The disturbing malleability of life, according to Tomas Leth
7 min read
Following his latest show, ‘Spoorless Analogues’ at ADZ Gallery in Lisbon, Pieter-Jan de Pape speaks to Tomas Leth

Tomas Leth, Those are pearls that were his eyes, 2024. Courtesy of ADZ Gallery
Danish artist Tomas Leth has a knack for turning the chaos of life into something mesmerising. His paintings present an intertwined structure of oil colours – organic shapes that look like they could be tangled plants or alien ecosystems, always shifting, growing and reinventing themselves. Leth, who recently joined Croy Nielson gallery in Vienna, dives headfirst into the wild nature of experience, where nothing stays solid for long. His work isn’t about giving you straight answers; it’s about pulling you into that in-between space where meanings blur and reality feels like it’s on the edge of transforming.
Pieter-Jan de Paepe: You just wrapped up your show ‘Spoorless Analogues’. What’s the story behind the title?
Tomas Leth: I don’t want my titles to reveal too much about the works to the viewer, I’d much rather they be open to different readings. They’re almost like a smokescreen or a cloudy mirror, for anyone to read into themselves. They might lead you somewhere close to my own reading of them, or they might not.
PJP: I see some parallels with your work and fellow Danish artist Per Kirkeby. In an interview with Poul Erik Tøjner, Kirkeby said that “paintings that are merely beautiful or riveting in their colours are not enough if there is no structure within.” He went on to add that “the right structure” will slowly emerge from the picture itself. Is this something that resonates with you?
TL: In many ways, I think Kirkeby has an outsized role in Denmark. I don’t think we’ve had many great artists over the last century, much less painters like him. I grew up very familiar with Kirkeby’s work, so he’s often rummaging around somewhere in my mind. I enjoy his writing.
For me, the right structure emerges after I let a piece grow gesture by gesture and by following random instincts. If you know where to go from the beginning and are only following your own preconceived plans, that rarely makes for a good painting in my opinion. When the piece doesn’t quite make sense to you, and is a mystery to a certain degree, then you can call it finished.

Tomas Leth, 'Possession Key Ancient Bloodstreams', 2024. Courtesy of ADZ Gallery

Tomas Leth, 'Strange Angels', 2024. Courtesy of ADZ Gallery
PJP: You work with a diverse range of materials. How do you decide which medium to use?
TL: I usually choose materials for practical reasons, as some. surfaces are more giving than others. There’s an immediacy with oil pastels and pastels that works well for me. They’re great mediums for both building up and tearing down. In art school there was a period where I worked mostly in sculpture, which heavily influenced the way that I paint. I’m a very physical painter, I like to use my hands.
PJP: When did you start painting?
TL: I started painting when I was in my early thirties. At that time I was moving from country to country and didn’t know what to do with myself.
PJP: While reflecting on the botanical themes in your work, I thought of an interview with the artist Terry Winters, where he cites a line attributed to Cézanne, which says that painting should “create a new optic of nature.” Do you agree?
TL: I’m convinced that Cézanne must have meant something broader than Winters’ interpretation. When he speaks of “an optic of nature,” it sounds almost inverted, as if there’s some kind of alternate reality — which is somewhat odd coming from a painter like him, as though he’s talking of something otherworldly. Frankly, I’m not interested in that.
When I looked into this, I found that Cézanne’s actual quote was: “Painting from nature is not copying the object; it is realising one’s sensation.” I really resonate with this. To me, this is what painting can achieve – for the painter, at least. Becoming aware of the act of sensing, not just taking what we receive as gospel, but looking at all the elements, analysing them and trying to figure out how existence translates through our senses.
For me, painting is about persuading the mind to believe in an image – whether it represents an object, an experience or something entirely abstract. It mirrors the natural way our brains and eyes work together to create an image of the world for us to navigate. As humans, we’re inherently image-makers, even the reality we perceive is a constructed image. Perception is an active, albeit subconscious, process. If we were another species, our experience of the world would be different. But we are human, and this is our perspective.

Tomas Leth, 'Bog Child', 2024. Courtesy of ADZ Gallery

Tomas Leth, 'Hymn', 2024. Courtesy of ADZ Gallery
PJP: Later in that interview, Winters suggests that paintings act as instruments, both receiving and transmitting signals to the viewer, emphasising the importance of staying connected to the world, referencing Willem de Kooning’s idea that “even abstract shapes must have a likeness”. Elements of nature often emerge in your work, only to dissolve moments later, oscillating between figuration and abstraction.
TL: I don’t think of these dissolving objects as existing on a strict spectrum between figuration and abstraction. I’m more interested in conveying a state of flux, a certain moment of being where meaning hasn’t yet settled or become fixed. Using organic forms is a way to explore that – a way to create an image that remains open and evolving, resisting a single reading. This reflects my outlook on existence as a whole: disturbingly fluid and malleable.
I want my images to embody the malleability of our lives. The forms I paint are always shifting, growing and regenerating.
PJP: You previously worked as a photographer. Has this influenced your painting? And are you still practicing photography today?
TL: No, not really. I think the world is over-photographed. I use my phone to take pictures like everyone else, which is to say, probably too much. I think photography and painting are polar opposites. I was never a very good photographer. I think it was just a cop-out occupation I could bring up when people asked me what I did for a living.