Andre Joosep Arming has spent much of his life negotiating with death. Eventually, he gave it a name, a mask, and a place beside him.
The Tallinn-based artist works across Polaroid, video, performance and autobiographical mythology, circling birth, death, transformation and the strange privilege of simply being here. His universe is inhabited by two alter egos: Prince Psycho, a lost heir to an imaginary Central European kingdom, and Non Mors – a masked personification of mortality that Arming has turned from threat into companion.
His first solo exhibition, Chain Reaction, brings together works from 2018–2026 alongside new series. It is, among other things, a return: to art, to the world, and to a body that once came frighteningly close to leaving both.
We met Andre somewhere between his first and second heart, Prince Psycho and Non Mors, death and the very serious business of eating a banana.
[ 01 ] Let’s start with your two alter egos: Prince Psycho and Non Mors. What are their origin stories?
Andre Joosep Arming: Prince Psycho came first, around 2012. A year earlier I’d had my second heart operation. There were complications – a spinal cord infarction – and I lost normal movement in half of my body. My speech and motor skills were affected, my grades suddenly collapsed, and it took about a year for my brain to properly recover.
I was fifteen or sixteen. At that age your self-worth is already fragile enough, and suddenly I was dealing with being a disabled person who desperately wanted to exist in the world like everyone else.
Prince Psycho came out of that period. I had always imagined myself as the lost heir to a kingdom somewhere in Central Europe, waiting for me to return, rule the land and bring eternal happiness and peace.
It became a fantasy world I could comfort myself with. A way of saying: better times exist. We don’t have to live in sadness, anger and depression forever. It was really a fight to stay afloat.
[ 02 ] And Non Mors?
Non Mors appeared in 2019, during the first year of my contemporary art MA. I had reached a very dark place. I deleted everyone from my social media – every follower, everyone I followed. Something inside me tore.
At the same time my physical health was deteriorating. My heart failure had become severe. I couldn’t walk more than ten metres without chest pain. I was losing my appetite and fading away.
That summer I went to Vienna to visit a colleague. I found these black masks and gloves and thought they could become part of my practice. I started taking Polaroids. That’s where the visual identity of Non Mors began.
Then COVID happened. I couldn’t get vaccinated and knew that if I got sick, that could be it. I isolated myself. My community disappeared. My health kept declining. By 2022, I weighed 42 kilos.
[ 03 ] At some point it stopped being an abstract proximity to death. You were actually running out of time.
My heart had become so enlarged that it was pressing against my oesophagus. I couldn’t eat solid food anymore. I had to be fed through a stoma, using a feeding tube, and gain enough weight to qualify for a transplant in Finland. So it became this race against time: get the body strong enough to survive an operation while the body itself is failing.
Eventually the medication stopped working. Dialysis stopped helping. Everything in my body was basically fucked. For the first time, I could feel that the end was close.
I had spent years manipulating my body, trying to bypass every new problem and keep the system running. Suddenly there was nothing left to do. The only possible answer was an organ.
They moved me into intensive care because I might need ECMO – essentially a machine keeping me alive while I was put into an artificial coma. And at that point I let go. I thought: I’ve made it this far. I’ve experienced things. I’ve lived. I’m grateful. If I go, I go. If I don’t, I don’t.
Then one morning a colleague came in and told me: A heart exists. You’re probably flying to Helsinki tonight. It was the last thing I expected. Suddenly I realised life might actually continue. It felt bigger than winning the lottery. It was a life win.
[ 04 ] You wake up five days later, in another country, with somebody else’s heart inside you. What felt most surreal?
Food. I could fucking eat. The first time I ate a banana, I started crying. I hadn’t eaten through my mouth for seven months.
Then doctors came in, did an ultrasound and told me everything looked good. Complete mindfuck. I had my own hospital room, my own TV. Every morning I watched the World Cup and the news. I learned how to walk again. I learned how ordinary life worked. Then came salmon. Mashed potatoes. Carrots. Amazing.
[ 05 ] That sounds almost offensively mundane for a rebirth story.
But those things are so cool!
Eating. Walking outside. Watching television. Having your own room.
After a month in Finland, I came home. I’ll take immunosuppressants for the rest of my life to stay alive. So there’s still that factor – that game with death.
About a year later, while working on my MA, I realised: wait. I have this mask. I have the concept of the cemetery. I have this character, Non Mors. He had actually been with me the entire time.
Death is around all of us. I just tried to visualise it as something that moves beside me – a living force. Then I made a physical persona of it.
[ 06 ] What I find interesting is that you didn’t call him Life. You called him Non Mors. Why?
Life is already too dominant.
We don’t want to talk about death. There’s almost this judgement around it, as if speaking about death is somehow wrong. But the fact is that all of us arrive here and all of us leave. That is the one thing already decided for us.
