Ceramics is a timeless medium. To see, or perhaps to touch, art are the first associations that come to mind for the average person. However, in the age of contemporary art, the boundaries between sensory experiences are becoming increasingly blurred, influenced by the choice of medium, its flexibility, and at times, its (im)materiality. I discuss the conceptual nature of artistic creation, the synthesis of sound and clay, and the allure of this medium, with the artist and ceramicist Elena Laurinavičiūtė (b. 1993).
BEK: Let’s begin with a seemingly simple question. You first studied psychology and later pursued a master’s degree in ceramics at Vilnius Academy of Art. The transition from a humanities background to an artistic field is fascinating in itself. But what’s even more intriguing is that you’ve been engaged with ceramics for a long time. Why did you gravitate toward this particular medium? Why not, for example, metalwork?
EL: It’s difficult to pinpoint exactly why I chose ceramics, but I believe I was drawn to its plasticity. Clay is a material that allows for highly intuitive work, almost like extending the movement of one’s hand through space. When starting a piece, one doesn’t necessarily need a preconceived plan: clay is responsive, adaptable, and reacts to even the slightest touch, making every action immediately tangible. This brings an element of playfulness and spontaneity to the creative process.
Hand-moulding with clay has a deeply therapeutic effect: it is a process that demands full presence in the moment, attunement to sensations, and a slow, deliberate approach. It is akin to meditation through movement: soft clay yields under pressure, responding to the slightest touch, and in this interaction with the material, a certain inner satisfaction emerges. At the same time, clay remains alive until the moment it is fired: it can be reshaped, reformed and adjusted in search of the most fitting expression. Perhaps it is precisely this freedom and the ability to experience the creative process through physical action that drew me so strongly to ceramics.
It is this element of unpredictability, and the constant possibility of reshaping a piece, that makes ceramics so fascinating to me. Why not metal? Metal is far more rigid and static; working with it requires an entirely different kind of energy. Clay, on the other hand, allows for flexibility, both in the literal and figurative sense.
Elena Laurinavičiūtė, ‘Soundscrapers’, 2024, ceramic sculptures, cooling fans. ‘JCDecaux Award 2024: Fall’, Sapieha Palace, Vilnius, 2024. Photo: Alanas Gurinas
BEK: Your work Soundscrapers won the audience choice award in the JCDecaux Prize competition. The piece explores the synthesis of sound and materiality, utilising porous clay figures with embedded fans. Could you elaborate on what inspired you to create this connection between sound and clay? And how does your work relate to the concept of liminality expressed in the exhibition?
EL: My interest in the relationship between clay and sound developed gradually. Initially, I discovered that the ceramic-making process is filled with fascinating auditory experiences that often go unnoticed. For instance, freshly fired glazed pieces emit delicate crystalline sounds, barely audible clicks, as the glaze cools and cracks. It’s as if these sounds capture the material’s memory, forming an acoustic landscape of its transformation. I also observed that unglazed, porous clay objects begin to ‘chirp’ when submerged in water, as air bubbles escape from their pores. These unexpected discoveries became my eureka moment: I realised that ceramics hold immense sonic potential, which I wanted to explore and incorporate into my artistic practice.
This led to a series of experiments, often driven by chance. Working with clay, I allowed myself to wander, to explore, and to discover without the immediate need for rationalisation. A significant source of inspiration came from my friends working in sound art: their practices encouraged me to rethink how ceramics and acoustics could intersect. I became increasingly intrigued by how material could function not only as a visual element but also as part of an auditory experience. Eventually, I started researching historical examples of ceramic wind instruments and their sound production mechanisms. These explorations naturally led to the idea of creating sculptures in which sound is generated not through traditional impact or resonance, but through airflow: this is how Soundscrapers came to life.
The concept of liminality in Soundscrapers operates on multiple levels. First and foremost, the interaction between sound and matter itself is liminal: intangible sound takes on a physical form through the clay structures that modulate it. This idea also manifests in the dialogue between past and present. The piece reflects on the history of the Šnipiškės district in Vilnius, a place where the ceramics industry flourished in the 17th and 18th centuries. Bricks, tiles and other clay artefacts that were once fundamental to the city’s architecture have now become fragmented remnants of history, while the district itself has turned into a site of rapid urbanisation. My work is not a direct historical reconstruction but rather a conversation between this past and the present. The ceramic objects are connected not only with the old brickworks but also with the contemporary soundscape of the city: the persistent urban noise, the transitions between quiet and loud spaces, between structure and transformation. It is a space between what was and what is.
BEK: Do you think Soundscrapers resonated with the audience largely due to its interactive element? If we consider it, sound is inherently interactive: you cannot simply not hear it unless external factors intervene.
EL: I do believe that interactivity was one of the key factors that made Soundscrapers appealing to the audience. People enjoy experiencing art not only visually but also through other senses: sound creates a physical engagement, enveloping the viewer and becoming unavoidable. As you pointed out, sound is a sensation that cannot be ‘switched off’ as easily as an image: it exists in space and affects us even when we are not consciously focused on it.
