bound to the miraculous – A Contemporary Voyage Through Bas Jan Ader’s Legacy – Talking to Edward Clydesdale Thomson
Edward Clydesdale Thomson’s new work, bound to the miraculous, draws inspiration from the fateful sailing journey of Bas Jan Ader (1942–1975). In the summer of 2025, it will be presented at the Groninger Museum—exactly 50 years after Ader embarked on his final voyage on the ocean. Rather than a simple commemoration, Thomson revisits Ader’s legendary last work as a layered exploration of technology, data, and collective experience.
Moving into the pavilion, more empty fiberglass hulls appear. Near the entrance, at the second hull stranded against the wall, one hears sounds such as one would hear from within a boat: soft thumps of chains banging against the hull. Central in the main space is a large LED screen displaying a grayscale 3D render of the boat sailing on the ocean. Dotted throughout the space are gray cushions and bean bags where the audience can recline and watch the simulation. Behind them, two monitors face each other: one generates a log with weather notes, the other shows various data (weather, water quality, etc.). This data feeds the central simulation, mirroring current real-time weather and ocean conditions, offering insight into what Bas Jan Ader’s journey might entail today.
Further into the space, two fiberglass hulls point upwards; their hollow spaces facing each other, creating a secluded walk-through area. Here, the data and log from the other monitors are read aloud. In a smaller right-hand space, a monitor displays the simulated boat’s current map location. At the pavilion’s exit, the last sound heard is the ocean.
The exhibition appears minimal and somewhat eerie. The soundscape dominates, with the monolithic simulation at its center and the fiberglass hulls dispersed throughout. The entire experience smoothly integrates with the architecture. The Coop Himmelb(l)au pavilion, a prime example of Deconstructivism, opposes traditional architectonic principles of functional material use and building development. Deconstructivism aims to intentionally dismantle traditional building elements from their classical coherence. Similarly, the exhibition foregrounds the simulation and oceanic data rather than the romantic, adventurous, self-asserting, absurdist, and existential traits typically associated with Bas Jan Ader’s work. It suggests that Edward Clydesdale Thomson has stripped the story to its core components to tell a different tale.
It is also interesting how the largest part of The Coop Himmelb(l)au pavilion, was built in a shipyard in eastern Groningen Province and towed to the museum via the Verbindingskanaal (Connecting Canal). References to ships are evident, not only in visible materials but also in the building’s shapes. Gantries exist both inside and outside the pavilion; the one cutting through can even be raised at one end, mimicking a real ship. Every window overlooks the water surrounding the museum. In essence, the setting seems tailor-made for this work.
The immediate connection to Bas Jan Ader is clear, given the Groninger Museum’s historical link to his intended destination. But what was the initial spark, the moment this specific project began to take shape for you?
‘About five years ago, I was working on rivier, boot, stad in Dordrecht, a river city. We used a simulation to predict how a boat might break apart if it was too large for its passage. Around the same time, news was dominated by the Malaysian Airlines incident, where simulations tracked the plane’s possible location, piecing together debris and floating simulations. I became utterly fascinated by simulation’s ability to capture real-world properties. Somewhere in that period, an idea emerged, and Bas Jan Ader came back to me. In Search of the Miraculous was one of the first artworks I encountered when studying at Piet Zwart in 2006. It all converged, and I began to wonder: What if he took that journey now? What if he were lost today? Could that journey be recreated through simulation?’
The scale and technical complexity of Bound to the Miraculous suggest extensive collaboration. Could you describe the team involved and how these diverse perspectives shaped the work?
‘We collaborated with many people. First, we contacted NIOZ, a marine institute, who were incredibly helpful with ocean data resources. We explored sailing-based games, even meeting with Orb Creation, the one-man outfit behind Sail Away. We then connected with BUAS in Breda and Prof. Matta Haggis-Burridge, sketching how to realize it technically and secure funding. Our prototype phase was crucial. We reached out to the Utrecht University oceanography department, experts in simulating how objects float—plastic or organisms. They were excellent consultants, providing a realistic perspective. It truly was a team effort of diverse perspectives. This core team completed the prototype two years ago, and we’ve been working on the final version since. Two years ago, I also established the Landfall Foundation, comprising the core team from this project; together, we will continue developing similar projects.’
Bas Jan Ader’s work, especially In Search of the Miraculous, is often interpreted through an existential lens, sometimes even labelled as a suicidal act. How do you navigate those interpretations in bound to the miraculous, and what personal or broader meaning do you find in the idea of being “bound”?
‘I reflected deeply on his intentions. Was it a risk he acknowledged? His biography suggests he was a restless traveller, always seeking something new or different, meaning he was never really satisfied. He was also an experienced sailor, so this project wasn’t an extreme risk for him. He understood the dangers but didn’t deem it impossible. He even fiberglassed parts of his boat to prevent water entry, taking safety precautions. I spoke with his brother, and his perspective on Ader’s relationship to sailing confirmed that it was dangerous but certainly not suicidal. We extensively researched the artwork, the boat, its sailing capabilities, reading books by people who had sailed the world in small boats to understand the psychology of such a journey. Robert Manry’s meticulous diary of a similar journey ten years earlier, Tinkerbelle, reveals much about the psychology accompanying such a journey.
