Interview with Cristian Diez-Sanchez
Sculpture has always been the passion in my life, even though for fifty years, I pursued other creative endeavors—largely because I often prioritized the needs of friends and partners over my own artistic interests. Life unfolded in this way, and I can’t quite explain why.
Only in the past ten years have I been able to reconnect with myself and fully engage with sculpture once again. This reawakening brought back memories and ideas I had worked on when I was just sixteen, along with a renewed vision for creating large-scale works intended for outdoor spaces.
My artistic focus has always been centered on the human experience—expressing the wide range of emotions, moods, pains, and joys that define our lives. I organize my work into collections, or “families,” where each series explores a specific theme related to the human condition. Within these families, I create multiple pieces that delve into various emotions and perspectives, each contributing to a broader narrative.
I am careful not to repeat myself, constantly pushing my work in new directions to keep my creativity alive and evolving. Each collection presents a general theme, but each piece within it examines a different angle, often in subtle ways, inviting viewers to return again and again to uncover the layers of emotion embedded in the forms.
The idea of art in public places has always been important to me. I believe that sculptures should form part of the urban landscape, integrated into the city in a way that can be meaningful to the people who encounter them. Art should not be something distant or elevated—it should exist at the same level as the people, with no barriers, speaking to them, offering companionship, and enriching the cultural life of cities, which is in decline.
Unfortunately, art today is increasingly confined to exclusive circles controlled by galleries, fairs, museums, auctions, and collectors. These groups dominate the art world, leaving much of the public excluded unless they pay to access it. Art should be accessible to everyone, out in the streets, available for all to experience. This belief led me to develop the concept of the Urban Sculpture Project, a proposal aimed at collaborating with institutions to bring art into public spaces. Sadly, the reception to this idea has been poor so far.
Still, I remain committed to my work and will continue pursuing this project, hoping to find the support it needs to flourish.
Growing up amidst the copper arts and crafts of your family's enterprise in Santiago, how do you believe this early exposure to hands-on artisanship influenced your approach to sculpture, especially in terms of material choice and thematic exploration?
It really came naturally, without any effort or formal studies—it was simply a continuation and evolution of the work we were doing. In the moments when I had time, I began creating volumes, as the work we were engaged in was quite profitable, but my mind craved more creative challenges.
However, everything I created remained as prototypes, since I always envisioned my work on a much larger scale, meant for expansive outdoor spaces. Regarding the themes, I honestly can't recall why I initially gravitated toward the human figure. I had no formal art education beyond what I received in school.
Years later, I spent two years studying drawing and anatomy, and in my free time, I devoted myself to copying Michelangelo’s paintings through drawing.
With an extensive academic background in architecture, can you discuss how this training has influenced your sculptural designs, particularly in terms of structural aesthetics and spatial dynamics?
Architecture transformed my life, yet it didn’t nurture my work as a sculptor. In fact, I believe it stifled my creativity in that area, as I stepped away from sculpture for years. During that time, I gravitated towards drawing, even though I had no formal training. My studies in drawing came much later, during my years in Spain.
Architecture, however, gave me a deeper understanding of the human experience. Some of our classes focused on observing how people interacted with spaces, revealing much about their behaviors. Architecture, at its core, is for people; it should enhance everyday life. By studying how people moved through and used spaces, I began to think more critically about designing environments that were both efficient and practical.
This led me to adopt a more humanistic perspective on architecture, though it didn't greatly influence my sense of structural aesthetics.Oddly enough, this human-centered approach ultimately reconnected me with sculpture, when I could go back to it, many years after. My fascination with the human condition—the emotions, reactions, and moods we experience daily—found its way into my work.
The emotion and expression in my art, I believe, stem from this ongoing observation of human nature in all its complexity.
After relocating from Santiago to Barcelona, a city rich in artistic heritage, how did this move challenge or enrich your creative process? Can you describe a specific moment or project that epitomized this cultural shift for you?
When I moved to Barcelona, I wasn't in the best place mentally, and my ideas were far from clear. It wasn't a completely new city to me—I had been there twice before, staying for three and eight months respectively. In fact, just a year prior, I had held an exhibition of drawings and engravings in a small gallery in the city.
Initially, my plan was to study drawing. However, I never got the chance to begin, as I was also searching for work. My partner asked for my help in creating graphic designs for a lamp catalog his company was preparing. So instead of pursuing drawing, I ended up dedicating several months to producing these graphic designs.Through this process, I discovered industrial design—a field that didn’t even exist in Chile at the time. This marked a major shift in my life. It wasn’t what I had originally set out to do, but without much certainty, I found myself getting deeply involved. This involvement lasted over twenty years, with its fair share of highs and lows.
There were amazing moments, as well as difficult times, but industrial design became an obsessive passion that consumed much of my life. Still, as mentioned earlier, I did spend nearly two years studying drawing at the beginning of this journey.
You've worn many hats as a designer—industrial, graphic, image consultant—and also in housing renovations. How have these diverse experiences in design informed your sculptural practice, especially your handling of forms and materials?
