In David Troice’s universe, material bends like paper, becoming an invitation to look differently. Through conversation, a broader map emerges: his transition from origami to sculpture, his interest in what lies beneath the surface, and his fascination with forms that shift depending on where you stand. His words reveal a process where matter, light, and intuition intertwine to question how we see—and what we choose to see.
What first drew you to the technique of origami?
I discovered it when I was about six years old. My dad taught me how to make paper airplanes, and while flipping through books looking for new models, I came across origami. I loved knowing that I could create anywhere with just a single sheet of paper. At my mom’s office, there was material everywhere, and that was enough to keep me entertained for hours in my own universe, exploring all the folds I could make. At first, traditional origami meant birds, flowers, little branches. Over time, I learned that you could create infinite forms without ever cutting the paper.
What attracted you to folded steel and the technique of bending metal as a sculptural language?
It was the first rigid material that was also flexible. There are different types, and when I discovered steel sheet, I thought of it as paper—but enormous and solid. I turned something mortal into something immortal, something fragile and impermanent into something permanent. Steel is an incredibly loyal material: solid, yet malleable. You can give it almost any form you want.
What did you learn from artists like Escher, Vasarely, and Kapoor when developing your reflections on light, depth, and perception?
Beyond them, there are countless artists who have inspired me. I encountered M. C. Escher’s work when I was three years old—my mom had a book of his prints. Those impossible structures and visual paradoxes fascinated me. That sense of wonder led me toward mathematics and metaphor, toward the idea that we can believe one thing while something else is actually happening. Escher taught me that problems can also be solved sideways, by taking a tangent—and that influence played a huge role in shaping my creativity.
Later, I studied architecture and industrial design and eventually graduated in sculpture. Along that path, I discovered many artists who helped me understand what I wanted to express. Anish Kapoor, for example, plays with perception through concave and convex mirrors, or with the blackest black—making you feel as if you’re staring into nothingness.
You draw inspiration from everything from galaxies to beehives. How do you move between the vast universe and small details in your work?
I start by thinking about what I want to express; sometimes the concept comes first, sometimes it emerges during the process. I’m interested in working with what exists beneath the surface—things we don’t see but that support everything, like mycelium beneath a forest. I also work with mathematical patterns and reflective surfaces to generate effects that only appear when light and shadow interact with the piece. Those unexpected moments—almost like revelations—feel like messages from the universe. Artists simply manifest them. And although my sculptures are static, the way light moves across them gives them an almost kinetic quality.
What does tridimensionality mean in your work?
Tridimensionality is simply how I learned to make things. There are paintings and there are sculptures—sculpture lives in three dimensions, and that’s where I feel at home. I can draw, but it’s more challenging for me. Working in three dimensions feels natural. It’s my language. Just as some people can paint a perfect portrait, I can sculpt a dimensional piece.
How do geometry, light, and shadow converge in a single work?
I always begin with a piece of paper in two dimensions—then I fold it, and it becomes volume. It turns into a geometric, rectilinear form. What has always fascinated me is how perception shifts depending on your point of view: from one angle, there’s light; from another, there’s shadow. One side may appear dark gray, the other light gray. I love the metaphor that everything depends on where you’re standing—it’s that yin and yang balance. With those three elements—matter, light, and shadow—I aim to create metaphors that evolve with every piece.
Your work explores spatial perception. What role does this concept play in how your pieces are experienced?
Space is fundamental because everything depends on context. A piece can feel massive inside a closed room and completely different in an open space. That has led me to work on immersive pieces that invite the viewer to reflect on their place in time and space, playing with reflections and perspectives that make you question where—and how—you’re looking at yourself.
I read Hyperspace by Michio Kaku, where he talks about dimensions and how, in the fifth, you can move through time rather than just space. That idea deeply resonates with me. Everything in my work is shaped by how space transforms perception.
How do you balance the technical rigor of engineering with the poetry of art?
Engineering and poetry are always present at the same time. Many works require calculations and technical processes—grids, layers, axes—but what interests me is how that rigor ultimately reveals something deeper. That’s why I oxidize steel. That wear, that idea of decay and death, I don’t see it as negative, but as a way of appreciating life. The poetic aspect lies in how light transforms the piece. In the black works, for example, surfaces can appear almost white when sunlight hits them. It’s a play of shadows, a symphony that changes over time. When the piece is finally installed, that’s when it truly begins to tell its story.
What has been your most challenging exhibition project so far?
Two years ago, I was commissioned to create a monumental piece. I work on a project called Six by Four, which consists of paper works in the same format, and a client wanted to turn one of those—originally six by four inches—into a six-by-four-meter sculpture for a building in Los Cabos. I said yes without knowing how I would solve it. I ended up dividing it into three sections to transport it from Mexico City. It weighed two tons in total, so it was a massive challenge: cranes, installation, wind calculations, hurricane anchors. I even had to hire a structural engineer to approve welds and ensure safety. It was madness—but an incredible experience.
If you could fold time the way you fold steel, which moment in history would you reshape?
If I could fold history, I would change the moment when patriarchy began and transform it into a matriarchy, so that today the world would be led by women. I was recently talking with my wife about how women—being more brilliant and wiser—have historically not held the power they deserve. The brute force of men has dominated over the mental strength of women. I truly believe the world would be extraordinary if it were a matriarchy.
Instagram: @davidtroice