The title, bound to the miraculous, plays on Ader’s original title, In Search of the Miraculous. Yet, ‘bound’ implies being tied to something, like a loop without an end—the journey restarts. Just as in the simulation, whenever the boat sinks or reaches the end, it begins anew. It evokes being trapped, going in circles. Ader’s story primarily serves as a frame or starting point for this project. We aimed to shift the focus from Ader to the boat. The concept of a single hero is a somewhat fragile container for stories; the boat is far better suited: a tiny, fragile vessel navigating contemporary circumstances. A significant aspect of this project has been our attempt to utilize tools important in contemporary communication. There’s a vast world shared through data that’s usually unseen. The entire ocean is monitored, yet simultaneously, much remains unknown, leaving room for speculation. We try to make that visible, shifting attention to the measurable changes, rather than focusing on the myths and tales surrounding Bas Jan Ader’s work.’
The exhibition’s aesthetic is strikingly minimal and monochromatic. How did you arrive at these visual and auditory choices, and to what extent did the Coop Himmelb(l)au Pavilion’s unique architecture influence your decisions?
‘The space is incredible and has greatly influenced our decisions. It’s one of the reasons why we expanded the sound simulation, incorporating more multi-channel sounds. The idea is to create an experience where sound is broken into its component parts, different elements comprising the simulation. I want to craft an experience. Upon entering, you encounter the wind, then the fragile, translucent boat hull. As you proceed, you hear boat sounds, clinking. In the main mix, where you can sit, it becomes quite meditative, a calm experience. You lie there, and the work continues for a long time; like how it is relaxing to sit and observe the sea. We aimed to recreate something of that experience. Completing the journey through the exhibition space you leave with the sound of water behind you. The two text speech instances are two voices quietly whispering the log and metric information to you. Partly this addresses the accessibility needs for those that are not able to read the information on the monitors, but more than that, it’s an artistic choice influenced by the space. The monochrome aesthetic of the simulation also serves to break from computer game aesthetics. Simultaneously, these aesthetics aim to give the piece a timeless, almost liminal quality.’
Beyond this exhibition, your work seems consistently driven by an interest in process, collaboration, and learning new technologies. Could you elaborate on how bound to the miraculous fits into your broader artistic practice and the vision for the landfall Foundation?
‘Generally, while the central topic shifts across projects, my working methods are similar. Whether in the Swedish forest or English landscape gardens, they all become containers. Similarly, the boat here is a vessel to examine other things, like how we share, collect, and access various data. I choose a vessel that allows me to navigate its surrounding territory.
In all these projects, I enjoy learning and exploring different technologies. bound to the miraculous is part of what I consider a trilogy. There was rivier, boot, stad in Dordrecht, and spellbound in Middelburg. In the first project, I used simulations to study boat behaviour during transport. For spellbound, another boat was constantly sunk and lifted in a loop. We studied boat technology, how boats are transported and moved, to recreate and build it. We built that boat to learn the craft. For me, accessing technology and knowledge is always coupled with something more, which must serve another purpose, not just understanding that specific technology. In rivier, boot, stad in Dordrecht, it was about collective action, what can be achieved when working together. It reflected on collectivity, by building the boat with local carpenters and volunteers, contemplating the city and its future.
My fascination with simulations, central to Bound to the Miraculous, also stems from my interest in planning. In art, ‘beautiful mistakes’ are often celebrated, but I try to avoid them. I am a planner. I treat each artwork like a rescue operation; I plan meticulously, making 3D models of everything. Simulation is simultaneously a tool for planning and engaging with time and other circumstances. It’s a way to explore how the boat sails and behaves in the present. It’s interesting to try and separate it from mere programming and make artistic choices about what you see. Unlike Bas Jan Ader, the boat doesn’t have a conscience, but how we write the log, for instance, feeds into that and reopens that space.
Due to my working method, I started the landfall Foundation two years ago while working on this project as a way to collaborate with others. Its purpose is to support development and research within the arts. It emerged from searching for a sustainable studio model. I didn’t want a single artist with assistants; I desired a more egalitarian, less hierarchical model, with the possibility to share knowledge in diverse ways, not solely my own interests. We work on my projects but also function as an agency, developing questions together and collaborating with other artists. We have specific specialties within the team, like landscape and technology. Most of what I do, I could have never done by myself.’
Ultimately, bound to the miraculous transcends merely revisiting a significant moment in art history. Edward Clydesdale Thomson harnesses advanced simulation technology and a deeply collaborative practice to transform Bas Jan Ader’s solitary, mythical quest into a contemporary exploration of shared data, environmental awareness, and collective endeavour. As Thomson concludes: ‘What I give the audience might be different than what they expect. The contrast, that shift from the individual to the collective, is one of the things I am trying to show here.’ The exhibition subtly redirects our gaze from the singular hero to the fragility of the vessel itself within the objective reality of vast oceanic data. By doing so, bound to the miraculous invites us to consider how technology not only shapes our understanding of the world but also how, through collective effort and engagement with accessible data, we can recontextualize and shift existing predominant narratives away from the individual.
bound to the miraculous is on show until the 31st of October
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