Annotations cc: Zeynep Boyan

Zeynep Boyan explores tactility, memory and presence through biomorphic sculptural compositions. Approaching clay as a responsive, living material, her practice is guided by patience and an attentiveness to the subtle transformations that occur over time. This conversation reflects on sculpture as a process where perception is negotiated through contact, and where value emerges beyond the final outcome, within the ongoing exchange between body and matter.

Anoe: Physical contact carries emotion; the encounter with a material, or a technique, carries embodied knowledge. Do you feel that working with clay has cultivated this kind of intuition within your practice?

Zeynep: Definitely. The more time you dedicate to a material, the deeper your understanding becomes of what you want to create through it and the direction in which the work is evolving. In my practice, I am drawn to forms that are refined and smooth, allowing for a sense of continuity. This understanding develops through experience. I listen to the material and observe its boundaries. The process becomes less about imposing control and more about cultivating a relationship with it.

A: This involves a willingness to remain within uncertainty, to continue without a predetermined timeframe or a defined outcome.

Z: I have learned to let go of attachment to the final outcome. The process takes time, and a single piece may require weeks or even months. I am more interested in what the process teaches me—the knowledge gained, the relationship with the material, and what I can carry into the next piece. A piece may change during firing or turn out differently than expected, but these moments are not failures. They are part of the process and often where the most valuable learning happens.

A: Through making, we develop an intimate awareness that cannot be reduced to instructions or words; it is a kind of knowledge that is felt, practiced, and embodied. It’s a sensitivity, present in the act itself.

Z: I think that’s true. The practice  becomes intuitive. Clay has its own rhythm; it requires pauses. I build something, then I allow it time to dry. When I return to it, I encounter it differently. The piece itself has not changed, but my perspective has. Most of the time, the final work is very different from what I imagined at the beginning, and I appreciate that. It means the material, the passage of time, and my state of mind all become part of the process.

A: Clay has this particular ability to return almost to its original state; to be recycled, reshaped, and reconsidered. How do you negotiate between possibilities and limitations?

Z: Clay definitely carries a memory. Even when you recycle it, you can sometimes feel a resistance. It becomes less elastic, and it retains traces of what came before. A sculpture requires a certain level of commitment. I can spend weeks with a single piece, so I need to feel connected to it. If that connection is disrupted, I may take it apart and begin anew.

A: Your work allows space for different interpretations, yet there is still a personal narrative embedded within it.

Z: That is the power of abstraction: everyone brings their own experiences, memories, and associations when encountering a sculpture. After my grandmother’s passing, a work emerged through the process of grieving. What I was feeling found its way into the work naturally, without conscious intention. When I finished it, I felt a different kind of connection to the piece. The form reminded me of the relationship between a mother and child; my grandmother, my mother, and myself. The work remains abstract, so someone else may see something completely different, and I think that openness is part of what makes abstraction powerful.

A: Your practice seems to have become a way of discovering and processing aspects of yourself. How has it changed you as an individual?

Z: Working alone has made me more reserved because so much of my process happens non-verbally. At the same time, sculpture has made me more attentive to my body. Since every piece is made by hand, my physical wellbeing has become inseparable from my practice.

A: There has been a resurgence of craft as a critical language, a counter-movement that reflects collective knowledge and cultural heritage. How do you see your work engaging with this conversation?

Z: I think the context matters, but I do not feel a strong need to define whether something belongs to craft, design, or fine art. The boundaries are becoming increasingly blurred. For me, the piece speaks for itself. What interests me is how it occupies space, how it creates a feeling, and how people experience it.

Text: Anoe Melliou 
Artwork: Courtesy of the Zeynep Boyan
Photography: Zeynep Boyan, Samuel Fournier (Image 3-4)