Andrés Anza has explored ceramics as a medium for revealing what often remains hidden beneath the surface, through polymorphic figures and abstract creatures.

His pieces are as visually striking as they are emotionally resonant. Anza’s practice brings together over a decade of artistic inquiry and material experimentation, inviting viewers to look beyond the obvious. His work earned him the 2024 Loewe Foundation Craft Prize, an award that celebrates excellence in craftsmanship.

You began working alongside your uncle, sculptor Mauricio Cortés. How did that experience shape your career?
Although our visual languages are very different, Mauricio had a huge impact on me—not just in terms of discipline, but in how I understand the art world and its market. He shaped my way of working, and I consider him a mentor who helped me navigate the industry. Technically speaking, I sometimes find myself unconsciously replicating his methods. For example, when building columns, I’ve realized that the internal structure of my pieces is very similar to his.

That said, his work is centered on the human figure. Early on, I thought I needed to follow that path too, but I eventually realized I wasn’t interested in depicting bodies—I wanted to capture something less visible: the personality, the essence that lives beneath the surface.

Your relationship with ceramics seems to have developed unexpectedly. What surprised you most about working with the medium?
Ceramics is a noble, malleable material that at first seems to obey you—but in time, you realize it also has a mind of its own. Learning to work with it is like forming a partnership. I like to think of us as co-creators; the clay and I make decisions together. You’re never fully in control, and when you embrace the material’s intuitive responses, that’s when the most exciting results happen.

Texture and volume are central to your work.
Texture plays two key roles in my practice. First, it blurs the line between art and craft, removing the hierarchy that often separates them. I wanted to bring artisanal elements into the realm of contemporary art. Second, texture gives life to the forms. It makes them feel alive—breathing, growing, moving. It’s the tool I use to create that sense of energy and presence.

How did the idea of creating amorphous beings—familiar yet unrecognizable—emerge?
It came from a desire to create something abstract but strangely familiar. Like when you meet someone new and associate them with someone else, only to realize they’re completely different. It’s a reflection on how we move beyond first impressions to build deeper relationships. Through texture and form—many of them featuring holes that invite you to look inside—I wanted to suggest that people’s personalities run much deeper than what’s visible on the surface.

Is there a concept or story behind this kind of abstraction?
It stems from the same desire to place art and craft on equal footing—and to infuse the work with inner content. My pieces are hollow, a necessity of the technique, and they often contain unseen internal structures. I like leaving an opening, a hole, so that part of the construction is visible. It’s a reminder that what we typically see in art is just its outermost layer. Think of Michelangelo’s David—we only see the marble exterior. I believe art should spark curiosity and invite us to discover what lies beyond the first impression.

You’ve mentioned that admiration for your fellow ceramicists has been key to your development. How has the ceramics community in Mexico shaped your work—and the international recognition of the craft?
The ceramics community is unique in that it prioritizes technique, often above content. We share knowledge generously—how to achieve certain colors, forms, or firing temperatures—and that builds strong bonds among artists facing similar challenges. I also admire earlier generations of Mexican ceramicists. I’ve discovered that many things I’m doing now were already being explored 20 or 30 years ago, showing how the material keeps cycling and reinventing itself.

The titles of your exhibitions—From the Inside Out and Of the Real and Unreal—suggest an interest in dualities.
From the Inside Out, my first solo show, was both an artistic and personal exploration. The works were constructed symbolically from my interior outward. It was a vulnerable moment—like standing naked in front of friends and colleagues. Of the Real and Unreal explored the duality between what we perceive as true and what we can’t fully grasp. It questioned our perception of reality, both of ourselves and of the world around us.

How do you define the relationship between the real and the imaginary in your work?
I’m interested in creating works that can’t be easily defined. I want viewers to feel curiosity rather than confusion—to confront the discomfort of not being able to classify what they see. I want them to feel invited, not intimidated, to let go of the need for control or understanding. The imaginary doesn’t have to be rational. We don’t need to explain or define everything around us.

You speak about the importance of technical mastery in ceramics. How have you refined your technique over time?
I remember my first sculpture, 11 years ago. Even just lifting it without breaking it was a challenge. The most fragile stage is right before firing. With time, I’ve learned little tricks to handle it better. Repetition has been key—each attempt taught me something. Every mistake helped me refine the technique and strengthen my bond with ceramic tradition. For me, repetition is the foundation of successful work.

Many of your pieces are pink. Is there a special connection with this color?
The material I use is typically white, with a beige or slightly pinkish tone depending on the iron oxide content. It’s hard to pinpoint exactly, but I’d say it’s mostly white, though light can make it appear pinker. I’ve always loved that color. At the beginning of my career, I avoided adding color because I felt that choosing red or blue might impose a meaning on the viewer. Eventually, I let go of that fear and started experimenting more freely with my palette.

You’ve shown at fairs like Zona Maco and FAMA. How has that impacted your career?
Art fairs are essential—they bring together people who are genuinely interested in the art world. While the commercial impact is often immediate, the true value lies in the longer-term connections that lead to new opportunities. These events also help artists realize that we’re competing at the same level as international peers. You learn about packaging, installation, and how to present your work professionally. It helps you grow.

This year, you won the Loewe Foundation Craft Prize for your piece I Only Know What I’ve Seen, which was also your thesis project. What do you think made it stand out?
That piece is a kind of recap of everything I’ve worked on over the last ten years. It encapsulates my practice in a title, in its form and scale. I think the title says it all—I can’t speak of what I don’t know, only of what I’ve seen. And as I mentioned earlier, the works are hollow. There’s something inside that you’ll never fully see. In a way, it makes me a little sad that the viewer will never completely know the piece.

What does this recognition mean to you?
Without a doubt, it’s the biggest honor of my career—and a complete surprise. Just being among such incredible artists already felt like winning. Since then, I’ve received so many new opportunities and invitations to fairs and projects that truly excite me.

Interview by: Ainhoa García
Photos: Courtesy of the artist

Quotes:
“All these forms—with openings that let you look inside—are about discovering that personalities are deeper than what you see at first glance.”
“We don’t have to control or define everything.”