Because I came so close to that experience, I realised we shouldn’t be afraid of its existence. It’s okay to fear death. It’s also okay to talk about it. It doesn’t make you less human.
[ 07 ] I relate to that. I once made an informal will and told the people close to me where to find it and what to do if something happened. Their reaction was basically: Jesus, how morbid. I thought the opposite – I’m literally making your life easier. Why do you think we’re so bad at this?
We just don’t bring death up in our culture.
We ignore the problem.
And if you actually look at mortality statistics, the picture becomes even darker. It surprises me how much we keep ourselves in the dark.
[ 08 ] I want to return to your earlier installation Please Don’t Come Anymore. You wrote about people visiting you in hospital and not wanting them to see you weak. I’ve experienced something similar – sitting there in a hospital gown with someone you love, knowing they mean well, but somehow everyone is uncomfortable. How has your relationship with being seen in that state changed?
It’s not exactly that I’m uncomfortable. I just don’t want people to feel obligated to visit me. Like: we came, we checked on him, now we can pat ourselves on the back because we did the right thing.
Why?
You could use that time to do something meaningful in your own life.
Of course, it’s beautiful to see who wants to give you their time. But it depends on what condition you’re in and whether you can actually communicate – whether you feel like you’re meeting on equal ground.
[ 09 ] But isn’t that also too empathetic? You’re deciding for other people what they should do with their time.
Absolutely.
[ 10 ] Same. That’s probably why I recognised myself in the work. But there’s an interesting contradiction here: your work deals with death, illness and loneliness, yet aesthetically you respond with maximalism, camp, costume and joy. What does Non Mors have to teach us?
The question is whether people are capable of learning anything from him.
If they are, Non Mors teaches you to be present in your life whenever you can. We all have days when we don’t feel our best. That doesn’t make you less of a person. He reminds you that exactly who you are today – that is your strength.
When I dress as Non Mors, I feel powerful. I take on this position of: I am here. I am visible. I exist. And I’m doing the things I’m supposed to be doing. There’s a kind of peace in it. Maybe that’s what we’re all looking for in this life adventure.
[ 11 ] You’ve also said that after everything that happened, you sometimes feel like you’ve missed out on ordinary life. What does “ordinary” even mean to you now?
I went through something completely life-changing and now I see everything differently.
But at the same time, I want to participate in life like a normal person. Maybe have a boring nine-to-five job? That sounds exciting to me.
[ 12 ] It is exciting. At first.
Exactly. Then it becomes monotonous and you start asking why you’re doing it. So you have to find a balance. Compromises. A system that works for you. It’s a journey, eh?
And sometimes it’s also nice to have time where you do absolutely nothing. Nothing.
[ 13 ] We’ve talked about what Non Mors can teach us. What about Prince Psycho?
Prince Psycho is a little pedant. He’s demanding. Very private. He shows his strengths and he’s honest with people. He’s persistent and stays true to his principles. He’s also extroverted, brave and dominant. He’s interested in other people. He wants to bring them together and find solutions.
Prince Psycho was born from my desire to become someone like him. And I succeeded. But I still want more connection with people. I want to listen, help, support them, not leave people alone. During the years when I was sick, I saw how alone a person can become – and how deep a hole they can climb back out of. I want to give people that strength and confidence: things can move forward. One dead end isn’t the end of the world.
[ 14 ] Your first solo exhibition, Chain Reaction, brings together eight years of work. What was the first link in the chain?
The motivation to finally have my first solo exhibition. I finished my MA and felt it was time to return to the art world. And the best way to return was with a solo show.
In 2019, I was involved in nine projects. I was working constantly, making connections, surrounded by great people. I genuinely loved creating. It felt like the best life. Then everything shifted. I let go of everything and pushed it out of my life. It was some kind of mental and physical breaking point. Chain Reaction is me coming back from that and reintroducing myself to the world.
Looking at all those earlier versions of myself now is strange. I look at him and think: cool. Look how he dealt with it. He kept going. Almost like he knew something else was still coming.
[ 15 ] Last question. If death knocked on your door tomorrow, who would answer – Andre, Prince Psycho or Non Mors?
But then who am I?
The version of me with my first heart is gone. Now there’s the version with the second heart.
Non Mors is eternal by default. Psycho will leave eventually.
So I think all three of us would open the door together.
Because you’re a team?
Exactly.
When I leave, we all leave together.
Credits:Interviewed by Paula-Stina TasanePhotography & Art Direction by Diandra RebaseCostumes by Karl-Cristoph RebaneChain ReactionAndre Joosep Arming28 August – 27 September 2026Hobusepea Gallery, TallinnDream TeamKleer Keret Tali, Helle Ly Tomberg, Karl-Christoph Rebane, Linda Mai Kari, Sirel Soans, Mio Kurm, Johanna Ruukholm, Reimo Võsa-Tangsoo, Hans-Otto Ojaste, Johannes Säre, Hugo Leinola & Artproof.