Interviews, Issue 8

LOEWE FOUNDATION Craft Prize

Conversation with Andrés Anza and Minsuk Cho

Photography ALEJANDRO RAMÍREZ OROZCO

From the picturesque landscapes of Monterrey, Mexico, to the realm of contemporary sculpture, Andrés Anza’s journey is deeply intertwined with his heritage. His life-size ceramic sculpture, I Only Know What I Have Seen (2023), earned him the 2024 LOEWE FOUNDATION Craft Prize, an award for unique and remarkable work within the applied arts. Celebrated for its capacity to evoke both physical and emotional responses, Anza’s work ignites curiosity and exploration, embodying a harmonious blend of traditional craftsmanship and modern innovation.

In this conversation, Seoul-based architect Minsuk Cho, a jury member for the LOEWE FOUNDATION Craft Prize, offers insights into the spatial dimensions of Anza’s work. Cho’s focus on architectural design provides a nuanced understanding of how Anza’s sculptures interact with their environments, influencing perception and spatial experience. Together, Anza and Cho highlight how their respective fields inform and enrich each other, shedding light on the cultural and universal influences that shape their creative endeavors.

ANDRÉS ANZA: While thinking about spatial elements, I never saw my works in terms of the space they occupy. It’s funny because my work is three-dimensional and occupies a lot of space. Reflecting on this, I want people to feel curious about my work and about the things in front of them. If you enter a room and see my sculptures, you might feel curious and try to define them. This curiosity is what I aim to evoke. I feel that it’s similar in architecture, whenever you walk into a room or see a building from outside, you feel curious about various things—technical aspects, meanings, and reasons behind its design.

MINSUK CHO: As someone who saw your work in Paris during the LOEWE FOUNDATION Craft Prize exhibition, it definitely induces movement. It makes people move around and experience it. Certain works can make you stop and gaze, but yours had us moving up and down, bending our knees, and exploring the objects you created. For me, architecture is a three-dimensional experience involving space, time, and people. It’s about moving through space in time. I’ve always been interested in manipulating narratives through spatial design, similar to how a master chef creates a sequence of tastes. Good architecture allows people to experience space in a controlled yet generous way, providing options and fostering a sense of collective engagement. Am I making sense?

AA: Absolutely. Space isn’t complete until the user or spectator interacts with it, their interpretation is beyond our control. It’s amazing how you can influence what people might feel, and ultimately, they will have their own personal relationship with it. That’s the beauty of it.

MC: You’re right. Your work makes people curious, almost like encountering a bizarre alien object. It’s like something crashed to earth, provoking discussion and curiosity. It’s evident in many dimensions—it can bring people together, engage them in conversations, and allow for multiple interpretations.

AA: Yes, flow is one of the most important elements in my work. It makes the work look alive, which, in turn, makes people curious and engaging. Is it from our ecosystem? Is it an alien? Is it from the ocean? When you see something alive, like plants swaying on a wall, it makes the work more interesting than something static.

MC: I watched the video of how you create your sculptures, and it’s a very repetitive, almost Zen-like labor. Although the final creation has this amazing digital, futuristic quality, seeing the video almost reminded me of my mother making dumplings with a very specific technique that you’ve mastered. I’m fascinated by your ability to craft such fluid shapes with rich textures that evoke a sense of movement. Could you share more about your creative process?

AA: I start by making coils and building the structure, always keeping it hollow. To achieve a sense of volume, I strategically build up certain areas, allowing the clay to dry and support additional weight as I progress. I learned this sectional working method from my uncle, who is also a ceramic sculptor.
One thing about my way of working is that I can be fluid with the material and make decisions on the fly. I don’t draw or plan in advance; I have a partnership with the clay. I know the size and general shape, but the clay dictates some decisions during the process. It’s a collaboration with the clay, and the result is always a surprise, which is part of the building process.

In ceramics, there’s an added element of surprise when you place the sculpture in the kiln—you never quite know what will happen. It’s always fun to open the kiln and discover the results after those 12 hours of glazing. That’s my more architectural side—inside these columns, there’s a lot of engineering because I have to place a support system to prevent collapse. The inside of my sculptures looks like a grid, which is fun to build but also the most difficult part.

MC: That’s impressive. The scale of your work in relation to the human body enhances its quality. I couldn’t believe it was made in sections and then assembled. It’s very much like architecture, in a way. The mechanism is hidden, which mystifies people and provokes thought. It reminds me of masonry structures, where parts are methodically assembled.