Production / Printer's Proof 1/1
Unique work on aluminium
Signed by the artist
2019
From The Allun Lewis Collection
Every collection has pieces with stories. This one has a story that probably shouldn't have been possible.
Maria and I had been invited to a private showing at Enter Gallery's Brighton studio with Lawrence.
There were plenty of interesting works around us, but while we were looking through the studio, Maria spotted something tucked away in a corner.
It immediately stopped us.
Neither of us knew exactly what it was at first. We simply thought it was brilliant.
Then we looked closer.
It was a Magnus Gjoen.
And not just a Magnus we hadn't seen before — this was something altogether more unusual.
After a little negotiating and bartering with Lawrence, we managed to secure it. What followed was perhaps the least sophisticated part of the acquisition: trying to work out how on earth we were going to get this enormous piece into the car.
Somehow, we did.
At the time, however, we didn't fully understand what we'd actually bought.
That came later.
Years after acquiring it, I contacted Magnus directly because I wanted to establish exactly what we had.
His response transformed the story of the piece.
Magnus described it to us as:
“The piece that shouldn't exist and that you shouldn't have.”
The work had originally been produced as part of the process for another artwork commissioned for Laura.
When it reached the framers, marks and imperfections were discovered and another version was produced. The assumption was that this earlier aluminium version would be collected, stripped back and reused.
Except that never happened.
The replacement went on to become the finished work.
This one survived.
Somehow, the piece that was never intended to enter the world as an artwork in its own right remained in existence — eventually finding its way into a corner of a Brighton gallery, where Maria happened to notice it.
And ultimately, onto our wall.
I subsequently asked Magnus the question I really wanted answered: given the extraordinary circumstances surrounding it, how should the work actually be described?
His answer was wonderfully clear.
Production proof / printer's proof 1/1.
There isn't an edition of them.
There isn't another numbered example sitting somewhere waiting to appear.
This is the production proof that survived when it wasn't supposed to.
One piece. 1/1.
And that makes its imperfections part of the story rather than something I would ever want to remove.
There was one final part of the mystery.
The woman depicted in the work never actually had a name.
For seven years she had existed — somewhat accidentally — without one.
So I asked Magnus whether, after all this time, perhaps she deserved to be named.
He gave me two choices.
The Lost Reserve — a reference to rum.
Or:
The moment he explained it, there was really only one choice.
“Proof” refers to the artwork itself — the surviving production proof.
But it also refers to alcohol proof, connecting back to Laura, the woman for whom the original project was created, and her association with rum.
I loved it.
Proof of Love.
A title given by Magnus himself, seven years after the work was created, to a piece that was never supposed to survive in the first place.
There is something wonderfully improbable about the whole story.
An imperfect production version was supposed to disappear.
It didn't.
Years later, Maria spotted it sitting almost anonymously in the corner of a gallery.
We didn't know its history.
We didn't know it was a 1/1.
We didn't even know that technically it shouldn't exist.
We just loved it.
And perhaps that's the part of the story I like most.
Because everything we've discovered since — its history, its uniqueness, Magnus confirming its status and ultimately giving it a name — came afterwards.
The reason it entered our collection was much simpler.
Maria saw something in the corner of a room that made us both stop and look.
And really, that's exactly why I collect art in the first place.
PROOF OF LOVE
Magnus Gjoen · 2019
Production / Printer's Proof 1/1
Unique work on aluminium
Title subsequently given by the artist
The piece that shouldn't exist.
The artwork we shouldn't have.
And now, Proof of Love.
From The Allun Lewis Collection
Production / Printer's Proof 1/1
Unique work on aluminium
Signed by the artist
2019
From The Allun Lewis Collection
Every collection has pieces with stories. This one has a story that probably shouldn't have been possible.
Maria and I had been invited to a private showing at Enter Gallery's Brighton studio with Lawrence.
There were plenty of interesting works around us, but while we were looking through the studio, Maria spotted something tucked away in a corner.
It immediately stopped us.
Neither of us knew exactly what it was at first. We simply thought it was brilliant.
Then we looked closer.
It was a Magnus Gjoen.
And not just a Magnus we hadn't seen before — this was something altogether more unusual.
After a little negotiating and bartering with Lawrence, we managed to secure it. What followed was perhaps the least sophisticated part of the acquisition: trying to work out how on earth we were going to get this enormous piece into the car.
Somehow, we did.
At the time, however, we didn't fully understand what we'd actually bought.
That came later.
Years after acquiring it, I contacted Magnus directly because I wanted to establish exactly what we had.
His response transformed the story of the piece.
Magnus described it to us as:
“The piece that shouldn't exist and that you shouldn't have.”
The work had originally been produced as part of the process for another artwork commissioned for Laura.
When it reached the framers, marks and imperfections were discovered and another version was produced. The assumption was that this earlier aluminium version would be collected, stripped back and reused.
Except that never happened.
The replacement went on to become the finished work.
This one survived.
Somehow, the piece that was never intended to enter the world as an artwork in its own right remained in existence — eventually finding its way into a corner of a Brighton gallery, where Maria happened to notice it.
And ultimately, onto our wall.
I subsequently asked Magnus the question I really wanted answered: given the extraordinary circumstances surrounding it, how should the work actually be described?
His answer was wonderfully clear.
Production proof / printer's proof 1/1.
There isn't an edition of them.
There isn't another numbered example sitting somewhere waiting to appear.
This is the production proof that survived when it wasn't supposed to.
One piece. 1/1.
And that makes its imperfections part of the story rather than something I would ever want to remove.
There was one final part of the mystery.
The woman depicted in the work never actually had a name.
For seven years she had existed — somewhat accidentally — without one.
So I asked Magnus whether, after all this time, perhaps she deserved to be named.
He gave me two choices.
The Lost Reserve — a reference to rum.
Or:
The moment he explained it, there was really only one choice.
“Proof” refers to the artwork itself — the surviving production proof.
But it also refers to alcohol proof, connecting back to Laura, the woman for whom the original project was created, and her association with rum.
I loved it.
Proof of Love.
A title given by Magnus himself, seven years after the work was created, to a piece that was never supposed to survive in the first place.
There is something wonderfully improbable about the whole story.
An imperfect production version was supposed to disappear.
It didn't.
Years later, Maria spotted it sitting almost anonymously in the corner of a gallery.
We didn't know its history.
We didn't know it was a 1/1.
We didn't even know that technically it shouldn't exist.
We just loved it.
And perhaps that's the part of the story I like most.
Because everything we've discovered since — its history, its uniqueness, Magnus confirming its status and ultimately giving it a name — came afterwards.
The reason it entered our collection was much simpler.
Maria saw something in the corner of a room that made us both stop and look.
And really, that's exactly why I collect art in the first place.
PROOF OF LOVE
Magnus Gjoen · 2019
Production / Printer's Proof 1/1
Unique work on aluminium
Title subsequently given by the artist
The piece that shouldn't exist.
The artwork we shouldn't have.
And now, Proof of Love.
From The Allun Lewis Collection
