We spoke with visual artist B.Munkhtsetseg, who was awarded the Best Visual Art Work prize at the prestigious Silver Tree Awards—an annual celebration that recognizes the most outstanding achievements in Mongolia’s arts and culture sector. She earned this recognition for her evocative piece titled “The Human Flock”.

This artwork was created in commemoration of the 50th anniversary of diplomatic relations between Mongolia and Germany. It was first showcased last year during the international exhibition “Post-Nomadic Experiences”. A unique fusion of mixed media, the piece stands out for combining installation art, felt, metal, and land art. Intricately crafted felt buttons and ties—traditional elements in Mongolian clothing—are used to symbolically represent humanity.

She is a contemporary artist known for using her art as a medium to raise awareness about environmental protection and to celebrate and preserve Mongolia’s nomadic heritage. The artist often incorporates natural, organic materials—particularly felt—emphasizing its living, tactile, and symbolic qualities.

Congratulations on winning the Best Visual Art award at the “Silver Tree 2024” festival for your piece. How did it feel to receive this honor for the first time?

This was actually my first time being nominated for the award. I submitted my work just a day before the deadline, almost by chance. And to my surprise, it was selected as the winner. I was overwhelmed with joy—it was such an unexpected and emotional moment. Truly a wonderful and surprising experience.

What was the core message you intended to convey through this artwork? What did you focus on during the creative process?

My work primarily follows a contemporary art approach. I always strive to weave in elements of Mongolia’s rich cultural heritage, philosophy, and traditional symbolism. “The Human Flock” was created for the exhibition “Post-Nomadic Experiences”, organized in honor of 50 years of diplomatic relations between Mongolia and Germany.

From the outset, I sought to express a message of spiritual unity. At the time, the war between Russia and Ukraine was escalating, and I found myself contemplating global peace. This piece was my artistic response to those—my way of symbolizing a longing for harmony and balance in the world.

In Mongolian cosmology, the world is composed of two complementary realms—the masculine and feminine energies under the sky and upon the earth—which together represent a universal balance. I wanted the piece to reflect that principle: the interdependence between humans and nature, and the importance of equilibrium in all things. Whether between nations or individuals, peace and coexistence rely on balance. This idea lies at the heart of “The Human Flock”.

The use of felt buttons and ties was also intentional. These elements hold cultural significance. Our ancestors used to tie them while offering blessings with kind words. There are even distinct male and female versions of buttons in Mongolian tradition. So, in this work, these ties represent the human form. The installation takes the shape of a circular formation, resembling the base of a traditional ger, symbolizing the eternal nature of life.

Though human existence may be transient, the spiritual and cultural legacies we leave behind are everlasting. The circular motif of the ger base signifies this continuity. The ger, for Mongolians, is not just a dwelling—it is a symbol of warmth, resilience, and home. For centuries, its structure—made of felt and wood—has remained largely unchanged, testifying to its enduring design and cultural relevance.

Moreover, the ger reflects values of adaptability and harmony within the family unit. Even if one part is damaged, it can be replaced without dismantling the whole. In modern terms, it is a model of sustainable architecture. Through every artwork I create, I aim to emphasize that our cultural heritage is the foundation of our survival and identity. I believe “The Human Flock” successfully conveyed that message.

How long did your artwork take?
 

The preparation phase took around three to four months. It took a little over two months to make the wool into felt and create the approximately 600 buttons and stems.

You often use natural materials in your work, don’t you?
 

That’s closely tied to the traditional nomadic lifestyle and cultural heritage of the Mongolian people. I try to incorporate the kinds of materials we’ve historically used in our daily lives. In particular, I’ve been working continuously with felt for the past 16 years. It’s a unique and essential material, notable for being derived without taking the life of an animal. I believe it carries a warm, life-giving energy—truly a remarkable medium. That’s why I consider felt not just a material, but something deeply connected to our ancestry, culture, and identity. It has a sacred quality to it, and that’s why I mainly use it in my work.

Are there any challenges to creating this type of artwork in Mongolia?
 

I joined the contemporary art collective “Blue Sun” in 2009 as one of the first female artists. Since then, I’ve been working in the contemporary, or “contemporary-conceptual” art field. These days, contemporary art is gaining recognition around the world, and Mongolians are beginning to understand it, too. But when I first started, many people didn’t understand what we were trying to create or express. There were countless challenges, from production costs to criticism—people tend to critique more than praise. But over time, and after overcoming many obstacles, we’ve begun to see a growing audience who truly understands what we’re doing.

Were there any moments during the creation of your piece “Human Flock” that moved you deeply or made you feel like giving up?
 

Joy and hardship always come hand in hand. You have to overcome difficulties in order to experience joy. Similarly, creating such a large-scale piece in a short period of time was no easy task. Working with sheep’s wool day and night was physically demanding. But there’s something about the vitality of felt that deeply draws me in. When I finally completed the piece and stood back to see it, I felt a kind of happiness I had never experienced before—something that resonated in my chest. 

