Sven Christian [SC]: How did clouds become a basis or starting point for your work?

Sophia van Wyk [SVW]: I’m a big fan of nature. I like her work. She really calms me down. I started with contour drawings of mountains, then rocks, and ended up with clouds. I’ve just kept that up, but it’s a way to get in the flow and to meditate. I also draw a lot from the unconscious, to not overthink things when I create forms. That’s why I chose clouds. My Master’s research (2013–5) also focused a lot on constructivist identity theory, where you’re always in a state of becoming. I like that because I’m like that, you know? I’m always reassessing things. Changing one’s opinion is healthy.

SC: Do you take that same approach when it comes to your artworks? Like, do you view them as products in-and-of themselves or as part of an ongoing processional thing?

SVW: I’m very explorative, especially when it comes to materials. I just can’t stick to one. I’ve learnt so much from each material that I work with, and I find life like that too. It’s very rich. There’s a lot of knowledge out there.

SC: In the artist statement for Love Default, you mention a relationship between your choice of cloud forms and the significance of a particular day; this process of documenting or archiving clouds on days that hold some kind of significance for you, which then become a basis for your work. So, as much as the work is informed by something that’s always in flux, there’s also something about your process that’s rooted in the particular.

SVW: Somebody said they’re like snapshots of memories, because I mark time like that. It may be a socio-political event, something that happens, then I take a photo and very unconsciously start drawing things. Later, I identify these forms and I’m like, ‘Yeah, I was going through that. I remember.’ In a way, it’s about not overthinking that whole process; but to be very open and conscious of where I am. I’m a great overthinker, so this process helps me relax. I like things to be open-ended, to sit with the complexity of life. So it does mark time, for me, and personal memory.

SC: But it seems like those markers are more personal, in that you don’t try to spell them out for people. As far as I know, you don’t give your works titles, in the manner, say, of documentary photography, where you might list what a photograph depicts, where it was taken, and when.

SVW: I do do that, though. I archive those details. In the works for Coded Cloud (2016), at Fried Contemporary, I documented them somewhat by which type of cloud and the year, for instance O Cirrus 2.16.

SC: But you don’t make the details about the event public, do you?

SVW: I do give hints, but I want my work to be open for interpretation. You can see what you want. That is the nature of clouds, right? You see what’s in your consciousness and not what is in mine. It’s all about the freedom of process; not binding the work too much to a particular meaning. Sometimes the realisation only comes later, once you’ve digested it...

SC: Between Love Default and your Master’s, what has changed?

SVW: I’ve been working as a professional artist for ten years, so a lot has changed. I’m not in academia, for one, although I still do teach. I’ve worked with a million different mediums and I think I’ve become more refined and confident in what I want to say. My voice is stronger.

SC: Your earlier works seem quite clean, in comparison — bubblegummy? There’s a pop plasticity to them...

SVW: I used to use automotive paints, but it was difficult to work with. That was a journey on its own. It was very strange. For Coded Cloud, I wanted to work with automotive paint because of that glossy attractiveness that it gives.

SC: I think I’m reffering to more recent works, like Mirror Me (2022), which was shown as part of Future Mythology at Everard Read in Cape Town. Or works like Scottish Thistle and Olive Branch (2022) or Worlds Apart (2022). They somehow remind me of those sweets from Sweets from Heaven,

like sour worms but the rubbery ones without the bits of sugar, or the fake teeth... In comparison, the concrete works here are not like that. From what I understand, there are bits of waste in them, and the concrete gives them a much more raw, gritty feel.

SVW: I think about female identity all the time. In a number of earlier works, I was thinking of women in reference to cake; women being eaten / objectified. That glossiness had something to do with perfection, attractiveness — women as dessert. But I’m not there anymore. I think my palette has shifted. I’m no longer scared to show the flaws, I suppose. The older I get, the less I think I (or my work) need to be perfect. I do still play with attractive features, like glossiness and colour, as you can see in the new ceramic works.

SC: We’re going to be showing the small version of Foot in the Door (2017) as part of Small Things, which will open next week at the Villa-Legodi Centre for Sculpture. That work was upscaled for Not a Single Story (2018). I know there’s also an association to food, when it comes to the base?