None of the jobs and experiences I had were connected to sculpture in any way. Sculpture had completely vanished from my mind, and each new job became an obsessive focus for as long as it lasted. I felt like a ship lost at sea, caught in storms where I had to give everything I knew, and more, dedicating countless hours each week to meet the demands.
There was only one exception, just before I turned 50. A friend of mine had recently opened a gallery but had never hosted a solo exhibition before. I offered to create a show for her as a sort of experiment in organizing and presenting a solo exhibition. I decided this would be my gift to myself for my 50th birthday, and I had several months to work on the project.
Around this time, I also came to terms with the fact that I was completely dyslexic, which, combined with being left-handed, had made my life challenging during my school years and beyond. Once I accepted this, I was able to move forward more freely.
For the exhibition, I worked with the same intensity as if the world were ending tomorrow. I created an extensive collection of small drawings and larger ones, as well as a mixed-media series. This series featured printed drawings on canvas, further worked over with pastels and wax-based colored pencils on large formats—some as big as 200x150 cm and 150x150 cm, alongside more traditionally sized pieces.
We ended up borrowing a nearby gallery space for two days to display some of the smaller drawings, as my friend’s gallery could only accommodate the larger mixed-media pieces. The exhibition was quite a success, but like the ship I had become, I drifted on without continuity, moving from one thing to another, often in response to requests from friends.
In 2014, you made a significant shift to focus solely on sculpture using humble materials like cardboard. What triggered this pivotal decision, and how has your philosophy toward materials evolved since then?
Yes, it was really significant because, for the first time in years, I had the freedom to work on my own projects. Memories of the sculpture prototypes I had left behind in Chile began to resurface, urging me to return to sculpture as my top priority after 50 years had passed in between. Although unsure of what would emerge, I knew I wanted to create large-scale outdoor pieces, influenced by my admiration for Henry Moore’s works set in natural landscapes. Quite romantic image that clearly marked my work.
Now I could enjoy even more and get in full into this recovered passion with full dedication I worked on prototypes using inexpensive materials, so they could be easily discarded if unsatisfactory.
As a way to re-engage with sculpture, I began a series of human head studies. The first one was complicated as using cheap material and not calculating that the poor structure that I had prepared was going to resist the layers of marble dust with glue that I was adding begore the first one had dried. To impatient to see the result. But calming down a bit I was able to finished, a 1-meter-tall semi abstract version of a human head. Maybe could have been called a finished work, but as I wanted them in large size kept the name of prototype.
Over the next two years, I completed a series of 16 heads, each with its own unique shape and emotional expression. Although many viewed them as finished pieces—given their size, with the tallest at 1.5 meters—I saw them as preparatory works, hoping they would lead to larger projects, though that opportunity never materialized.
People often mistook these pieces for finished works. Over time, tired of the perception that I was creating finished works from cheap materials, I decided to change direction. The process took me several years and several collections, including one of Harlequins in which the finish and the colors had great importance.To respond, I shifted my focus, creating smaller sculptures out of plain cardboard, experimenting with sizes as small as 15 cm. Though initially nervous about working on a smaller scale, I was pleased with the results and continued exploring both small and medium-sized works.
Now, four years later, most of my pieces are still made from plain cardboard, although I sometimes return to larger formats and more elaborate figures. These last years also, I’ve incorporated plywood for prototypes and embraced painting some of my works, allowing myself to fully enjoy all the ways to express myself.
Your collections often center around the human figure, drawing from personal and global narratives. Can you elaborate on how you intertwine these elements to reflect the plight of the vulnerable, particularly in relation to education and social struggles?
Over ten years of work, I have created several collections, each with distinct intentions and themes. Some series have a clear focus, while others are more subtle, requiring a second or third look to fully appreciate their depth.
In the series God’s Will or The Madness of Man, the works explore the persistent conflicts in the world and the mistreatment of the defeated by the victors, as well as the despair of losing everything in war without understanding why it happened. The most vulnerable are often the hardest hit, reflecting a widespread injustice that is frequently depicted in the media, yet remains unaddressed.
The Meninas series revisits a theme frequently used by other artists primarily for its aesthetic appeal. However, upon closer inspection, the figures are depicted as exposed to highlight how we have become numb to the reality of worsening educational conditions and the lack of protection and preparation for children facing difficult times.
Confusion addresses the indifference of people living together while remaining emotionally distant. It portrays couples who appear pleasant but are disengaged from one another, illustrating how social customs increasingly lead people to live more separately and individually.
The Moving Together series conveys various messages about human relationships, each work offering a different perspective.
Doors to Hell represents a collective experience where everyone stands facing their own reactions, with the outcome left open-ended.
Themes in my work are often approached subtly, requiring a deeper engagement beyond initial impressions. Each series has an overarching theme, but it’s essential to examine each piece individually to fully understand its message.
Your mantra, "One sculpture in the street, one step in culture," suggests a democratization of art. How do you choose locations for your sculptures, and what reactions or interactions have you found most impactful?
It is a complex answer as my project requires a network of entities to bring art to the streets. I am committed to sharing my work outside traditional venues like fairs, galleries, museums, or collectors focusing instead on public spaces where can bring culture to people. Even more if it is a place where art has never arrived. Despite my efforts to spread this message, I have not yet received a response. This is why I persist in showcasing my work and explaining my intentions. It would be easier for me to stay home and quietly enjoy creating my prototypes, but I am determined to see this project through.
