Interview and studio visit with Saskia Krafft

January 2025

Saskia Krafft is a German born artist now based in Los Angelas. Her creative process is centered around material, color, and ideas of home. As a child, Saskia spent time traveling through Europe and in college came to the United States to study as an exchange student at Maryland Institute College of Art. Saskia then attended Columbia Univeristy in New York and has settled in LA. This week, her journey comes full circle as her work will be included in the exhibition Material Systems, at MICA in Baltimore. Saskia has an effortless way of deploying soft color and light within structured and geometric compositions. The works on view include materials such as fabric, ceramics, steel and wood. I spoke with Saskia about the work in the exhibition, her expansive use of materials, and how she is learning to balance her life outside of her studio, which ultimately feeds her creativity.

Interview between Amy Boone-McCreesh and Saskia Krafft

Amy:  BIG PICTURE, WHAT IS YOUR WORK ABOUT? WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO COMMUNICATE?

Saskia:  At its core, my work explores a positive outlook on feeling at home with oneself—whether in a place, a space, or within. As someone who came to the U.S. from another country, I’ve been reflecting on what it means to feel rooted while also being a person who loves to travel and thrives on movement, both literally and metaphorically. What creates that sense of home? Is it the people around us, or can we build it through our connection to nature?This idea became especially relevant during graduate school and the pandemic. It was a time when the broader narrative about the environment and our relationship to it felt overwhelmingly negative. At some point, I decided to pivot and consciously create something positive and uplifting—work that’s for the home and about the home. I wanted to make something people would want to live with.

My practice also connects to my work as an art educator. During the pandemic, questions like What is home? Where is home? and What does that structure—physical or emotional—look like? came to the forefront.I’ve been deeply inspired by folk art traditions, both in Europe and the U.S. These artists often create a sense of home with minimal means, relying on whatever materials are available—tiles, shells, or other found objects. This resourcefulness and exuberant attention to detail resonate with me. It challenges the normative way of living, where creativity is often stifled. For example, in many California communities, houses are designed to look identical: beige, staged, with a driveway and garage. My work asks how we can break out of this uniformity and encourage personal, creative expressions of home.

A: CAN YOU TALK ABOUT THE WORK THAT IS INCLUDED IN THE EXHIBITION MATERIAL SYSTEMS AT MICA ??

S: Alex Ebstein, one of the curators, selected two of my works for the exhibition: Between Homes and The End / Hatching Beginnings. They’re quite different in terms of form and maybe even content, so I’ll start with the latter because it’s more narrative. I did my undergraduate degree in illustration, largely because of my love for travel journals. My earliest artworks were tied to travel—growing up, I traveled a lot with my parents in Europe and later on my own in a VW bus. That sense of movement and discovery drew me to creating sketchbooks that documented journeys, developments, and time spent in different places.

In some ways, The End / Hatching Beginnings brings me back to that narrative approach and incorporates writing, which I’d always been hesitant to do before. The piece features a central figure with a human head and an octopus body. The octopus’s arms are knotted and braided into a large circle, while egg sacs hang above, containing fabric pouches from which baby octopuses are emerging. The small octopuses are marked with words like “trust” and “in its time”—positive and serene terms. In contrast, the larger, dying octopus carries words tied to competitiveness and self-centeredness.  This piece reflects a personal shift I experienced—stepping off the treadmill of constantly chasing achievements and realizing I didn’t even know where I was running anymore. It’s about accepting that something has to end for something new to begin, a realization that allowed me to approach life in a different way.

The other work, Between Homes, is still one of my favorites. It’s a two-layered piece: the background is white with screen-printed spheres that resemble map pins. The foreground is a translucent silk chiffon layer with three buildings sewn onto it.The first building, in the top left, is collapsing—it’s like a ruin or charred remains. The second building, on the right, is much more stable, with reinforced beams that suggest resilience. The third structure, at the bottom, is a castle that seems to grow upward, emerging from the ground. Connecting these buildings are meandering lines with plasma-cut dandelions growing along the paths.

This piece reflects the metaphorical spaces we move between in life. Some relationships or aspects of life fall apart and need to be let go, while others are solid and enduring. The castle at the bottom represents the relationship with oneself, which I see as an ongoing project—something to nurture and prioritize. I’ve realized that I tend to give a lot to relationships, sometimes to the point of losing sight of what I need or how I can care for myself. This piece serves as a reminder to pay attention to my own energy and priorities, to ensure I’m also building and raising up that internal foundation.

A: WHAT ABOUT YOUR RELATIONSHIP TO MICA AND BALTIMORE?

S: Ten years ago, in August, I came to the U.S. for the first time to do an exchange semester at MICA. It was an incredible experience, and I felt so warmly welcomed. I was in the undergraduate department, and they gave me my very first studio—complete with a window overlooking the street. That studio became such a pivotal space for me and really marked the beginning of my larger installation work.

I was in the General Fine Arts department, and I immediately dove into making the most of the space. I focused on installations and used assignments as opportunities to explore how I could transform the space into different experiences. I created wall-sized drawings and even built imaginary machines, completely immersing myself in the process. It was such an inspiring and formative time. I’m also really curious about how Baltimore has changed since then. At the time, it had a welcoming, vibrant, and active art community. I was so impressed by how people utilized every corner of the city to create, collaborate, and build a sense of community. One of the assignments I worked on at MICA involved thinking about graduate school and where we might go in the future. That project sparked my journey toward wanting to study at Columbia and eventually move to New York.

A: YOUR WORK INVOLVES SO MANY MATERIALS – FROM STEEL TO CERAMICS TO FABRIC – WHAT DOES WORKING WITH THESE MATERIALS MEAN TO YOU AND HOW DO THEY SERVE YOU WHEN MIXED TOGETHER?

