How do you create something that feels alive but resists definition? At just 33, Andrés Anza has mastered the art of ambiguity, crafting ceramic sculptures that teeter between organic life forms and abstract dreams. His spiked, textural creations evoke curiosity and challenge perceptions, inviting viewers into a world where tradition meets modernity. Fresh off his win at the 2024 Loewe Foundation Craft Prize, Anza opens up about his inspirations, the dialogue between material and maker, and why imperfection lies at the heart of his work.
hube: Your award-winning piece I Only Know What I Have Seen is a striking combination of figurative and abstract elements. How do you decide which forms to keep recognisable and which to leave mysterious?
Andrés Anza: This piece is part of my entire body of work – part of the language I’ve been developing over time. I like to take objects or elements from nature that feel familiar to us, shapes that make you think you know what you’re looking at. But at the very end, they’re actually nothing – they come from the imaginary.
It’s important for me to grab inspiration from nature but not let it dominate. People often ask if I’m inspired by corals or underwater life because they feel an oceanic connection in my work. But I deliberately avoid looking at images of these things. I don’t want to be influenced in a way that makes my work a portrait of something that already exists. My goal is to keep it in this in-between space: a naive, imaginary connection to nature, yet something that feels like it could belong to an ecosystem.
h: Your work often creates organic shapes that seem almost alive. Is there a reason you’re drawn to creating forms that challenge our perception of living vs. non-living?
AA: I want to create forms that feel alive – so alive that they make viewers uncomfortable because they can’t quite describe what they’re seeing. When something challenges you, it sparks curiosity. That’s when you start forming a personal relationship with it.
These forms are like abstract portraits of humans. Just as we need to explore and get to know people before truly understanding them, I want my sculptures to invite exploration. They’re not static objects – like humans, they have an inner world. Some of my pieces even have little openings or holes, revealing more inside and inviting viewers to look deeper. I ask them to go beyond the surface, just as we do when forming deeper relationships with people.
h: Your pieces evoke curiosity and invite viewers to question their own existence. When creating, do you intentionally leave space for interpretation, or is the ambiguity a natural outcome of your process?
AA: Absolutely, I leave space intentionally. I want spectators to complete the work with their own experiences. If I over-describe the elements, it takes away from that. Titles are especially hard for me because they often feel like a forced interpretation.
For example, I avoided colour at the start because I didn’t want people to associate it with something specific, like a cactus if it was green. Instead, I want people to look at my work and feel like they’ve seen it before, only to realise they haven’t. That moment of recognition is followed by uncertainty – that’s where the connection happens. That’s when they complete the piece, making it their own.
h: Your use of texture is described as visceral and dramatic. What role does texture play in conveying meaning, and how does it transform a sculpture from an object into an experience?
AA: Texture is essential. It’s not just a surface element – it brings my sculptures to life. The piece you see behind me is a great example. It’s covered in spikes, which I started creating almost by accident. At the time, I was transitioning from figurative work to something more abstract, and I wanted my sculptures to feel full – not empty inside.
Each spike is placed by hand, which gives the piece its energy. The slight curves in the spikes create an illusion of movement, almost like the sculpture is breathing. This texture makes the pieces feel alive like they’re part of a living organism. For me, texture isn’t just about aesthetics – it’s the soul of the work.
h: Your pieces have been described as a conversation between material and maker. Do you feel your work is shaped more by your own vision, or by the organic properties of the clay itself?
AA: With ceramics, you’re not working alone – it’s always a partnership with the material. Clay has its own limits and properties, and if you push it too far, it might collapse or melt. But sometimes, that’s the beauty of it. When clay ‘decides’ to do something unexpected, I adapt.
This partnership has kept me inspired for over a decade. Every piece feels fresh because even though the technique stays the same, the shapes evolve. Clay constantly surprises me – it’s an endless dialogue, and I never feel like I’ve reached the end of what’s possible.
h: In your career, you’ve shifted from smaller gallery exhibitions to prestigious international prizes. How has this evolution changed the way you approach your work, if at all?
AA: It’s been a whirlwind – only five months since the prize, but everything has changed. I’ve had so many new opportunities and projects, and it’s been both exciting and overwhelming.
The recognition has allowed my work to reach new audiences and countries I never thought possible. But it hasn’t changed how I approach my art. My creative process is still grounded in exploration and partnership with the material. What’s new is the scale and logistics – shipping ceramics internationally, for instance, is a whole new challenge. It’s a learning curve, but one I’m grateful for. I never expected this level of recognition, and I feel incredibly honoured.
h: As the winner of the 2024 Loewe Foundation Craft Prize, how has the recognition impacted your approach to blending traditional craftsmanship with modern artistic expression, especially in light of the foundation’s emphasis on innovation and organic forms?
AA: When I submitted for the Loewe Craft Prize, I thought it was a long shot. Making it into the 30 finalists was already beyond my expectations. For me, that was it – I was thrilled to be part of the exhibition and didn’t even consider the idea of winning. When they announced I was the winner, I was in disbelief. I had completely forgotten that there was an actual prize attached to it!
The recognition has been overwhelming in the best way. It’s opened so many doors, and I’ve received inquiries from places and people I never imagined. But it hasn’t changed the core of my work. It’s about maintaining my connection to traditional craftsmanship while pushing its boundaries.
What I love about Loewe’s emphasis on organic forms and innovation is that it validates my approach to using traditional techniques in contemporary contexts. I feel like I’ve been given a platform to show that the manual, the handmade, and the deeply personal are still vital in a technology-driven world. It’s been an intense, rewarding journey so far, and I’m excited to see where it leads next.
h: In a world increasingly driven by technology, your work remains grounded in the manual and laborious. Do you see this as a form of resistance or celebration of traditional craft?
AA: Both. For me, working with my hands is about connection – connection to the material, to tradition, and to the act of creation itself. When I shape clay, it feels like I’m giving life to something.
I want my work to honour the Mexican tradition of craftsmanship. Repetition and tradition are so important – they’ve brought me to where I am today. When people ask if I use software or machines for my pieces, I laugh. My hands are my software. Why would we want to lose the ability to create with the tools we were born with?
It’s not about rejecting technology – I use it in other ways – but there’s something irreplaceable about the tactile process of shaping clay. It’s a partnership, not domination. And that’s what keeps my work alive.
Photography courtesy of the artist
