“It Is What It Is… Until It’s Not”: Anico Mostert on the Beauty of Ambiguity

In a peaceful Amsterdam park, surrounded by the soft sounds of geese and rustling trees, I had the delight of spending an afternoon with Anico Mostert. The South African-based painter creates luminous, introspective works that feel both grounded and dreamlike. The figures are suspended in stillness and rich with emotional complexity. Her paintings explore what it means to feel deeply, to linger in the in-between, and to embrace the ambiguity that so often defines our inner worlds. We spoke about presence, process, and the quiet wisdom of her mysterious characters.

Angel, 2025, Oil on Canvas, 35.5 x 28 x 3.6 cm

Let’s begin with your process. How do you start a new work?

I start a painting with a very vague, loose idea. And that can often turn into something completely different. So I might begin with an image I like, or a memory, or a thought. And then if I had to describe it, it almost feels more like working with clay. There’s a lot of pushing things around, covering things up, and then starting over. It’s an ever evolving process. Eventually, I’ll step back and notice, oh - there’s something happening there. That could become this. And from that point, things start to feel more intentional. I’ll ask myself, “Okay, but what is the story?” And then I can start building a work around it.

So it's a bit of a push and pull between you and the work?

Exactly. It kind of feels like I’m molding an image. There’s a lot of starting over. And I like that. I like when there are lots of layers of paint and it gets muddy, because then I feel like I can really work with something. I can mold it. Start again. It also depends on my mood. Sometimes I’m in the mood to draw a picture first and then work within the lines of that drawing. But more often, I just sit in front of the canvas and it kind of… comes to me.

Untitled, 2024, Ink on calico

Your characters seem to carry secrets. It makes me wonder, do you ever picture who they are, what they’ve been through, or do you let them stay a bit mysterious even to yourself?

I think they always stay a bit mysterious. I like that about them. They exist in this other world. I view them as wiser versions of the person looking at the figure or of me. The paintings often reflect my internal world.

So do you feel like the characters are a mirror of yourself?

Sometimes. They’re also a mirror of what I observe.

There’s an eerie stillness in your figures. I often find myself wondering: Where are they going? What are they waiting for? Are these questions you ask yourself while making, or do they emerge only in the finished work?

They definitely seem like they're waiting for something. I often think, if you're looking at people interacting, or if you're just observing, there's so much you can read into these very small, quick moments. Like how someone is sitting down, how they're touching the person next to them, how they're speaking, how they use their hands. I try to capture moments like that. So I’d say it’s a snapshot of the moment. But also, I think they can feel kind of timeless, like when you're reflecting. It’s almost like time stands still. You're so deep in a thought, or trying to work through something, that you're not really noticing what's happening around you. So maybe it’s a bit of that too.

Your figures seem deeply rooted in the present moment, almost peacefully so. What draws you to explore that kind of stillness or emotional presence in your work?

The figures are quite content to just be in the moment, whatever that moment may be. We often try to make things logical. Or if there’s a feeling or an emotion, we try to explain it, or avoid it, or change it - mold it into something we think it should be. But these figures are very at peace with feeling it. There’s almost a knowing, to get through something, you have to actually feel it. So maybe the bright colors, or the contrast between the figures and the color, reflect that tension: the urge to change what you're feeling, but also the reality that you can’t, really. It is what it is… until it’s not.

I love that. So these figures are content just existing in their own right?

Exactly. They have a knowing. I always look at them and feel like they’re wise.

This Is My Pet, 2025, Oil and Acrylic on Canvas, 38 x 30 x 4 cm

If your characters could speak, what do you imagine they would say?

I don’t think they speak. Not for now, at least. I think it’s more their body movement. How they use their limbs, how they move through the world. Often, the position of the head says so much.

What does it say?

It’s a soft gesture, the way the head is often a little tilted. It’s kind of like that feeling of being happy with knowing that something else is coming in the next moment. The figures often seem quite lonely, too. But I don’t think that loneliness is necessarily bad. They know it's just a part of life.

The contrast between the haunting, introspective quality of your characters and the luminous, vivid colours is striking. How do you think colour shapes or subverts the mood in your pieces?

The use of color is quite intuitive. I think it really depends on my mood and what I’m seeing around me. What I usually do is take out a palette and mix a bunch of colors. Then, once the image starts to appear or I get a sense of where it’s going, I become more intentional with color. That’s when I start thinking: Okay, what’s the mood? What’s happening here? What direction is the story or the interaction taking? And then I’ll choose colors that either add to that feeling or sometimes take away from it, depending on what feels necessary.

What role does ambiguity play in your practice? Do you ever resist the temptation to ‘explain’ something to maintain that sense of mystery?

Definitely. I don’t want the specifics of what it brings up for me to cloud or determine what you’re going to think. Life in general is so ambiguous. There’s no fighting that. And I think art is a safe space for that individual ambiguity to exist. There’s beauty in it.

What do you hope someone would feel standing in front of the work?

I think the reason I don’t often share the specific stories I end up imagining around the figures is because it makes me happy if it’s left open-ended. That way, the person looking at the work can project whatever they want onto it, whatever comes up for them. It lets them create their own meaning. I think there’s value in that. Even if they don’t fully understand it, maybe that’s even better. Because then it can be anything, leaving some room for intrigue.

Recommendations from the sun, 2023, Oil on canvas, 129x100cm

In a world that often values clarity and certainty, what draws you to make work that lives in the in-between? In that beautiful, uncertain space of emotional ambiguity?

I think it’s the acceptance of that process. To arrive at this clarity, you have to go through wandering, questioning, and quite a bit of struggle. There’s usually a lot of pushing and pulling, trying to understand something. And often, when you look back after you’ve reached clarity, it’s the moments of pushing, pulling, and wondering that stand out the most. Those moments are actually, in retrospect, the most interesting and beautiful parts.

It’s always about the journey, isn’t it?

Yeah, exactly. It always is, with everything. And I think art is about that, you know - it’s always about getting to something or trying to understand something, and wanting to share that journey, whatever that may be.