Nymph: Interview with Tereza Červeňová

Tereza Červeňová spent two years as artist in residence at the Warburg, where she captured the life and transformation of the Institute during the Warburg Renaissance building project. Known for her evocative use of photography and photomontage, Tereza has spent her time here exploring themes of migration, memory, and identity within the Warburg’s unique spaces and collections. Her approach, blending delicate imagery with personal and historical narratives, resonates through her new book, Nymph, images of which are currently on display as part of the Memory & Migration exhibition, and will also be highlighted in her upcoming talk at the Institute.

In this blog interview, Tereza reflects on her time at the Warburg, the inspirations behind her work, and how this experience has deepened her artistic practice. Join us as we explore the culmination of Tereza’s residency and her compelling vision of art as a bridge between personal memory and collective history.

How did your time at the Warburg Institute influence your artistic process, especially working within the context of an ongoing renovation and transformation? Did this environment shape your work in unexpected ways?

Working on an active construction site was an entirely new experience for me. For most of my residency, the environment was fluid and unstructured—I was essentially my own supervisor and producer, though always subject to the progress of the building works. Initially, I’d envisioned something quite different, perhaps even romantic, ha! In reality, I was often working on cold days, wearing a protective hard hat that interfered with my view through the camera’s viewfinder, oversized steel-toe boots, and constantly trying to shield my old analogue cameras from the pervasive dust as walls were torn down around me. Needless to say, my “studio” was far from the typical pristine white cube.

I was also careful to avoid creating stereotypical images of a building site, aware that there are only so many ways to photograph cracks in the walls! My aim was to convey a unique perspective overall, and I believe that the female presence—especially the ethereal nymph presence—added an unexpected layer, both for myself and the rest of the team. When I realised I wanted to contextualise these images through the lens of the Ninfa, a mythical female figure that Warburg himself was fascinated by, everything fell into place. This shift from simple documentation of a construction site to a creative, metaphorical narrative was both fulfilling and exciting.

You’ve expressed an interest in the proximity between your work and Aby Warburg’s Mnemosyne Atlas. How did this influence your photography during your residency? Were there particular moments when you felt this connection more strongly?

Before Bill Sherman, the Director of the Institute, invited me to extend my residency for the duration of the Warburg Renaissance project, my plans were quite loose. I was first approached by Alma Zevi of the Visionary Circle amid the pandemic, in July 2020. For the first two years, due to COVID restrictions and delays, most of my communication with Bill, and Alma was through occasional Zoom check-ins. I was able to meet Bill in person a few times at the building, and at some point in 2021, he suggested that I remain for the entirety of the renovation. However, it wasn’t until 2022, as restrictions lifted, that I could visit more regularly, immerse myself in research, and explore the library and photo collection, and most importantly – start photographing. 

One of my early observations was the scarcity of “ordinary” images of people in the collection. The raw, immediate, and intimate scenes I tend to seek out were rare. Like so many others, I found the Bilderatlas Mnemosyne incredibly captivating. I pored over the Hatje Cantz edition, analysing the panels, jotting down my own associations, and noting “titles” and subtitles that struck me, like Women’s fight for trousers. I described what I saw in these images, as well as what I felt was absent.

One day, I reached Panel 46, known as the Nymph Panel, and there was an image that immediately drew me in: a photo of a woman from Settignano, walking down the street, a fleeting moment captured as she goes about her day, with workmen visible on a building in the background. This image felt different. Unlike the others, it wasn’t a reproduction; it was a photograph in its own right, a scene that someone had witnessed and felt compelled to capture. Discovering that the photographer was Aby Warburg himself only heightened my fascination, and I later realised it was the only photo in the entire Atlas taken by Warburg.

That serendipitous moment, the magnetism of that particular photograph, felt magical. It was this image that drew me in more than any other in the Atlas. And it was the image that caught my attention rather than its famous author. I knew I needed to follow it somehow.

You’ve spoken about how chance encounters often play a significant role in your work. Can you share any particular moments or encounters during your residency that led your work in a new or unexpected direction?

From the outside, this may appear to have been a well-planned project, but it was really a journey of chance and step-by-step adjustments to constantly shifting circumstances. Looking back, though, I can identify a few pivotal moments that shaped it. The first came when Bill asked me to stay on for the duration of the Warburg Renaissance project to document the transformation of the building. Being invited to create an alternate, artistic record of the most significant change in the Warburg Institute’s history since its arrival in the UK carried a certain gravitas. This invitation also gave me a much-needed sense of direction, something to work towards. The long-term timeline presented its own challenges, but it suited me well—I tend to prefer extended, ongoing projects over short-term residencies.

