Andreea Grigoraș is an artist concerned with sculpture, installation, and the relationship between the body, identity, and social norms. In her works, she addresses themes such as sexuality, vulnerability, shame, and symbols of power, using different materials and contexts to build a dialogue with the viewer. Currently, the artist is participating in the exhibition “Imaginary Dialogues with Brâncuși: Expanding the Limits of Artistic Expression,” and in this interview she talks about her artistic journey, her creative process, and her direct encounter with the work of Constantin Brâncuși.

You studied sculpture at the University of Art and Design in Cluj-Napoca. What drew you to sculpture?

Andreea Grigoraș: From the beginning, sculpture seemed to me to be the medium capable of carrying a real presence in space, not merely a representation of it. The body, as the central theme of my practice, needs a form that occupies space, that can be surrounded, viewed from different angles, and this physical dimension of the sculptural object seemed to me the only one capable of sustaining the weight of the themes I address, related to identity and to the norms that shape us without us noticing them.

My years of study in Cluj provided me with a solid technical framework, but above all they strengthened my conviction that matter, through its resistance and limitations, can become a thinking partner in the creative process. Beyond learning the techniques specific to sculpture, the study process required me to defend every formal choice before a critical framework, among professors and fellow students in the studio, a constant exercise that gradually refined the language I use today.

Are you tempted to explore other media as well?

A.G.: My openness to other media arose from the realization that certain themes called for the construction of an expanded context, a situation in which the viewer could be involved more actively than a single sculptural object allows. Out of this conceptual necessity, installation gradually became an integral part of my practice, functioning as a natural extension of sculptural thinking, in which several elements enter into relation and construct, together.

Working with installation has also transformed the way I relate to the exhibition space, adding to the object itself the necessity of considering the path and rhythm that the viewer follows in relation to it, a requirement specific to this expanded register. I therefore remain open to any medium capable of serving an idea more clearly, considering that the final form of a work should always arise from its conceptual necessities.

What is the starting point for a new work? Do you begin with an image, a material, a reading, or a personal experience?

A.G.: The starting point is almost always a personal experience, initially felt without a clear form, more as a diffuse tension than as an idea already fully shaped for a work. What transforms this tension into a real project is the moment when I realize that the experience extends beyond the strictly individual sphere and touches upon a common chord, felt within a social, political, or cultural climate that I also recognize around me, not only in my own biography.

From there, the working process enters a stage of formal exploration, in which I test different materials and volumes until I identify the visual language capable of preserving the intensity of the initial experience without simplifying it or turning it into an illustration. Readings usually come toward the end of this journey, when the work already has a defined form and I am looking for the right word for the title, sometimes providing me with precisely the term that names what the form is already communicating through itself.

In your works, you address sensitive subjects such as sexuality, vulnerability, shame, and symbols of power, questioning the social norms that constrain us to conform to patterns that we automatically adopt. How did this preoccupation emerge?

A.G.: This preoccupation emerged from the realization that many of the gestures, objects, and rituals that we consider ordinary actually function as vehicles for social norms that are rarely questioned, precisely because their repetition and familiarity give them an appearance of naturalness.

Sexuality, vulnerability, and shame have particularly interested me as themes conventionally treated as private experiences, even though they are largely structured by collective conventions, and my practice seeks to make precisely this social dimension of intimate experience visible.

Symbols of power caught my attention from the same direction, out of a curiosity to understand what gives authority to a gesture or an object, and removing them from their usual context, in my own works, showed me how fragile this authority can become once displaced from the place that sustained it.

From the intersection of these observations, a coherent line of research took shape, in which each work becomes an opportunity to examine another layer of these patterns, using the decontextualization of the object and material substitution to compel the viewer to critically reconsider what would normally go unnoticed.

Do you think art can produce real changes in the way the public views these taboo subjects?

A.G.: I do not believe that a work of art can, on its own, produce an immediate and measurable change in the public’s attitude, but I strongly believe in its ability to open a breach, a moment in which the viewer is compelled to stop and reconsider something that, until then, had gone unnoticed. This interruption of the automatism of looking already seems to me a form of change, even if a subtle one, difficult to quantify.

What I pursue through my works is not to directly convince the public of a particular position, but to construct a situation in which the tension between visual attraction and conceptual discomfort compels the viewer to remain with the question for longer than they would when confronted with an explicit discourse. I believe that real change, when it occurs, is built precisely this way, slowly, through the accumulation of these moments of individual lucidity, and that the artist’s role is to provide the opportunity for this pause, not to impose a conclusion.