S: It’s interesting that you say I work with so many materials because, from my perspective, I’ve been trying to minimize the number of materials I use. I’ve intentionally chosen materials that feel connected to nature or the earth—materials like clay, which can decompose, or steel, which rusts and eventually returns to the environment. Similarly, silk chiffon is organic, and wood has an inherent closeness to nature.

There was a point when I experimented with synthetic materials like resins and foams, but I found that working with them left me feeling disconnected, almost artificial. That experience shifted my focus toward materials that feel tactile and natural, things I can transform with my hands. For me, it all begins with drawing—it’s my starting point for any piece. These materials are ways of translating the drawn line into three-dimensional forms.

I’m also drawn to materials with ties to construction. While my work is on a much smaller scale, materials like steel and ceramics can be found in or on buildings. I like that connection to structure and durability. However, I want everything in my work to be handmade. I avoid mass-produced materials, like prefabricated tiles, because there’s something meaningful about crafting each piece myself. I enjoy dedicating entire weeks to specific production phases, whether it’s ceramics or metalworking.

My relationship with these materials is also deeply personal. Both of my parents are creative in different ways. My mother was a wardrobe director and worked in theater, so fabric holds a special place for me. The act of sewing or veiling objects feels like an important gesture, one that ties back to her influence. My father, on the other hand, was a technical draftsman. His work in construction and the production line of car manufacturing deeply inspired me. In the area of Germany where I’m from, the main industry is car manufacturing, and many people end up working in that field. While I didn’t follow that path, those industrial influences still inform my work, especially in how I think about structure and craftsmanship.

A: IN WHAT WAYS  DO YOU THINK ABOUT COLOR/TEXTURE/ SURFACE – DOES ONE OF THESE FACTORS COME FIRST IN YOUR CREATIVE PROCESS?

S:  For me, the idea always comes first. The process usually begins with journaling—working through something in my personal life or uncovering something that surfaces unexpectedly while I write. From there, I try to render that feeling or situation into a drawing, exploring the relationships or conflicts I’m trying to investigate. The drawing becomes the foundation for translating the idea into something physical.

Color often follows as a way to reflect the mood or emotion of the piece. For instance, I’ve used a lot of sand tones in my work because they remind me of layered skin. Sometimes I’ll layer red beneath the sand tones to create the effect of blood shining through, much like veins are visible beneath translucent skin. I want the colors to interact with each other while also expressing the mood—if I feel fiery or passionate, for example, that intensity is represented in the palette I choose.

Texture and surface play an equally important role, particularly when I work with ceramics. While I might start with a general idea, like in Between Homes where I envisioned three buildings, I rarely know exactly how I want them to look. I like to play with the materials to let the details reveal themselves. I keep a large archive of ceramic pieces—what I call “platelets”—that I experiment with. I’ll arrange and rearrange them, and through this process, I often discover something unexpected that tells the story better than my original plan. In a way, I come into each piece with an idea and intention, but there’s always room for the work to take on a life of its own. That unpredictability and collaboration with the materials is something I truly enjoy—it’s where the magic happens.

A: WHERE IS YOUR CURRENT STUDIO – HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN THERE?

S: My studio is in Downtown Los Angeles, right in the heart of the fashion district. It’s in a skyscraper—13 stories tall—and I’m on the ninth floor with a beautiful view. The space came into my life when a close friend moved in and told me there was a second half of the studio available. So, I moved in, and now we’re studio neighbors. There’s even a door between our spaces, so we can decide whether we want to connect or keep things private. The studio has incredible light and strong AC, which is absolutely essential in LA. I’ve been there since July, so it’s still fairly new, but it feels great to have a dedicated workspace again. Before this, I was doing a lot of my work in the garden or the garage—arguably the most quintessentially LA setup!

For a long time after grad school, I didn’t actually have a studio. I was often working during artist residencies or in makeshift spaces. Having this studio now feels like a gift—a physical, consistent place that’s always there for me. It’s been such a joy to work in a space with so much light and energy.

A: WHAT DOES A TYPICAL STUDIO DAY OR WEEK LOOK LIKE FOR YOU?

S: I work as a set decorator for a theme park, and my day starts very early in the morning. After that, I head to the studio—usually around 1 PM. I typically work until around 6 PM. I don’t go in every day, and I’ve established stronger boundaries now than I used to—weekends are reserved for living and enjoying life. You need a full life to bring something meaningful to the work.

When I’m in the studio, I’ve been focusing a lot on fabrics I’ve picked up from nearby fabric stores—it’s so convenient to have everything I need close by. I also have my archive of ceramic “platelets,” so I usually begin by playing with the materials: stretching fabrics onto frames, arranging and rearranging the ceramic pieces, and experimenting with how they interact. Sometimes the process is more meditative, especially once I’ve decided on the design or composition of a piece. For example, sewing the fabric onto a frame can feel rhythmic and calming—it’s something I’ve learned to embrace as part of the creative process rather than resent.

Right now, I’m working on a piece that’s going to be a lampshade. This feels like a natural extension of my work because I often use translucent fabrics like chiffon and organza, which interact beautifully with light. When held against a window or lit from behind, the ceramic pieces in the foreground cast shadows onto the fabric in the background, adding depth. I love how the sunlight enhances these elements, creating unexpected interactions between the materials. This lampshade project has me exploring how to integrate actual lighting into the work. I’m experimenting with ways the ceramic pieces can cast shadows onto the walls of a room, which is exciting because it brings me back to the immersive installation work I’ve done in the past.

Photos by Sam Axtell