Kunsthall Stavanger is proud to present We Speak Chicken, the first exhibition in Norway by British-Thai artist Mark Corfield-Moore. The exhibition is an expanded version of a major new body of work commissioned by and exhibited at Goldsmiths CCA, London earlier this year, with new commissions created by the artist specifically for Kunsthall Stavanger.

Corfield-Moore is a painter who incorporates weaving as a means of translation and play. With a distinctive visual language, recognisable through the use of bold colour and interplay of image and text, he creates works instilled with wit, whimsy and intimacy. Drawing upon personal and collective histories, as well as his experience as part of the British-Thai diaspora, Corfield-Moore examines the unreliability of human memory, allowing past events to take on a life of their own in the present.

In his work, Corfield-Moore employs a hybrid method of painting and ikat

Kunsthall Stavanger is proud to present We Speak Chicken, the first exhibition in Norway by British-Thai artist Mark Corfield-Moore. The exhibition is an expanded version of a major new body of work commissioned by and exhibited at Goldsmiths CCA, London earlier this year, with new commissions created by the artist specifically for Kunsthall Stavanger.

Corfield-Moore is a painter who incorporates weaving as a means of translation and play. With a distinctive visual language, recognisable through the use of bold colour and interplay of image and text, he creates works instilled with wit, whimsy and intimacy. Drawing upon personal and collective histories, as well as his experience as part of the British-Thai diaspora, Corfield-Moore examines the unreliability of human memory, allowing past events to take on a life of their own in the present.

In his work, Corfield-Moore employs a hybrid method of painting and ikat – a traditional weaving technique that the artist learnt in Thailand – to create warped or “glitchy” imagery that suggests distortion and flux. In each of the four galleries, paintings are loosely grouped by their emotional timbre, highlighting themes such as travel and migration, grief and loss, the friction of straddling two geographies and cultures simultaneously, and imagined representations of Thailand by way of personal memory and second-hand storytelling.

Architectural and spatial imagery is present across the works, depicting structures such as ancient Greek temples, a dining table, a Thai spirit house, and the internal cavity of a tooth. To the artist, these spaces function as portals or thresholds to a specific time and place, while their graphically rendered facades can also invoke the feeling of being both a guest and an outsider. In Kunsthall Stavanger’s galleries, the artworks are hung at the same low level, grounding the imagery and creating a sense of spaces within a space. Rather than centred on the gallery walls, the artworks congregate together in corners, allowing themes and associations to emerge from the works’ proximity to one another.

The exhibition’s title, We Speak Chicken, references the lack of a shared language between Corfield-Moore and his Thai mother, and points to cooking and food as a mutual means of communication. Both food and language are things that can be transferred, shared, ingested, and processed. Feelings can be understood in the gut when language falls short. As the artist states, ‘I think I’m replicating in the viewer how I feel when I’m trying to talk with my mother. Simple words, basic tone and emotion; there is an intimacy, but it’s also fractured’.

Despite its limitations, Corfield-Moore is interested in the poetic potential of language. Various phrases feature in each work, evoking fragmented communication and a sense of being in-between understandings. Like poetry, in these works image, text, and title coalesce fleetingly to spark ever new associations in the viewer.

With Corfield-Moore’s linguistic play through metaphor and association, We Speak Chicken at Kunsthall Stavanger explores our universal human experience of yearning for connection and belonging. By using memory as his medium, he explores its inherent fragility and malleability, while inviting viewers into a dialogue with their own intimate recollections.


Mark Corfield-Moore: We Speak Chicken is organised in partnership with Goldsmiths Centre for Contemporary Art, London, where it was on view from 12 April – 30 May, 2024.

Curators: Hanne Mugaas and Heather Jones
Exhibition text: Heather Jones
Exhibition technician: Matt Bryans

Kunsthall Stavanger would like to thank the artist and Goldsmiths Centre for Contemporary Art.


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Mark Corfield-Moore, We Speak Chicken (2024), installation view. Photo: Erik Sæter Jørgensen.

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Mark Corfield-Moore, We Speak Chicken (2024), installation view. Photo: Erik Sæter Jørgensen.

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Mark Corfield-Moore, We Speak Chicken (2024), installation view. Photo: Erik Sæter Jørgensen.