Later, watching people interact with the work—touching the buttons and stems—was very moving. You can see people’s emotions play out on their faces. When I create, I always hope that the audience becomes a part of the artwork itself. That’s why I strive to create pieces that actively involve the viewer. Only then you can offer people a truly immersive experience. At one point, the piece looked as if it had become part of nature. When the wind blew, the rain fell, or the storm passed, the work swayed like the heads of grain in a field. It was so beautiful that it looked like a patch of white flowers blooming on a green plain—it stirred something deep inside me.

Why did you name the piece “Human Flock”?
 

Let me start by sharing my initial thoughts. These days, individualism and the idea of “love yourself first” have become dominant. But from the beginning of humankind, people have lived in groups—tribes, clans, flocks—protecting each other from danger and offering companionship. That was the foundation of human society. So I believe that in order for humanity to truly exist on this earth, we must live in unity and harmony. A person cannot survive alone. We exist through our relationships, through mutual care and support. Without that, a family, a society—even a nation—loses its foundation and risks self-destruction. That’s why I named the piece “Human Flock”—to emphasize the importance of connection, unity, and collective existence.

Did you love to draw as a kid? Did that influence your decision to enroll in the Mongolian State University of Arts and Culture? Could you share how you chose your profession?
 

My father actually wanted me to become a lawyer. I missed the entrance exam cut-off score by just one or two points the first year, so I planned to study hard and reapply the following year. One day, I was walking with my friends near the Mongolian State University of Arts and Culture when I saw a sign that said they were accepting additional applicants for the fine arts program. I asked the receptionist about it and went in the very next day.

Back in secondary school, I used to quietly draw in the back of my notebooks. When my parents were at work, I’d sit at home and draw. I didn’t really know what I wanted to do—I was just a kid—but I had this inner desire to draw. So without telling my parents, I applied out of pure interest. I ended up ranking second among the applicants. That’s when I told my parents, and they were genuinely shocked. But they never imposed their own wishes on me. They never rejected or discouraged me. That’s how I first stepped through the doors of the university. But for some reason, every time I walked through those doors or down the hallways, it always felt strangely familiar and comforting—like I’d been there before.

You graduated from the painting department of the Mongolian State University of Arts and Culture. Why did you shift to felt art?
 

The reason was my father. He was a scholar. During the turbulence of the 1990s, many scholars lost their jobs. Research institutes were dissolved or faced downsizing, and eventually, my father became unemployed. In an effort to improve our household’s livelihood, he came up with an idea—to process raw sheep wool at home instead of sending it to factories. He designed a machine powered by electricity that allowed us to create finished products ourselves to meet the needs of our family and those close to us.

It was extremely difficult to invent something new during that time. There was no funding, scholars were left on their own, everything was in chaos, and people didn’t know where to turn. Scholars had to make great sacrifices just to do their work. My father was one of them.

One day, while walking together, he said to me, “My daughter, raw materials like sheep wool, cashmere, and yak down will never lose their value. They’re valuable because you don’t have to take the life of the animal to obtain them.” Then he added, “It’s never too late to learn something new. Try to develop this from an artistic angle.” That was his heartfelt advice.

My father passed away in 2009. By then, I had firmly decided to become an artist. I worked as a teacher at the Mongolian Art Center for Children’s Creativity, constantly developing myself to the point where I could teach children how to create with felt. Initially, I planned to hold my first solo exhibition with paintings. But in memory of my father, I decided to present felt-based works instead.

So I held my exhibition at Xanadu Art Gallery. From that point on, people received my work very well, seeing it as something new and unique. As it was my debut exhibition, I received both criticism and praise. But that experience really motivated me and gave me a strong sense of encouragement.

That same momentum led to the founding of the Nomad Urug collective—a group of contemporary female artists. Since then, I have continued creating artworks in this field, drawing ever closer to our cultural heritage through my pieces.

So it was around that time that you started creating works inspired by traditional Mongolian thought?
 

When I was a student, I once drew a portrait of a woman and brought it to my teacher, Lkhagvasuren, for evaluation. He stared at it for a long time, then said, “You should create your art with a Mongolian mindset. This portrait doesn’t carry the essence of Mongolia. If you’re a Mongolian artist, you need to think and feel like one.”

But as a kid growing up in the capital city, I only went to the countryside once or twice a year with my parents. I had no clear understanding of traditional ways of thinking or rural life. At the time, I remember asking myself, “What does it mean to be Mongolian in art?” I wondered if simply drawing mountains, rivers, livestock, or people in traditional dress would make it ‘Mongolian’. I didn’t quite get it.

But as your mind matures, so does your ability to understand what it means to think with a Mongolian perspective. Over time, I came to appreciate the memories and values my father passed down to us. That realization became deeply meaningful to me. I felt a strong desire to carry those things forward and pass them on to future generations. That’s how I found myself fully immersed in this field.

Did you shift your focus entirely from painting to felt art?
 

Yes, that’s right. I’ve mostly put painting aside. Now I create large-scale, site-specific works rooted in national heritage and culture. But since I originally aspired to become a painter, I still have the urge to paint beautiful women from time to time—I won’t hide that.

Sometimes, I take time between projects to paint something for an exhibition. Of course, I still dream of holding a solo exhibition of my paintings one day. I believe that moment will come—when I’ll be standing in front of my own painting exhibition, smiling and thinking, Wow, I actually did it.