artist portrait
Dineke van Oosten
Dineke van Oosten has just returned to her studio in Den Bosch, where she’s working on a new exhibition in Rotterdam. She grew up in the wide-open landscapes of Zeeland, surrounded by horses, building forts, and putting on performances for her family. “The art was always there,” she says—foreshadowed by the flamboyant outfits she wore in high school. At first, she dreamed of becoming a veterinarian, but the science subjects got in the way, and the art academy came calling.
Today, she creates from her studio in the former Willem II factory, surrounded by experimentation and spontaneity. Her work emerges through movement, repetition, and imperfection. She plays with what she can control—and what presents itself. “I often only know what it’s meant to be once I see it.”
1. What are some unexpected places you find inspiration?
“It’s really in the small, often broken things I come across. A rusty container with peeling paint on the street. Something worn down—marked by time. I can look at that endlessly. There's a beauty in it that fascinates me. It wasn’t made to be beautiful, and maybe that’s exactly why it is.
Right now, for example, I’m photographing rusted objects—just because I want to capture and preserve them. But I also get a lot of energy from conversations with other makers—even (or especially) when their work is completely different from mine. If we share a way of seeing or thinking, it can really spark something. It opens things up.”
2. When does a piece feel ‘right’ to you, even when working with imperfection and chance?
“That’s always a matter of intuition. My work is rooted in imperfection and unpredictability—so I’m not chasing a ‘perfect’ image. Sometimes, a composition just clicks. The balance is there—between light and dark, tension and calm. And I can’t always explain why.
That’s the mystery of art: you only know when it’s there. It has to move me, stir something. When that happens, I know it’s finished—even if it’s not technically flawless.”
3. Is it hard to let go of your work sometimes?
“Oh, it can really hurt. Some pieces feel so personal—like they’ve come from deep within me. When a work captures exactly what I meant or felt, it’s like giving away a part of myself.
But when someone else connects with that piece—when it resonates—that’s incredibly special. Then you know it meant something. And that makes it worth it.”
4. Are there recurring themes you keep coming back to?
“Absolutely. I always return to repetition—of shapes, of actions, of materials. And the tension between control and surrender. How far can you steer what you’re making? When do you step back and just let it happen? That boundary fascinates me. How far can you push control—and when do you hand it over to chance? What do you accept, and when do you intervene?”