Hallucinogenic Nightmare Dream
“Some say the ancestors live in the drums,” says Hannah Parr as she introduces me to her work. Born in the UK, she now lives and works in Zürich, following time spent in Berlin and Santo Domingo. In recent years, she has devoted her practice to working with barrier slats, a material commonly found on Swiss construction sites. She finds them stacked on the street, sometimes with the help of construction workers who assist in gathering them.
In her studio, Parr carefully tends to each slat, first cleaning it before cutting it with her table saw. She describes this process as both intimate and rhythmic, calling it an “action of cutting to release and reveal truths” – a transformation of the wood from one state to another, much like an instrument that only reaches its full potential when played. For her, the key is patience, allowing the material to guide the process rather than adhering to a fixed plan. She explains, “Each individual cut wood piece serves as a guide, shaping the work as it evolves through a dialogue – a feedback system between the material and my inner visions.”
The resulting works are mesmerizing, patchwork-like compositions assembled from larger slat pieces. Guided by their own intrinsic logic, they form clusters of varying sizes, creating a dynamic interplay of movement and tension across the surface. Parr describes it as a network of interwoven systems where small connections generate expansive and resilient structures.
Beyond form, the red and white patterns and industrially printed letters on the slats infuse the works with rhythmic energy. The natural color of the wood, exposed through its edges and splintering, adds depth and contrast. These surfaces reveal Parr’s enduring interest in painting – an interest that, before this series, had reached an impasse. Seeking to move beyond traditional imagery, she chose to focus on painting’s fundamental elements, emphasizing composition and materiality. Her use of found materials recalls Robert Rauschenberg’s large assemblages made from street objects, Daniel Buren’s distinctive striped patterns that challenge spatial and institutional perceptions, and Gordon Matta-Clark’s “building cuts,” in which he sliced through abandoned structures to explore space, decay, and urban transformation.
For Hallucinogenic Nightmare Dream, Parr’s barrier slat works are exhibited in a traditional fashion. The exhibition features a collection of newly produced mosaics, including a two-by-two-meter centerpiece—marking the artist’s first large-scale square format. Taking a closer look at Pistil, multiple swirling movements emerge through the wood formations, reinterpreting the traditional mandala, which typically centers around a single focal point. Through this motif – symbolizing wholeness and the interconnectedness of all things—Parr reveals the visual record of time embedded in a tree trunk, reconnecting with it through the act of cutting into the slats.
Before moving to Zürich, Parr lived in Santo Domingo, the capital of the Dominican Republic, where life is more spontaneous and socially fluid—starkly contrasting Switzerland’s highly structured infrastructure. This shift heightened her awareness of Swiss society’s technocratic nature—built on expertise, efficiency, and pragmatic decision-making—which also manifests in its public spaces. Parr describes Zürich as “a city stirred by uniformity and homogeneity. When I think about uniformity, I think about belonging—and here, I am confronted with an ever-present sense of not belonging. More than anywhere else I’ve lived, Zürich’s orderly, structured landscape has ignited a sense of rebellion in me.”
Through this contrast – both discomforting and inspiring – Parr processed a deeper personal journey, one that began in Santo Domingo. Living in a tropical environment for the first time, she found herself reflecting more on the stories of her Chinese mother, who now resides in the UK. In Santo Domingo, she experienced, for the first time in her life, a recognition of her Chinese heritage. Her self-awareness of this identity had not developed naturally, as her mother rarely shared details about their family’s past – one shaped by trauma, separation, and survival.
During the communist takeover, her grandfather fled in the dead of night to evade soldiers’ raids, leaving her grandmother to endure imprisonment and interrogation about his whereabouts. Her mother, still a child, survived in a provisional community, bearing the weight of separation and the upheaval of migration to Hong Kong more acutely than her siblings. Growing up in a small UK town, her mother worked tirelessly to ensure her children would fit in. Parr describes this balancing act: “Within the walls of our home, she could be herself – but the life she had left behind in China, along with its traditions, was largely set aside.”
Beyond her personal story, the experiences of others have also profoundly shaped her perspective. During a short stay in Berlin in 2017, she volunteered in Chios, Greece, to support newly arrived mothers and children. Parr describes this as a life-changing experience, as it vividly reminded her of her own mother, who had left China with little to eat.
Hallucinogenic Nightmare Dream utilizes the formal qualities of found street materials as common objects that transcend Parr’s individual journey, instead symbolizing a collective experience shared by countless individuals affected by displacement. The slats and barriers not only reference encroachment on borders but also function as tools for excavation, compelling viewers to consider what lies beneath the surface.
Parr’s work ultimately navigates the tension between structure and fluidity, personal narrative and collective memory. By repurposing materials designed to control movement and access, she subverts their original function, transforming them into something poetic and open-ended. In doing so, she challenges the rigidity of boundaries – both physical and psychological – inviting the viewer to reconsider the spaces they inhabit and the histories embedded within them.
Text: Cathrin Mayer
