Artist Asim Waqif Builds a New Language from the Ruins of Consumption

Asim Waqif is a revolutionary. His visionary work breaks down the barriers between art, architecture, and activism, reimagining how we interact with the materials and spaces that shape our lives. Known for transforming discarded urban debris into sprawling, tactile installations, Waqif invites viewers to step out of their comfort zones—touching, navigating, and even playing with his works.

From the provocative Bordel Monstre (2012) at the Palais de Tokyo, Paris, to লয় (Loy) (2019), at the Arjunpur Amra Sabai Club, Kolkata, where bamboo craftsmanship meets machine-learning technologies, Waqif’s genius lies in his ability to challenge the fetishization of objects while placing ecological and social concerns at its core. For him, waste is not just a byproduct of consumption but a powerful medium to expose the hypocrisies of modernity.

In a conversation with Whitewall, Waqif reflects on his serendipitous journey from architecture to art, his fascination with improvisation and process, and his relentless ambition to break free from institutional limitations. Playful yet critical, his work challenges us to rethink not just how we view art, but how we inhabit the world around us.

WHITEWALL: Your transition from architecture to contemporary art has been pivotal. How do the principles of architecture—such as spatial design, structural exploration, and materiality—continue to shape the immersive and experiential aspects of your installations?

ASIM WAQIF: Well, I’m practicing art now, but I consider myself fortunate to have studied architecture. I also teach occasionally, and I notice that for young people graduating from fine arts colleges today, the expectation to immediately create art and break into the art market can be daunting.

After graduating in architecture, I worked in set design, exhibition design, and later documentary films. My transition into fine arts happened much later—around 30 or 32. It wasn’t planned; it happened by chance. A friend at Khoj, an arts institution in Delhi, invited me to openings, and while I initially went for the parties, something eventually clicked. In 2006, I shared an idea with Khoj’s director, and she was very supportive. That’s how my first art project began.

I don’t feel a compulsion to make art forever—it’s just an avenue to explore ideas that interest me. Architecture and materiality naturally seeped into my work from my previous experiences. It’s not something I consciously incorporated.

“I don’t feel a compulsion to make art forever—it’s just an avenue to explore ideas that interest me,”

Asim Waqif

WW: Many of your works are constructed from discarded, salvaged, or industrial materials. How do the inherent characteristics and histories of these materials guide the conceptual and emotional framework of projects like “Residual Memory” or “Salvage”?

AW: Our current economic system revolves around a “use-and-throw” model that fuels growth but leaves behind significant waste. Things are discarded almost carelessly. My grandmother’s generation valued thrift—she’d always find ways to reuse everything. Today, new things are more desirable and are seen as markers of progress.

This abundance of waste got me interested in repurposing. There’s something compelling about taking what’s considered trash and transforming it into something desirable—something people might display in their homes or art collections. The irony is that wealthier people often have larger trash footprints. By reclaiming waste and presenting it thoughtfully, I’m attempting to confront them with their consumption in a reimagined way.

“Bordel Monstre” at Palais de Tokyo and “Salvage” in Vancouver

WW: At the Palais de Tokyo, “Bordel Monstre” reimagined urban debris as a sprawling, interactive environment, inviting visitors to physically navigate its chaotic structure. How did you conceptualize the balance between embracing the raw disorder of the materials and creating a controlled, intentional experience?

AW: “Bordel Monstre” was created during a six-month residency in Paris. The Palais de Tokyo offered me a space that had never been used before. While exploring the site, I noticed leftover debris from previous exhibitions, which got me thinking about the waste generated by art institutions.

It was one of my first large-scale institutional projects, and nobody asked me upfront what I was going to make. That freedom allowed me to experiment. I let the space and materials guide the project rather than pre-planning it. The process became as much about exploration as the final piece.

The creative potential of fabrication is often overlooked. In architecture or design, creativity is usually concentrated at the top, with the architect or designer making all decisions in a studio. But I see fabrication as a creative process itself. Working with found materials requires improvisation and openness to possibilities. 

“Working with found materials requires improvisation and openness to possibilities,”

Asim Waqif

WW:  In “Salvage” (2021), exhibited in Vancouver, you worked with materials sourced from Vancouver’s demolition sites. How did the local context shape your vision for the work, and what role does geography play in your artistic process?

