Jill Clerx for Table of Instruments (10.09.2026 - 07.11.2026)
Table of Instruments is a complete immersion in De Clercq’s peculiar universe, where systems, structures and constructions create an appearance of order. In this exhibition, he literally puts all his instruments on the table: performative installations, paintings and sculptural objects through which he explores what happens when form and function no longer coincide. The familiar is shifted just enough to slow down our gaze.
The titles of the works provide direction, but never a definitive explanation. De Clercq therefore seems less interested in the answer than in the search for it. A table is no longer simply a table, and a composition seems to suggest more than it reveals. His works set a process of thought in motion that does not necessarily lead to a conclusion. The act of searching itself becomes the subject here.
Throughout this search, there is a persistent tension between control and letting go. It is present both in De Clercq’s visual language and in his way of working. Clearly defined structures, precise proportions and delineated systems offer a sense of orientation, while at the same time leaving room for chance, movement and interpretation. This becomes visible in his performative installations, such as Modular Composition with Red Framework. The work can be activated, causing the composition to change through a minimal intervention by the viewer. The rules are fixed, but the outcome is not. De Clercq relinquishes part of his control and allows the work to continue to exist through the action of the person standing before it.
Rescheduling also starts from such a minimal shift. The construction catches the eye while simultaneously drawing it further inward. The iridescent film suggests a lens, making the work momentarily appear to look back. The principle of the peephole—looking without being seen oneself—takes on a different meaning in the shop window. The exterior side faces the street, while the front unfolds on the inside. The gaze moves between inside and outside, between looking and being looked at.
This attention to shifts and perspective often begins long before a work takes its final form. Ideas can remain in a sketchbook for years, waiting for the right space, dimensions or circumstances in which to materialise. De Clercq works on several ideas simultaneously and allows them to come together only when the moment presents itself. The process is therefore not a straight line, but a continual process of rearranging, testing and looking again.
In his paintings, the tension between structure and freedom takes on a different form. Composition with Orange Table reflects a practice that De Clercq himself describes as a refuge: a more intuitive way of working, in which the hand moves ahead of the mind. Whereas his installations and objects generally emerge from extensive thought and research, the paintings arise more spontaneously, from an aesthetic search for form, composition and colour. A chance composition, noticed in a collage or image, is captured on canvas or panel, without needing to pursue any further meaning.
Yet his fascination with order remains palpable here too, like an invisible grid beneath the image: in geometric proportions, carefully balanced compositions and a preference for primary, saturated colours. The paintings thus form a counterpoint within the same practice: less driven by meaning, but no less concerned with form.
Table of Instruments thus becomes a temporary pause within a practice that is constantly in motion. For De Clercq, an exhibition is not an endpoint, but rather a pause button in a process that continues to unfold. A composition may shift again, a work may be activated, a meaning may change.
What remains is the moment when we pause for a while. Not because the answer presents itself, but because De Clercq’s works compel us to keep searching.
Willem Elias for Algoritme (30.10.2025 - 29.01.2026)
Gert De Clercq, an Artistic Tightrope Walker
Had Heraclitus (c. 540–480 BCE) not brought the idea that everything flows (panta rhei) into circulation, I would invent it here to shed light on Gert De Clercq’s work. Gert, who steps into the Meuse twice and makes visible the fact that it is not the same river, would fit well on the list of performances he has under his belt. Change, precariousness, disharmonious movement, the chance of a sudden flash of insight … These are all key concepts for characterising his working method.
Gert De Clercq investigates things like an experimental scientist, albeit outside any particular discipline, except perhaps that of visualising philosophical questions. This strikes me as one way of defining the concept of ‘conceptual art’.
The formula panta rhei does not appear in the surviving fragments of Heraclitus. It is found as a summary of his philosophy in Plato. Plato sought a synthesis between Heraclitus, the thinker of ‘becoming’, and Parmenides, the philosopher of ‘being’. Unity conceals discord, or diversity displays characteristics that can be traced back to an underlying unity.
Plato is the man we need here. He is rightly regarded as the most influential thinker who, together with the teachings of Christ — described by Nietzsche as ‘Platonism for the masses’ — shaped the West. It is precisely this construct that Gert De Clercq calls into question.
I see his video Dialogic as a deceptive little gem that illustrates this (gertdeclercq.com/About). As we know, Plato wrote his works in the form of dialogues. We see Gert carefully placing a plank across two chairs. He then painstakingly tilts the chairs onto their rear legs without allowing them to lose their balance. On top of these, he places another pair of chairs balanced on two legs, with a plank between them, and then repeats the process once more. Six chairs and three planks stand in a precarious balance, as solid as a house of cards.