SVW: Yes. The small version was a lost-wax cast. The larger work — like the earlier works in automotive paint — was made from fiberglass and painted, which is not a great medium to use. It’s toxic. The small version of Foot in the Door was part of a series that was exhibited as part of a show called Archival Sky (2017) at Hazard Gallery. The bases were all tiered, like a traditional wedding cake. The bronze sculptures on top were supposed

to be like transgressive cake toppers, you know? At the time I was thinking a lot about where I come from, culturally, and the expectations accompanying that.

SC: Although toxic, fiberglass does feel appropriate for those works, in the sense of it having this synthetic quality, like icing.

SVW: It is a strong material, too. I’m always making these forms that defy gravity, in a way, so that’s important. It’s not always practical, but I do it anyway.

SC: With the current show, there are various versions of things. For example, you have the cardboard maquette of The love object (2024) —which isn’t on show, but it exists — then there’s the glazed ceramic sculpture, then the concrete sculpture. There’s this aspect of working across materials or forms...

SVW: Definitely. Each material comes out differently. I think that’s fascinating, that exploration of form, but it’s really exciting to try and find the form, you know? That’s what maquette making is for. Then you consolidate it in a larger work, but I enjoy experimenting materially. The outcome is never a complete replica, because I’m not a robot. If you find something that works better, add it in. Of course, I wouldn’t have been able to go larger without the smaller version, but sometimes I don’t like replication. Something goes missing for me in reproducing and reproducing.

SC: With your paintings you spoke about maybe bringing elements of those drawings into sculptural form, having these cutouts float in the space, which you’ve decided against, but I’m still curious about the thought process there.

SVW: The mixed-media work is new. I began making the collage elements during COVID, creating process paintings that are now sculptural. They now feel quite resolved, so yeah, testing ideas... It’s a constant, ongoing thing. From the photographs of clouds and cloud drawings, I then develop forms and make larger or smaller sculptures.

SC: The other day you mentioned that cardboard was new for you, when making maquettes?

SVW: Yeah, the cardboard thing is new. I started using it last year. What’s appealing about cardboard is that, beyond being cost effective (if you mess up, it won’t cost a lot), it’s very elemental. You get a very basic sense of it. I’ve now done some 3D printing too. I was trying the digital route, because it feels like that’s where everything is headed, but I don’t really like the process. For me, something goes missing, because making a maquette is how I initially explore and create the form for my sculptures. With 3D printing

I don’t get to explore the form as I would like to, but maybe it is also just something I need to get used to.

SC: I’m also interested in how the materials chosen to make your initial, small-scale maquettes may lead to particular aesthetic considerations further down the line. Cut cardboard feels inherently flat and lends itself to sharper edges, which are present in both the concrete and ceramic works that followed.

SVW: With cardboard you can’t get a lot of detail.

SC: So the choice to use it allows or insists on something a bit crude?

SVW: It looks a lot like my process drawings, basically. For me, it’s not that gratifying. I like volume. I want to see how the form really looks, so it’s a bit elemental. I think there’s another step, where you fill out the volume. I feel like the ceramic works are also like maquettes, in a way, because they could also be upscaled in a different material.

SC: In the write up for Love Default, you talk about needing an alternative; the need to introduce something else into the picture — for other pathways to understand intimacy and trauma...

SVW: This show is quite personal, but it’s also societal. We have a lot of problems with relationships of love. I’m just reconsidering what we’re taught: when someone says, ‘This is love, this is how love is.’ I want to question that a bit. I’ve got two boys, so I’m very conscious of what they are being taught about love. All of the works on exhibition explore this in some way. Being older, I’ve worked through a lot of things, and questioned a lot of things — how I deal with things and try to be better. I suppose I’m just curious about what we accept, you know? I find that interesting. The title of one of the works, The violence of you (2024), is so apt. We all carry a certain amount of violence. Maybe it’s an experience that we’ve been through, or something that we have in ourselves. It plays out so much at the moment, just how violent we are. So I’m dealing with my own violence but also trying to confront the viewer, in a way.