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Mark Corfield-Moore, We Speak Chicken (2024), installation view. Photo: Erik Sæter Jørgensen.

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Mark Corfield-Moore, We Speak Chicken (2024), installation view. Photo: Erik Sæter Jørgensen.

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Mark Corfield-Moore, We Speak Chicken (2024), installation view. Photo: Erik Sæter Jørgensen.

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Mark Corfield-Moore, We Speak Chicken (2024), installation view. Photo: Erik Sæter Jørgensen.

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Mark Corfield-Moore, We Speak Chicken (2024), installation view. Photo: Erik Sæter Jørgensen.

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Mark Corfield-Moore, We Speak Chicken (2024), installation view. Photo: Erik Sæter Jørgensen.

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Mark Corfield-Moore, We Speak Chicken (2024), installation view. Photo: Erik Sæter Jørgensen.

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Mark Corfield-Moore, We Speak Chicken (2024), installation view. Photo: Erik Sæter Jørgensen.

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Mark Corfield-Moore, We Speak Chicken (2024), installation view. Photo: Erik Sæter Jørgensen.

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Mark Corfield-Moore, We Speak Chicken (2024), installation view. Photo: Erik Sæter Jørgensen.

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Mark Corfield-Moore, We Speak Chicken (2024), installation view. Photo: Erik Sæter Jørgensen.

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Mark Corfield-Moore, We Speak Chicken (2024), installation view. Photo: Erik Sæter Jørgensen.

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Mark Corfield-Moore, We Speak Chicken (2024), installation view. Photo: Erik Sæter Jørgensen.

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In the exhibition We Speak Chicken, British-Thai artist Mark Corfield-Moore works with painting and weaving. The exhibition focuses on personal and collective histories, intimacy, and food as a way to communicate with one another.

The main themes in Corfield-Moore’s exhibition include:

Personal memory
Travel and Migration
Grief and loss
Food as a shared means of communication


This is a brief introduction to the exhibition. If you want to read more, feel free to pick up the exhibition document at the reception desk or download here.

Corfield-Moore examines the unreliability of human memory, allowing past events to take on a life of their own in the present. He combines painting and ikat – a traditional weaving technique that the artist learnt in Thailand – to create distorted images combined with text.

In each of the four galleries, paintings are grouped by their emotional themes such as travel and migration, grief and loss, the tension of being from two geographies and cultures, and representations of Thailand from his memory and the memories of others. Many of the artworks feature architectural images: ancient Greek temples, a Thai spirit house, an airplane. To the artist, these spaces function as doorways to a specific time and place, but they can also create the feeling of being both a guest and an outsider.

The exhibition’s title, We Speak Chicken, refers to the lack of a shared language between Corfield-Moore and his Thai mother, and points to cooking and food as a mutual means of communication. Sometimes language can fall short, and you have to trust your ‘gut feeling.’ Various phrases feature in each work, evoking fragmented communication and a sense of being in-between understandings. The artist states, “I think I’m replicating in the viewer how I feel when I’m trying to talk with my mother. Simple words, basic tone and emotion; there is an intimacy, but it’s also fractured.”

We Speak Chicken at Kunsthall Stavanger explores the universal human experience of yearning for connection and belonging. By using memory as his medium, the artist explores its malleability and invites viewers to engage with their own histories.

Mark Corfield-Moore (b. 1988) was born in Bangkok and lives and works in Hastings. Previous solo exhibitions include Goldsmiths CCA, London, UK (2024); Devonshire Collective, Eastbourne, UK (2023); Alzueta Gallery, Barcelona, Spain (2022); Cob Gallery, London, UK (2021); and Wolfson College, Cambridge, UK (2018). Selected group exhibitions include Walker Art Gallery, Liverpool, UK (2023); Spazio Musa, Turin, Italy (2023); Galerie Slika, Lyon, France (2023); Saatchi Gallery, London, UK (2022), Swedish Institute, Paris, France (2022), Royal Academy of Art, London, UK (2022); Turner House, Cardiff, UK (2021), Galerie Britta Rettberg, Munich, Germany (2021), Platform Southwark, London, UK (2021); New Art Centre, Salisbury (2020), Plain Gallery, Milan, Italy (2020), Manchester Art Gallery, Manchester, UK (2020).