In my installation, viewers had the ability to turn the sound off, but at the same time, someone else could turn it back on. This interaction created a certain dynamism: the installation was not a static object but a shifting soundscape, shaped by the actions of those engaging with it. I think this interactivity encouraged the audience to spend more time with the work, exploring it not only with their eyes but also through listening, observing how the sound emerged and evolved depending on the space and their own participation.
Elena Laurinavičiūtė, ‘Soundscrapers’, 2024, ceramic sculptures, cooling fans. ‘JCDecaux Award 2024: Fall’, exhibition view, Sapieha Palace, Vilnius, 2024. Photo: Alanas Gurinas
BEK: Correct me if I’m wrong, but I assume that not all of your works have been rooted in purely experimental concepts, such as the relationship between sound and ceramics. It seems like, at some point, you felt a certain impulse to dive into conceptual depth and explore (un)defined boundaries. What led you in this direction? What distinctive, unique qualities do you seek to realise in your work?
EL: At the beginning of my artistic practice, my work was more focused on traditional ceramic objects. However, over time, I started looking for ways to push the conventional boundaries of this medium. I became increasingly drawn to dynamic, performative and installation-based forms that engage not only the visual but also the auditory and spatial aspects of experience. This gradually led to my interest in exploring sound through clay, not just as an inherent property of ceramics but as a medium for artistic expression in its own right.
I perceive sound sculptures as forms that directly shape the sounds they produce: their size, structure and internal cavities determine their acoustic qualities. I believe I followed my curiosity, and it was precisely that curiosity that led me to a pivotal creative breakthrough, which ultimately shaped the trajectory of my artistic practice.
The fusion of two disciplines, ceramics and sound art, allows me to place my work in a broader artistic context, opening up new and unconventional ways to approach creation. This not only expands the perceptual field of my works but also enables them to be integrated into diverse spaces and settings where traditional ceramics would not typically exist.
BEK: You explore the relationship between sound and space while simultaneously revitalising the sonic heritage of clay whistles, using ceramics to bridge past and present. What elements in your work suggest this ‘bridge’ through time?
EL: When creating sound sculptures, I draw inspiration from ancient clay whistles, studying their acoustic legacy and reinterpreting it to fit contemporary contexts. As historical objects, whistles retain their sonic nature, yet by integrating modern technologies such as electromechanics, they acquire a new dynamism and tell different stories. Fans and other mechanical components allow for sound manipulation, giving it a contemporary form and tension.
Elena Laurinavičiūtė. Photo by Liepa Grušaitė
BEK: Do you view your sound sculptures more as independent, sound-emitting entities, or as interactive instruments? Or is their essence in being material objects embedded with a conceptual layer of sound?
EL: My sound sculptures are, first and foremost, material objects embedded with a conceptual layer of sound. They are three-dimensional bodies that serve as mediators, revealing the invisible and intangible movement of air. In my work, sound is not an end in itself: it emerges from the interaction between form, air, and the human presence. The sculptures do not generate sound on their own; rather, they transmit air vibrations that we perceive as sound.
At the same time, my works are not instruments in the traditional sense, although some can be actively used in performances. I am particularly interested in the threshold between object and sound source, between sculptural form and acoustic experience. What fascinates me is how sound alters our perception of materiality, how the hardness of clay can convey the flexibility of air, and how form can influence what we hear.
Thus, I see my works in a dual way: on one hand, as independent, sound-emitting entities, and on the other, as tools that reveal the imperceptible processes of the environment. My focus is not only on the sound itself but also on the relationships between objects, space, and the observer, who often becomes an active participant in the piece.
BEK: To conclude, I’d like to invite you to reflect: would you consider incorporating other media into your future works, even those not necessarily related to ceramics?
EL: Ceramics is my primary medium. I have been working with it for several years now, and I can say that I am gradually beginning to understand it: I can shape it as I wish, and it responds to my intentions. Yet, there is still so much to refine and learn. Technically, I feel I have only scratched the surface, which keeps this medium full of discoveries for me.
Although I am a ceramicist, I do not rule out the possibility of using other media. For instance, some of my experimental objects seem to call for representation in video format. At times, I perform with my sculptural pieces, playing the experimental ceramic sound objects that I create. In realising my ideas, I have also incorporated electromechanics into my practice: I have learned to solder and construct simple mechanical components. For me, it is important not only to acquire new skills, but also to execute as much of the work myself as possible. This approach grants me creative freedom and a deeper connection with the piece.
In the future, I may develop ideas that require different media to be fully realised. They might be entirely unrelated to ceramics, or they might still heavily rely on it, it all depends on the creative process and my discoveries along the way. I may naturally come across other materials that captivate me, but at this moment I do not know what they might be. My creative satisfaction comes from embracing the unknown, so I remain open to new ideas.