AW: In Vancouver, I discovered that a large part of the city was undergoing rezoning, which involved demolishing old buildings to make way for new developments. This context shaped Salvage. I explored demolition sites, landfills, and waste facilities, noticing how urban transformation mirrored the types of materials discarded.

I learned that much of Vancouver’s waste management had been privatized. The term “processing” was used vaguely to describe what would happen to materials after collection—sometimes plastics were recycled, but if it wasn’t profitable, they were incinerated for “waste-to-energy conversion.” It seemed like it was designed more to alleviate the guilt of consumption rather than to recycle the waste.

At a waste segregation center, I met a worker who had spent 15 years curating a personal “museum of trash.” His collection was about to be discarded again when the center relocated. I convinced him to loan it for the exhibition. Eventually, most of these objects were stolen by visitors and became part of the city again.

Preserving Tradition, Embracing Innovation, and Inspiring Conversation

WW: In “লয়” (Loy), at the Arjunpur Amra Sabai Club, Kolkata, you combined traditional bamboo craftsmanship with interactive technologies. What inspired this blend, and how do you see the balance between preserving tradition and embracing innovation?

AW: Even before Loy, I had explored vernacular bamboo processes in earlier projects. But I wanted to go beyond romanticizing traditionalism. I’m interested in combining traditional and modern approaches—blending them in ways that resist categorization.

For Loy, the bamboo structure used basketry and pavilion-making techniques, but inside was a complex interactive system. Sensors triggered vibrations and sounds, while a machine-learning system adapted to crowd behavior, ensuring the system remained engaging whether there were five or 500 visitors.

We also incorporated sounds using relays to mimic frogs and insects, creating a soundscape that felt natural yet unpredictable. It wasn’t about precise technological output but about making technology feel organic and playful.

WW: Much of your work examines issues like urban decay, consumerism, and ecological imbalance. How do your installations critique these challenges, and what conversations or actions do you hope they inspire?

AW: I prefer an ambiguous approach in my work rather than delivering overtly critical messages. Activism often feels didactic—it tells people what’s wrong or what they should do. That kind of messaging creates defensiveness or shifts blame.

For example, with climate change, people often blame industries or governments, avoiding personal accountability. Overt criticism tends to only preach to the converted. Instead, I use humor and playfulness to encourage people to drop their defenses and engage in new ways.

“I use humor and playfulness to encourage people to drop their defenses and engage in new ways,”

Asim Waqif

This approach allows for subtler messaging that lingers in the subconscious. While it’s hard to quantify the impact, I find it more effective than direct criticism.

WW: Many of your installations encourage viewers to physically or sonically engage with the work. How does audience participation shape the meaning of your art, and have there been specific moments where interactions altered your perspective?

AW: I find traditional exhibitions boring—the preciousness of the object, the formal tone, the barriers between the artwork and the viewer. At the Musée du Quai Branly in Paris, I saw incredible musical instruments from around the world, but you couldn’t touch or feel them. The objects were fetishized, and the ideas behind them were lost.

In my work, curiosity is key. Passive viewers can enjoy the visual experience, but those who touch or interact discover hidden layers. It’s a critique of traditional art viewing but also a push for viewers to reconnect with a childlike sense of play. When people forget they’re in a formal art setting and start having fun, that’s when the work can truly impact their consciousness.

“When people forget they’re in a formal art setting and start having fun, that’s when the work can truly impact their consciousness,”

WW: Your practice emphasizes ecological awareness and material innovation. How do you envision contemporary art addressing global sustainability challenges?

AW: To be honest, the art profession is quite hypocritical. Many artists talk about important issues, but the art world is controlled by a niche group that doesn’t represent diverse human experiences.

That said, art provides a space for ambiguity, unlike formal fields like architecture or activism, where the goal is often pre-determined. I’ve recently completed large-scale projects, including installations at the Islamic Arts Biennale, but my ambitions have outgrown institutional capacities.

I’d like to use Whitewall as a platform to invite adventurous minds to produce my wild ideas. Art institutions are often too constrained by liabilities and viewership metrics to support the kind of experimental work I want to do. I’m looking for partners who are willing to push boundaries with me.