The logic of Dialogic is that not too much can go wrong in a dialogue before it collapses: an exchange of words degenerates into people talking past one another, or into a silence in which one party has been rendered speechless. The valuable dialogue, the principal method of democracy, teeters precariously between idle chatter and discourse driven by hidden authoritarian desires. Roland Barthes speaks in this context of la langue encratique: language into which power has insinuated itself.
A work that I regard as the navel of the exhibition at Destelheide is described by Gert himself as follows:
“On the floor, preferably extending throughout the entire exhibition space, I will install a work consisting of strips of cardboard measuring 8 × 120 cm. The strips can be attached to one another in any arrangement using nuts and bolts, while the whole remains mobile. I invite the viewer to remove or add strips themselves and modify the installation. When one end of the strips is pulled or pushed, the entire installation moves along with it. In this way, the configuration of the work and, by extension, the exhibition as a whole is subtly altered.”
Metaphors are given considerable leeway. Logic rarely ensures their accuracy. The navel refers to origins, namely the bond with the mother. It stands for the ‘core’ at the centre. Biometric analysis, however, produces different results, perhaps because life cannot be measured.
Perhaps this central work, which lies outside the middle yet spreads in all directions like a rhizome, might itself be called a ‘metaphor’. For instance, a metaphor for the concept Gilles Deleuze borrowed from Antonin Artaud: corps sans organes. Deleuze incorporated ‘a body without organs’ into his philosophical terminology. This does not mean that the whole has no functioning parts, but rather that the organisation of those parts lacks unambiguity and does not form a closed system.
An important theme in Gert De Clercq’s work is, after all, the role of connections as factors that produce meaning. The web of connections forms the context that determines the content.
The work in question can be viewed as a small heap of potential articulations. The French word articulation means ‘joint’ or ‘connection’. Two strips fastened together with a nut and bolt symbolise this. Their flexibility brings about a continuous shift in meaning. The exhibition is therefore constantly changing. Allowing the viewer to take matters into their own hands creates a greater degree of public participation.
Yet more happens here than simply ‘participating’. The concept of the ‘body without organs’ helps to clarify this. The term refers, after all, to ‘the changing social body of desire’. This body can take many different forms. Each time, it must seek out new channels and different combinations in order to realise itself. In this way, the work can be understood as something other than a haphazard pile of cardboard strips.
So far, two philosophical interpretations of a single work. The exhibition invites us to do the same with other works. Or one can simply visit it as a playground for the game that puts everything in doubt.
Table of Instruments is a complete immersion in De Clercq’s peculiar universe, where systems, structures and constructions create an appearance of order. In this exhibition, he literally puts all his instruments on the table: performative installations, paintings and sculptural objects through which he explores what happens when form and function no longer coincide. The familiar is shifted just enough to slow down our gaze.
The titles of the works provide direction, but never a definitive explanation. De Clercq therefore seems less interested in the answer than in the search for it. A table is no longer simply a table, and a composition seems to suggest more than it reveals. His works set a process of thought in motion that does not necessarily lead to a conclusion. The act of searching itself becomes the subject here.
Throughout this search, there is a persistent tension between control and letting go. It is present both in De Clercq’s visual language and in his way of working. Clearly defined structures, precise proportions and delineated systems offer a sense of orientation, while at the same time leaving room for chance, movement and interpretation. This becomes visible in his performative installations, such as Modular Composition with Red Framework. The work can be activated, causing the composition to change through a minimal intervention by the viewer. The rules are fixed, but the outcome is not. De Clercq relinquishes part of his control and allows the work to continue to exist through the action of the person standing before it.
Rescheduling also starts from such a minimal shift. The construction catches the eye while simultaneously drawing it further inward. The iridescent film suggests a lens, making the work momentarily appear to look back. The principle of the peephole—looking without being seen oneself—takes on a different meaning in the shop window. The exterior side faces the street, while the front unfolds on the inside. The gaze moves between inside and outside, between looking and being looked at.
This attention to shifts and perspective often begins long before a work takes its final form. Ideas can remain in a sketchbook for years, waiting for the right space, dimensions or circumstances in which to materialise. De Clercq works on several ideas simultaneously and allows them to come together only when the moment presents itself. The process is therefore not a straight line, but a continual process of rearranging, testing and looking again.
In his paintings, the tension between structure and freedom takes on a different form. Composition with Orange Table reflects a practice that De Clercq himself describes as a refuge: a more intuitive way of working, in which the hand moves ahead of the mind. Whereas his installations and objects generally emerge from extensive thought and research, the paintings arise more spontaneously, from an aesthetic search for form, composition and colour. A chance composition, noticed in a collage or image, is captured on canvas or panel, without needing to pursue any further meaning.