I have reached out not only for my own work but also to open opportunities for other artists whose art is meaningful beyond pure aesthetics, aiming to place it in public spaces. Despite my persistence, I continue to face rejection. In the art world, it’s often said that one must endure numerous rejections before gaining acceptance.
At this stage, I don’t have the luxury of choosing locations; I have to plead for the chance to display each piece. However, I have noticed that the few works I have managed to place outdoors become a part of their surroundings, engaging the community and inviting interaction. They start to feel like a natural part of the place, embraced by those who encounter them.
You aim to position your sculptures as cultural instruments. How do you measure the success of these installations in fostering a broader cultural appreciation? Can you share an example where you felt your art significantly influenced the local cultural landscape?
The project has faced substantial challenges due to a notably poor reception and a significant lack of interest in investing in public art. It has become increasingly apparent that art is now predominantly catered to wealthy collectors and museums, many of which are already overwhelmed with an excess of works stored away in their warehouses. Despite having limited display space, these institutions continue to acquire more pieces, often neglecting the potential for public art that engages with broader audiences.
In light of these obstacles, one of the few successes I’ve achieved is particularly noteworthy. By a stroke of luck, one of my pieces—a sculpture of two dancing figures—was installed in the entrance patio of a cultural center in Zapallar, a picturesque beach town located 200 kilometers north of Santiago, Chile. This placement has been a beacon of hope and success amidst the otherwise challenging landscape.
The sculpture, which features two lively figures in mid-dance, serves as a warm and welcoming gesture to visitors arriving at the cultural center. It’s more than just an art piece; it has become a central element in the community’s cultural activities. The figures not only greet visitors to various exhibitions but also enhance the center’s outdoor space, where they help showcase additional pieces and provide a backdrop for diverse events.
The impact of this installation extends beyond its aesthetic value. The vibrant sculpture has become an interactive element for the community. Children are drawn to play around the figures, turning them into playful companions during their visits. Families frequently use the sculpture as a backdrop for photos, creating lasting memories with the cheerful dancers. This interaction highlights the sculpture’s role in enriching public spaces and demonstrating how art can become an integral part of community life.
This success, though very modest compared to the grand ambitions of the project, underscores the potential for public art to connect with people on a meaningful level. It shows that, even amid a challenging environment, art can find a place where it truly engages and enriches the lives of those who encounter it.
Utilizing recycled materials like cardboard not only challenges conventional sculptural mediums but also speaks to sustainability. How do you balance aesthetic intentions with environmental considerations in your work?
Until one or more institutions, whether private or public, show genuine interest in the project, progress remains limited. The lack of support and investment continues to be a major barrier to expanding the reach and impact of the work.
In the meantime, I am utilizing Corten steel for my sculptures. This material is particularly advantageous for outdoor installations due to its unique properties. Corten steel, also known as weathered steel, develops a protective layer of rust when exposed to the elements. This rust layer not only shields the underlying metal from further corrosion but also adds a distinctive aesthetic quality.
As Corten steel ages, its surface gradually acquires a rich, warm patina. This evolving color enhances the visual appeal of the sculptures, giving them a dynamic and ever-changing character that interacts with the natural environment. The natural weathering process ensures that the sculptures blend seamlessly into outdoor settings, while their appearance improves over time, offering a continuously evolving experience for viewers.
By choosing Corten steel, I aim to create artworks that are not only resilient and low-maintenance but also visually engaging as they age. This approach aligns with my goal of integrating art into public spaces in a way that both withstands and enriches its surroundings.
Looking forward, how do you envision the evolution of your Urban Sculpture Project? Are there new themes or materials you are eager to explore, and how do you plan to expand the reach of your sculptures to new audiences or locations?
When it comes to my work, I remain deeply focused on studying the human figure, constantly uncovering new themes to explore. Currently, I am developing studies for a new series that will explore the themes of solitude and abandonment. This project has been occupying my thoughts as I continue to reflect on how best to express these emotions through the human form. Additionally, I have two or three more themes waiting to be developed in the future. One of them, centered around beggars, has been on my mind for quite some time. Years ago, I briefly touched on this subject in a series focused on the human body, where I included a beggar. However, I realize now that this theme deserves a much deeper exploration, and I plan to address it more thoroughly in my future work.
As for new materials, I have several ideas that I’m eager to explore, but these will have to wait until the project gains further traction. Introducing new materials into my work requires a significant investment, which can only be pursued once there is more support for the project.
In terms of audiences and locations, I continue to knock on doors, hoping that one or more will eventually open. While rejection has become a familiar part of the process, I no longer fear it. In fact, I’ve grown accustomed to it. What keeps me moving forward is the hope that, at some point, the necessary support will materialize, allowing the project to truly grow and reach its full potential.
Whether or not that support comes, I remain fulfilled by the work I’ve accomplished thus far and by what I will continue to create in the future. I am committed to this journey and will not falter in my dedication to my art.