HJ: I’d like to begin with the very basics. Could you talk about the title, We Speak Chicken, and the overall concept for the exhibition?

MCM: The central ideas of the exhibition are food as language and understanding as a form of slow digestion. The title We Speak Chicken first came about during my initial studio visit with Goldsmiths CCA, when I was crudely trying to explain the language barrier between me and my mother. I have a very basic knowledge of Thai and she doesn’t speak fluent English, but the preparation of meals and the sharing of food has become one of our primary ways to communicate and create a sense of shared intimacy.

I like how the title We Speak Chicken is non-sensical. It introduces the idea that within the exhibition, language and meaning do not necessarily conform to convention. This is most evident in the interplay between text and image in my works, and how often the two do not correlate, and so this idea of slow digestion, of a slow eking out or drip feeding of understanding came about. I think my practice as a whole is based on proximity through multiplicity – it is by viewing the exhibition as a whole rather than by individual works that the audience will begin to understand what I am trying to express.  

HJ: Each of these works draws from a specific memory or moment in your life. You’ve said that these aren’t simply documentation but rather translations of these moments. Could you expand on that idea, and why you feel it is not important or even helpful for visitors to know the backstory of each work? 

MCM: I think the process of making art is often a process of translation. In my practice, ideas get turned into drawings, that then are painted and eventually woven into textiles, but with each stage a translation is happening; the work evolves and mutates. The result is often very far away from what I had initially conceived. I think these same ideas can be applied to memory and history as spaces of flux, constantly being re-evaluated and re-contextualised in the present.

With all the adaptations and reconstructions that have taken place, I think these works contain within them the presence of an unreliable narrator. So to be prescriptive with the backstory just doesn’t make sense to me as the process to get there has been anything but linear. The work is an invitation to the audience to translate or process for themselves.

HJ: Throughout this exhibition process, we have spoken at length about poetic methodologies, how your work seeks to evoke a feeling rather than describe it. Can you talk more about how you achieve that?

MCM: I think this question leads on nicely from the one above. I believe that the unspoken can be equally if not more moving than the articulated. There’s a particular poem that floored me by Ocean Vuong called ‘Amazon History of a Former Nail Salon Worker’, which details the decline of his mother’s health through her online monthly order history in the last two years of her life. It is a heartbreaking text, where a person's pain and grief is inexplicably detailed by a list of mundane objects. I was so moved by this poem, precisely because the experience of death, and for that matter the experience of life, could be reduced to such simple means. I return to this idea of the poetic a lot in my work, as I think its readings can often be located within the gaps that lie between fragments of information that I offer the audience. The images in each painting are juxtaposed with evocative text, which are never the titles of the work, and thus I invite viewers into a reading that triangulates between these three sites of meaning. 

HJ: You consider yourself a painter, and these works are weavings with painted warp threads. Why did you choose to weave your work, as opposed to painting the works on canvas?

MCM: My work is a combination of painting and weaving, but I consider myself a painter primarily because I am most interested in the process of image making. However, I am very indebted to weaving both as a process to realise my work but also on a very personal level and consider it a crucial aspect of my practice. In 2017, the pursuit of learning to weave ikat fabrics led me back to Thailand for the first time in nearly a decade, and allowed me to reconnect with my heritage and family who were still living there. I also found out after I had started weaving that my maternal grandmother was a weaver in her Thai village. It brings me a deep sense of joy to feel like I am still connected to her even though we never formally met. It is as if she is teaching me, regardless of the many miles and decades that have passed. I’m not opposed to painting on canvas and can perhaps see myself pursuing this one day, but there is such a personal affinity to the process of weaving that it makes sense for me to continue with it for now.

HJ: Many of our visitors have expressed interest in the weaving process. Could you describe the process of ikat, how you learned it, and how you have evolved this technique to create your work?

