What has been the artwork or exhibition that has played a fundamental role in your journey? The one that represented the materialization of a burden you carried within, or perhaps the tangible manifestation of an important turning point in your life?

It was rather lived time with artist friends that has played a fundamental role. And my life in Paris.

Can you describe how your relationship with Louise Bourgeois influenced your creative process, and how her presence, whether through direct collaboration, personal connection, or artistic inspiration, continues to shape the way you approach your work today?

Our relationship was effortless. We were both able to let our guards down in front of each other and feel safe and reassured—that is friendship at best without projected expectations. We did not really speak about both of our individual work processes. Artists do not talk about it, as it is not really explainable and should not be. LB once said we were both runaways, and she probably meant that in more ways than only geographically. We were both from Europe and somehow ended up in New York, needing another place to unfold and be more liberated through the distance of past traumas and narratives.

Joseph Beuys said, “Even silence can be an answer.” Do you see your sculptures as silent witnesses to absence, or do they speak in a language beyond words?

And Jean-Paul Sartre said “Every word has consequences. Every silence, too.”

This question belongs entirely to the audience to be answered.

“The character of these works is as elusive as their origins and meaning. The hope is that within the spatial dynamic of the exhibition, different aspects will be revealed and concealed.”
—Neville Wakefield

There’s a rawness in your work that seems to speak to the subconscious, rather than the rational mind. Do you ever think about how your pieces might affect viewers on a deeper psychological or emotional level?

Once the work is handed over to the public, it becomes many lives. This is what art should do at its best—more questions. Everyone is experiencing what one sees depending on their current potential and that is where the personal dialogue comes in. It is beneficial to leave the safety of former experiences behind, which leads to endless layers of opportunities.

Analyzing the aesthetics of this latest work, how did its most visceral emotional core and the raw naturality of its elements merge and reflect in your precise stylistic choices—forms, colors, shades, and textures?

These works have a chimeric quality, but it is the inner tension and agency that decide the final form, although I am not sure when the form comes in, and I prefer the form not to have a predetermined meaning. I am very much driven by instinct and formulate all only at the end of the process.

Memory and time in your work are not conceived as linear; they are rather fractured, reconstituted, and layered. Also, the materials that you use, whether burned, crushed, or repurposed, often may transmit an intrinsic sense of trauma. Do you view memory as something that accumulates, as if matter itself can somehow carry traces of the past? And if so, does your process act as a means to either capture or transform these ephemeral traces?

Memory is the accumulated past to be selectively recalled and used. It is captured, integrated, and transformed in the work.

In a world obsessed with categorization, your work remains elusive, neither fully figurative nor fully abstract, existing in a liminal space of becoming. Do you feel that this ambiguity is essential for a deeper, more nuanced understanding of an artwork’s message?

The best I can do and my work can do is to give the viewer the possibility to think about them with their own feelings.

“The power of one’s work lies precisely in its plurality and refusal to be reduced to single meanings, references, or interpretations.”
—Neville Wakefield

If this body of work were to function as a psychological landscape, what emotions or mental states would it evoke?

That is for the audience to determine themselves.

“Just as many of the physical barriers between inside and outside were broken down [in the Schindler House], so too were the psychological barriers that separate our internal and external conditions. It’s an idea that is echoed in the sculptures. Like the house itself, they exist as both physical forms and psychographic statements. The sculptures are the enigmatic manifestation of interior conditions and like the architecture itself, they exist in a liminal space that is a threshold between past and present, inside and outside, what is concealed and what is revealed.”
—Neville Wakefield

In much of your work, there seems to be a sense of control over the unpredictable. Does your process ever allow for chaos, or do you find that chaos must always be tamed?

It is a relationship that is inevitably turbulent between the two while the creative process takes place, either physically or mentally. What happens during the work process, intellectually and form-wise, is that I approach a piece with an imaginary idea which I have not experienced and therefore remains innocent, waiting to be explored. This emotion results in a flow of works or procedures that can be interrupted at any point. These are condensed, layered, broken up, and again collected and suddenly taken over by another. At any given moment, loss of control takes effect. If the sculpture is strong enough to fight back, that is often a good moment to stop.