Another turning point, as I’ve mentioned, was my discovery of the Settignano woman and the Native American woman from the Pueblo tribe, fleeing from Warburg’s camera gaze inside her home. Both images, beautiful and ephemeral in their own way, left an open question in me. They are “liquid” images, not describing any events but suspended between them. They resonated with me because I, too, was a woman moving through these empty rooms, searching for something, yet hiding from something else.

A third encounter was with two young female architects, Laura and Jess, who were given the task to be my chaperones on site while the construction was going on. I felt quite apologetic that they were taken away from their own work to oversee me. Yet as I craved human presence in my images, I asked them to step in front of the lens and become part of the story. Especially with Laura, who was my main chaperone, and whose calmness and sense of safety allowed me to create the kind of intimate images I wanted.

This body of work also includes many self-portraits. It’s meaningful to reflect on them in hindsight, as my residency coincided with a tumultuous period in my personal life. Self-portraiture became a refuge; it was the first time I felt the need to see myself in this way, to bear witness to my own experience. That desire to meet oneself through one’s work naturally seeped into my approach at the Warburg, making this project both an external and deeply internal journey.

What were the most significant challenges you encountered during your residency, and how did you overcome them?

The main challenge of this residency, while simultaneously also being its main honour, was that it was the inaugural one. Being the first resident meant that I had to tread all the paths in the grass anew, with no previous footsteps to follow, and through continuous conversations with Bill and others, invent plans, structure and funding strategies for the residency.

During the residency, I mostly worked alone, navigating the loose and shifting environment of the construction site on one hand, and harsh and at the time financially really challenging life of a self-employed artist-photographer in London during a post-pandemic economic downturn, on the other. In addition, my personal circumstances during that time pushed me further into isolation, lack of self-esteem, and mental health struggles. 

I also missed having access to a critical cohort with whom I could share the work with more regularly. But as there was a genuine enthusiasm and encouragement for the work from the Institute, especially from the director Bill Sherman, I persevered, continued creating, and kept communicating my needs and my process.

An important moment in the journey was the appointment of Matthew Harle as the Curator of Artistic Programmes. Together we agreed that a publication would be the most meaningful format of the residency’s outcome as it would suit the context of the library, accommodate the residency’s extended timeline, and give the work a lasting legacy. Matt connected me with a small, supportive team, including Naomi Pearce, the Exhibition Producer, who wrote an extensive interview with me for the book, and Arnaud Desjardin from The Everyday Press, who published it. I invited my good friend Jan Motyka as the graphic designer, and together we spent the last months of the residency crafting the story of the Nymph.

As challenging as the experience was, it taught me invaluable lessons. I deepened my own process, learned to trust my approach while adapting to working with an archive, and practicing patience while waiting for the right signs to guide the project. And most importantly – I am very proud of the results and grateful to everyone who contributed towards making it happen. It is wonderful to be able to spread the work further into the world through the pages of the book, to showcase the prints in the inaugural exhibition Memory & Migration, and to speak about it in the event with the curator and art critic Sacha Craddock on 13 November.

Now that your residency has concluded, are there any themes, ideas, or projects that you’re excited to explore next? How do you see your time at the Warburg shaping your future work?

Previously, I thought of myself primarily as a portrait photographer. But since photographing the Warburg Institute’s architectural transformation, I’ve received three additional commissions in architecture, each focusing—much like this one—on capturing the change from old to renewed, the “before and after” of a place.

This shift in my practice—exploring architecture from an artist’s perspective rather than a professional architectural photographer’s—is a sign too strong to ignore. I find joy in it; it has a certain serenity, and when the brief is open enough, other photographic genres can find their way into the work. Architecture photography is deeply tied to the weather, to light that transforms spaces from morning to evening, spring to winter. As Gaston Bachelard famously observed, “the poetics of space” is palpable, and despite the structure’s solidity, each building becomes a porous stage for imagination, vision, and perception. Working within the living organism of the Warburg construction site showed me that looking at a space from within opens not only the building but also the person in it.

Looking ahead, I hope to take on more collaborative projects where my photography serves both as art and as something purposeful, something that gives back. At the same time, I feel a strong pull to return to the studio and complete a body of work I’ve been living in and working on for five years (2019-2023). This work, with its complex narrative, has often unfolded in parallel with my residency, perhaps even intertwining with it.

If I’ve learned one thing over the years, it’s to listen to my intuition and trust that my voice deserves to be heard, even if it feels like the quietest or most forgettable one. As women, we owe it to ourselves and each other to keep advocating for our rights and freedoms. Although the discourse is evolving, the difficult conversations are still necessary. Art, with its unique power to tell stories, can spark these conversations and create spaces for reflection. Beyond bringing joy, art holds the potential to set the stage for important dialogues, inviting people to engage, question, and connect.