In your artistic practice, you explore a variety of materials, from brass to wood, resin, and silicone. How do you choose the materials you work with? Do they carry a message of their own?

A.G.: For me, the choice of material is a conceptual decision, rather than a purely technical one, since each substance enters the work already charged with its own cultural and symbolic associations. I start from the central idea of each piece and then look for the material capable of supporting and amplifying its meaning, rather than adapting the idea to a material chosen beforehand. Each substance carries its own memory, connected to the way it is used and perceived outside the artistic field, and it is precisely this memory that I place in tension with the theme of the work, so that the material does not illustrate the idea, but actively participates in formulating it. The material thus becomes a second language of the work, carrying a message to the same extent as the form it supports.

You are currently exhibiting in Craiova as part of the group exhibition “Imagined Dialogues with Brâncuși: Expanding the Limits of Artistic Expression,” a cultural initiative held in the context of the 150th anniversary of the birth of sculptor Constantin Brâncuși. You are presenting both new sculptures and a selection of works previously shown as part of other artistic events. To what extent does your relationship with your own works change when they are presented in a different exhibition space and within a specific curatorial context?

A.G.: I believe that a work remains, in a certain sense, open even after its completion, and that a change in the exhibition context becomes an additional stage in defining the meaning it can sustain. Each space proposes its own conditions of interpretation, so the decision regarding the installation is not a repetition of the previous form, but a reinterpretation of the relationship between object, gesture, and curatorial context.

This idea reminds me of Brâncuși’s own practice, as he would often photograph his sculptures in different configurations, with or without a plinth, showing that the same object can carry distinct meanings depending on how it is positioned and viewed.

I experienced a similar process with the work “He Loves Me Not”: initially presented at The Cosmic House in Cluj, with the brass-cast petals placed directly on the grass, in a more informal register and closer to the natural world, it was reimagined for the exhibition at Gloriæ Gallery through an installation built around a vase and rose stems. The new form brings the work closer to the image of a cut and preserved flower, giving it a poetic coherence more closely aligned with the symbolic gesture from which it originated—the plucking of petals.

The “Imagined Dialogues with Brâncuși” project included a series of research visits to Craiova and Târgu Jiu, which gave us the opportunity for a direct encounter with some of Brâncuși’s most important works, from the Calea Eroilor Monumental Ensemble to “The Kiss,” exhibited at the Craiova Art Museum. How did you experience this, and what did direct contact with Brâncuși’s work convey to you, beyond what you already knew?

A.G.: I had previously seen works by Brâncuși in Timișoara, including “The Kiss,” so encountering it in Craiova had a sense of recognition.

The ensemble in Târgu Jiu, however, was a genuine novelty for me, and its scale, experienced directly on site, is difficult to anticipate from reproductions or photographs. Beyond the formal impression, equally important was discovering the context and history behind the ensemble, particularly the relationship between Brâncuși and the League of Gorj Women, which supported the realization of the project. This human and community dimension behind the monument showed me that the work cannot be separated from the network of support and collaboration that made it possible, a perspective that remote research cannot offer to the same extent.

Do you feel that the direct experience of encountering Brâncuși’s work has influenced, in some way, the way you view your own practice?

A.G.: Yes, particularly when it comes to the relationship between form and essentialization. The rigor with which Brâncuși eliminates everything that is not strictly necessary, preserving only what supports the idea, showed me a discipline that I am trying to apply more consciously to my own practice, asking myself, at the end of each work, whether every added detail truly serves the concept or merely diminishes its force. The themes I address remain unchanged, but I have become more attentive to the moment when a form reaches its point of maximum clarity, the point at which nothing can be added or removed without weakening the meaning of the work.

If you were to distill a message that your encounter with Brâncuși’s work conveyed to you, what would it be?

A.G.: Above all, I would retain the idea of perseverance and trust in one’s own vision. Brâncuși’s journey, from his native village to international recognition, shows how important it is not to give up on your ideas, even when they diverge from the conventions of the time. This sustained trust over time, beyond difficulties or the lack of immediate recognition, is for me the most valuable message I take away from my encounter with his work and his journey.

What projects are you currently working on?

A.G.: I am due to have an exhibition in October at the OM space in Cluj-Napoca. At the same time, I continue to develop a series of ideas in the studio that are still a work in progress, which I hope to develop into completed works in the coming period.