Yet his fascination with order remains palpable here too, like an invisible grid beneath the image: in geometric proportions, carefully balanced compositions and a preference for primary, saturated colours. The paintings thus form a counterpoint within the same practice: less driven by meaning, but no less concerned with form.
Table of Instruments thus becomes a temporary pause within a practice that is constantly in motion. For De Clercq, an exhibition is not an endpoint, but rather a pause button in a process that continues to unfold. A composition may shift again, a work may be activated, a meaning may change.
What remains is the moment when we pause for a while. Not because the answer presents itself, but because De Clercq’s works compel us to keep searching.
Willem Elias for Algoritme (30.10.2025 - 29.01.2026)
Gert De Clercq, an Artistic Tightrope Walker
Had Heraclitus (c. 540–480 BCE) not brought the idea that everything flows (panta rhei) into circulation, I would invent it here to shed light on Gert De Clercq’s work. Gert, who steps into the Meuse twice and makes visible the fact that it is not the same river, would fit well on the list of performances he has under his belt. Change, precariousness, disharmonious movement, the chance of a sudden flash of insight … These are all key concepts for characterising his working method.
Gert De Clercq investigates things like an experimental scientist, albeit outside any particular discipline, except perhaps that of visualising philosophical questions. This strikes me as one way of defining the concept of ‘conceptual art’.
The formula panta rhei does not appear in the surviving fragments of Heraclitus. It is found as a summary of his philosophy in Plato. Plato sought a synthesis between Heraclitus, the thinker of ‘becoming’, and Parmenides, the philosopher of ‘being’. Unity conceals discord, or diversity displays characteristics that can be traced back to an underlying unity.
Plato is the man we need here. He is rightly regarded as the most influential thinker who, together with the teachings of Christ — described by Nietzsche as ‘Platonism for the masses’ — shaped the West. It is precisely this construct that Gert De Clercq calls into question.
I see his video Dialogic as a deceptive little gem that illustrates this (gertdeclercq.com/About). As we know, Plato wrote his works in the form of dialogues. We see Gert carefully placing a plank across two chairs. He then painstakingly tilts the chairs onto their rear legs without allowing them to lose their balance. On top of these, he places another pair of chairs balanced on two legs, with a plank between them, and then repeats the process once more. Six chairs and three planks stand in a precarious balance, as solid as a house of cards.
The logic of Dialogic is that not too much can go wrong in a dialogue before it collapses: an exchange of words degenerates into people talking past one another, or into a silence in which one party has been rendered speechless. The valuable dialogue, the principal method of democracy, teeters precariously between idle chatter and discourse driven by hidden authoritarian desires. Roland Barthes speaks in this context of la langue encratique: language into which power has insinuated itself.
A work that I regard as the navel of the exhibition at Destelheide is described by Gert himself as follows:
“On the floor, preferably extending throughout the entire exhibition space, I will install a work consisting of strips of cardboard measuring 8 × 120 cm. The strips can be attached to one another in any arrangement using nuts and bolts, while the whole remains mobile. I invite the viewer to remove or add strips themselves and modify the installation. When one end of the strips is pulled or pushed, the entire installation moves along with it. In this way, the configuration of the work and, by extension, the exhibition as a whole is subtly altered.”
Metaphors are given considerable leeway. Logic rarely ensures their accuracy. The navel refers to origins, namely the bond with the mother. It stands for the ‘core’ at the centre. Biometric analysis, however, produces different results, perhaps because life cannot be measured.
Perhaps this central work, which lies outside the middle yet spreads in all directions like a rhizome, might itself be called a ‘metaphor’. For instance, a metaphor for the concept Gilles Deleuze borrowed from Antonin Artaud: corps sans organes. Deleuze incorporated ‘a body without organs’ into his philosophical terminology. This does not mean that the whole has no functioning parts, but rather that the organisation of those parts lacks unambiguity and does not form a closed system.
An important theme in Gert De Clercq’s work is, after all, the role of connections as factors that produce meaning. The web of connections forms the context that determines the content.
The work in question can be viewed as a small heap of potential articulations. The French word articulation means ‘joint’ or ‘connection’. Two strips fastened together with a nut and bolt symbolise this. Their flexibility brings about a continuous shift in meaning. The exhibition is therefore constantly changing. Allowing the viewer to take matters into their own hands creates a greater degree of public participation.
Yet more happens here than simply ‘participating’. The concept of the ‘body without organs’ helps to clarify this. The term refers, after all, to ‘the changing social body of desire’. This body can take many different forms. Each time, it must seek out new channels and different combinations in order to realise itself. In this way, the work can be understood as something other than a haphazard pile of cardboard strips.
So far, two philosophical interpretations of a single work. The exhibition invites us to do the same with other works. Or one can simply visit it as a playground for the game that puts everything in doubt.