets’ Perspective Corrections). As such, his works are not just sculptural forms in nature, but phenomenological experiences that question how reality is perceived, registered and ultimately forgotten.

Aura Bălănescu offers a different reading of Velciov’s art, seemingly inaccessible to the viewer uninitiated in the principles of physics. Her text complements the interpretive keys to his work, which is often created in partnership with architects, landscape designers, or engineers. While the other texts introduce us to the history of local and international land art, drawing parallels with other artists whose practices are either similar or diametrically opposed, Aura Bălănescu writes for the “other” audience of Miki’s art. This technically trained public — engineers, physicists — can grasp additional layers of the sensory experience.

In her analysis, Bălănescu introduces the anthropic principle, formulated by Robert Dicke and later taken up by Steven Weinberg. This principle suggests that the fundamental laws of the universe seem adjusted to allow the existence of consciousness capable of interrogating it. This idea is applied to Velciov’s work in the sense that his land art works are created in a way that requires the viewer’s presence and participation in order to be conceptually completed. Just as the anthropic principle argues that the universe cannot be described independently of the observer, Velciov creates installations that cannot be fully perceived without the viewer’s conscious involvement. “Land art works typically manifest themselves independently of the audience’s involvement.
But in Miki Velciov’s case, the key element is precisely the creation of an observed-observer system that determines the prevalence of the whole composition over the constructive parts but also over the surrounding reality by confguring the disparate elements into a unity comprising the work, the viewer, the perceptual device, and the site-specific context.” (Aura Bălănescu)

In her analysis, Aura mentions Agnes Denes’s iconic work Wheatfield – A Confrontation in comparison to Miki Velciov’s Turgidum (2018), both of which explore the connotations of wheat. In addition to these works, there is a notable similarity between Velciov’s preparatory drawings and Denes’ Philosophical sketches. Agnes Denes’ drawings are not mere technical sketches, but function as conceptual diagrams visualizing ideas about landscape and ecology. They combine mathematical precision with artistic intuition, illustrating complex geometric structures, landscape projections and philosophical thought patterns. Through this approach, Denes constructs an aesthetics of knowledge, where drawing becomes a tool for exploration; like Velciov’s drawings, they serve as diagrams of thought, aiding the viewer to visualize complex spatial structures before they are materialized in landscape. They are not just preparatory tools, but autonomous images that synthesize the concept of the work, being works in themselves.

While for Aura, the influence of the Timișoara school is a defining element in Miki’s practice, Horațiu Lipot places particular emphasis on the artist’s encounter with Rome. Aura highlights this connection to the Timișoara school through “a pedagogical role that borders on ecological activism. He addresses his collaborators, students from various profiles, artists, or the general public, who are involved almost programmatically in a field of artistic knowledge, social interaction, and critical thinking in relation to an environment increasingly affected by anthropic impact.” The collaborative works mentioned by Aura and Ileana are more akin to forms of assistance, as there is no true conceptual collaboration or input, as can be observed by following the artist’s drawings all the way to the final work. Participants are involved only in the construction of an idea that has already been outlined, or serve merely as anthropic scale references for his vast pieces.

But the influence of the Timișoara school is most evident in the transdisciplinary way of relating to the environment. Ileana Pintilie discusses this modus operandi in Ștefan Bertalan’s practice in Revista ARTA no. 68–69 / 2024:

“An initial path for him, as well as for his colleagues with whom he would later form the Sigma group, was to seek in nature the sources of artistic inspiration and regeneration. In this sense, Bertalan relied on a number of contemporary theories drawn from bionics, cybernetics, computer science, structuralism, Gestalt psychology, etc., which were conveyed through books published at the time, but also debated at length in the Bionics Circle, led by Professor Eduard Pamfil in the spirit of interdisciplinarity. […] Forms could emerge following nature’s model, but could just as well be generated mathematically or even numerically. The common research themes and issues addressed by the artist-teachers of the Fine Arts High School in Timișoara in those years were the development of different ways of understanding and analyzing, followed by its conceptualization and the search for equivalents using various artistic languages.”[1]

The similarity with Bertalan’s and Sigma’s practice is also grasped by Horațiu Lipot, who makes a symbolic connection between Rome and Timișoara as essential spaces in the artist’s formation. If Timișoara, through the influence of the Sigma group and its land art experiments, represents a nucleus of alternative and conceptual art, Rome offered Velciov the opportunity to directly investigate examples of optical illusions in painting and architecture. Another key aspect that the author highlights is the lack of a representative of the same caliber in contemporary Romanian land art. The Romanian art scene is rather dominated by installations and objects placed in public space, coming from the sphere of sculpture or performance, but without a continuity in the practice of land art. He mentions artists such as the Mamu group, Károly Kovács and Ana Lupaș, whose singularized works conceptually approach land art, but do not define a sustained and exclusive practice of the genre.

Thus, Velciov distinguishes himself through a consistent approach to intervention in nature, not just as an isolated artistic gesture, but as a coherent system of thought and practice that is profoundly anti-capitalist and specific to land art. This movement was formed in opposition to the mechanisms of the art market and the relationship between art and dominant economic systems, while deliberately avoiding objectification and commercialization, being in many cases ephemeral and inaccessible to the general public. In an economy based on the production of standardized, replicable, and easily circulated objects, Lipot emphasizes that land art operates in a radically different manner: the works are unique, unsellable, and inseparable from the place in which they are created, thereby rejecting artistic commodification. He recalls a personal episode in which the artist refused a commercial commission, believing that creating an artwork solely for money would compromise the integrity of his endeavor.

The Land Art and Interventions in Nature catalogue offers not only a broad perspective on Miki Velciov’s artistic practice, highlighting the complexity and depth of his approach through critical texts, but, by including sketches, readers can also understand the technical dimension, beyond just skimming through the photographic documentation. The works do not remain mere objects of contemplation, but become experiences that transform the way we perceive space, time and our own presence in the landscape. For readers who are discovering this type of artistic practice for the first time, the catalogue serves as a valuable introduction to contemporary Romanian land art, providing historical, theoretical and visual landmarks. For those already familiar with Velciov’s work, this publication is an essential testimony to an artistic approach that unfortunately remains isolated in the local landscape, through the plethora of interventions in public space and nature without any particular purpose.

[1]  Ileana Pintilie, ”The shape is no longer an original given, but a product of man’s freedom” – Ștefan Bertalan and the New Artistic Pedagogy of the 1970s, Revista ARTA issue 68-69 /2024.

Translated by Marina Oprea