MCM: I have been back to Thailand several times to learn ikat weaving, which is aesthetically recognisable due to its distinct featheriness. It is important to note that ikat is not unique to Thailand but can be found across the globe from Uzbekistan to Japan. Traditional ikat is created using a binding/dyeing technique, so you would tie-dye your image/pattern onto the threads before weaving. Unlike other forms of weaving, in which shafts are lifted in a particular sequence in order to create a particular pattern, with ikat, the pattern or image is already on the threads and so it has more of an inherent relationship to mark making or drawing. The specific glitchiness of ikat is traditionally made by human error and by not being able to perfectly align the image on the threads as you weave. However, I have adapted this process in my own studio by painting directly with dyes onto the warp threads which have been laid out on a tabletop, and it is by winding the warp onto the loom that creates the distortion to the image. My working method allows me to work in separate panels to create unique large scale pieces, whereas traditional ikat would create a repeating motif on a roll.

HJ: I’d like to talk about the aesthetic of each work – the glitchyness of fizzy heat as you call it. What about this aesthetic attracts you, and how is it related to the content of the works?

MCM: I think what first struck me about ikat is that it replicates the aesthetic of a digital glitch, a corrupted jpeg, but it is a process that goes back thousands of years. It feels completely contemporary yet it is in fact ancient. This isn’t too surprising though, as the dobby loom is considered to be the godfather of the modern day computer. The dobby loom uses a series of pegs and holes in which to input your desired weaving pattern, and these were later adapted to 1s and 0s, the modern binary system for coding.

The instability or ‘fizzy heat’ of the image is a suitable aesthetic through which to explore ideas around memory or personal identity, as I think we all have a constantly evolving relationship to the past. I think ikat has this sense of vitality, that it appears to crackle with energy yet still has a certain fragility as the image frays. The forms feel in flux to me, like a bloom of a firework that will soon dissipate.

HJ: Could you speak about the immediacy of the image – the sketchy quality – vs. the labor intensive process of weaving?

MCM: I use a combination of text and image in my paintings, and because reading is so ingrained or instinctual in our minds, I felt like the image must have this same directness or immediacy as well. Both the words and the image require the same level of assuredness, so that both can hold their own against one another. I like how a tension is created between these two different modes of viewing, which is also amplified by the discrepancies of speed apparent in the works. I resist being too laboured over the design of the image; as you say, there is a sense of a quick sketch or spontaneous mark-making which I try to retain from my preliminary drawings of each work. This keeps things fresh and exciting for me compared to the rather mechanical process of weaving it. This discrepancy between fast and slow is something that fascinated me when I saw Angelina Jolie’s wedding dress in 2014. She had her children’s crayon doodles, meticulously hand-embroidered in silk on her veil and this idea of high/low, carefree/skilled really stuck with me.

HJ: Continuing with imagery, you say that the figures in your work are all architectural – even though they may not at first appear as such. What do you mean by architectural and why is that an important element in these works?

MCM: When I say architectural, I mean to say images that depict or deal with spaces. In my mind, a building is not so different from the internal cavity of a tooth, or a family dinner table with a meal laid out on it. All of them play with this idea of an inside and outside. The graphic quality of the image creates a frontality for the viewer, so as to make them feel like both a guest and/or an outsider. I think this uncertainty is very familiar to those who have mixed heritage or are part of the diaspora.

The idea of the architectural is further emphasised in how we hung the exhibition. Their spatial arrangement and low hang suggest an architectural structure or settlement, each painting a building in community with one another. I didn’t want the works to be central on the wall, but rather to focus on the corners, as if they inhabit the room or create a sense of holding space within a space.

HJ: In addition to the use of ikat, your use of color and repetitive design elements (here I’m thinking of the dots) make your work immediately recognizable. What is your approach to color and other visual elements in your work?

MCM: I use this dotting technique in most of my works because I’m really interested in repetition and the relationship between pattern and language. It’s really only through repeated use that certain words are established and differentiated from other more general noises and sounds. I enjoy how by using the dots, large areas of empty space in the image are consumed and filled in with confidence. Similarly, I think this notion of conviction can also be applied to my use of colour. Colour gives the works a sense of assuredness, even though I might have been uncertain or hesitant in their making. Several of these works reference some of the most testing times in my life, namely times of grief after the death of close family, and so I rely on colour to bestow a sense of confidence that belies the inherent vulnerability within these moments. Earlier, I mentioned the idea of being an unreliable narrator, and sometimes these memories are so distant and slippery that it feels impossible to truly remember. In contrast, colour brings an immediacy to the work, a vividness and conviction amidst the tremulous nature of recollection.