VICA PACHECO: SCULPTING SOUND AND SPIRIT
Photography by Caylon Hackwith
Portrait Hellena Burchard
Images courtesy of PEANA
Vica Pacheco is an artist whose work dances between the tangible and the intangible, creating a space where sound, sculpture, and ritual converge. Born in Oaxaca, a land steeped in tradition and myth, Pacheco’s practice draws deeply from the region’s rich cultural history, merging Mesoamerican cosmologies with a contemporary lens. Her creative journey is an intricate weave of ceramics, music, performance, and modern technologies, each thread extending from a central, unifying pulse: sound. For Pacheco, sound is not simply heard—it is felt, it is energy, and it is life itself.
Her work is a meditation on transformation, on the delicate balance between fragility and strength, between the human and the non-human. She creates “little monsters” from clay, totems of fragility that echo her belief in the sacredness of imperfection. Her soundscapes are more than auditory experiences—they are portals, spaces of healing, where brokenness is not concealed but celebrated, where cracks are filled with the potential of growth, like seeds planted in the earth.
Whether sculpting with her hands or collaborating with dancers, casting in ceramics or experimenting with 3D printing, Pacheco’s work is a continuous unfolding, a process of deepening, expanding, and crossbreeding ideas—much like the “tentacular” form that her work often evokes. It extends outwards, from the rooted rhythms of Oaxaca to the global spaces she inhabits, always seeking to bridge the gap between ancient mythologies and contemporary realities. Through every performance, every piece, Pacheco invites us into her world—a world of interconnectedness, where sound, shape, and spirit align to create something far more than the sum of its parts. In her work, we find not only the whispers of ancient gods, but the pulse of our collective humanity, beating in time with the universe.
These motifs were in full harmony at her recent show with Peana Gallery in Roma Sur, CDMX – where her ceramic work, from instruments to floor tile paintings, lay in a resting display, surrounded by the echoes of her sonic performance, and framed by the cracks in the cement floor, which Vica intervened on by planting seeds. It was the perfect entry point to discuss her influences, philosophies, and rituals, which include kissing her working to life.
Materia: You create work in so many different mediums, but obviously, they all inform and integrate with each other. From ceramics and 3D printing, performance work, creating music and soundscapes and instruments… What is your creative process like? Does it all start from one particular medium, and then the rest flow from it?
Vica Pacheco: Yes, I work with different mediums, but as you said, sound is the glue that ties everything together. Whether it’s sculpture, installation, or performance, there’s always an active sound element—sound installation, concerts, video animation. But it’s all tentacular. I like to work on projects rather than just individual pieces. Normally, I start with a concrete idea—something inspired by reading, personal experiences, or investigations—and then think about the best way to present it. The materials I most often use are ceramics, which have been familiar to me since childhood. It feels natural to develop instruments or sculptures with ceramics. I also use video animation, which is technically linked to ceramics, and I enjoy collaborating with dancers and performers. I never choose to work with a specific medium from the outset; it’s more about the idea, and then seeing which medium will bring that idea to life in the best way.
Materia: I love the term “tentacular.” It really captures your work, with a central nucleus and all these extensions flowing out from it.
VP: Exactly! Sometimes one work leads to another, and I like to extrapolate my own work and research. For example, I started creating instruments to compose music, and those instruments later became part of specific projects. It’s a way of working with multiple branches, constantly evolving and growing.
Materia: Do you think your work is a continuous extension of each other?
VP: Yes, I do. It’s like the work is unfolding in different ways, in different formats. Topics that might not have been central in one piece can become more relevant in another. I’ve realized that as I jump from one project to the next, it feels like a continual deepening of ideas, bringing more micro and macro concepts into each new piece.
“Mesoamerican myths, like the creation of fire or the fight between the sun and the moon, are full of metaphors explaining natural phenomena. I love mythology because it uses metaphors to describe something real, something that we may not be able to explain scientifically. It’s that kind of non-scientific belief system that inspires me—it helps bring life to things that aren’t immediately visible or tangible.“
– Vica Pacheco
Materia: That’s fascinating. I also know you’re from Oaxaca, which has a rich tradition of ceramics and magical thinking, along with a vibrant arts scene. How has that influenced your work, especially as you’ve traveled and now live in Brussels?
VP: Oaxaca is a huge influence on my work. It’s a place where multiple art forms and cultural expressions coexist. Growing up there, it was normal to see a mix of crafts, performance, and music all coming together in one space. It was natural for me to start incorporating these different aspects into my art. Traveling and living in different countries, especially in Europe, has shaped my work in other ways. I think I wouldn’t be doing the same things if I were still in Oaxaca. Being outside of my hometown has helped me realize how to approach and communicate the things that are most important to me. The migration lifestyle has brought me new tools for developing my ideas. My work is also shaped by the need to bridge cultural statements. I’ve learned to appreciate not only the differences but also the things that bring art together on a global scale. Music has been a refuge for me here in Europe, a way to unify everything I do, and I feel it gives me the freedom to express myself in different ways.
Materia: Yes, the way you embrace the commonalities while highlighting the uniqueness of each culture is so important. And Oaxaca is now getting more global attention, which is a fascinating moment in time. But I also see that as a delicate balance, right?
VP: Exactly, it’s a sensitive issue. For people from Oaxaca, the attention now is both exciting and concerning. There’s a fear that this attention might dilute the deeper meanings of these cultural practices. Art and performance in Oaxaca have always had a strong social and community-based purpose, and I worry that this focus on “Oaxacan culture” could stray away from its roots.
Materia: That’s something to watch. Do you remember some of your earliest creative expressions from when you were a child?
VP: I have a funny story about that. When I was six years old, I attended a Catholic private school in Oaxaca. One day, in art class, we were asked to build something representing humanist culture using parts from dolls. I remember being really preoccupied with how I wanted to represent the human body. It was right after the 9/11 events, and I decided to build Osama bin Laden. I used a cheap plastic doll, painted it, and dressed it in Arab clothing. I had the figure holding two toy planes in a marionette style. I was so proud of it, but when I presented it in class, everyone was shocked. My teachers called my parents, wondering if I was watching too much TV or being influenced negatively by the news. But my parents were supportive. They just saw it as me expressing something I felt was important. My dad still has that doll today. It was the first time he saw how I approached art differently from what was expected in school. I also had access to arts and crafts at the Casa de la Cultura in Oaxaca, where I could try everything: painting, sculpture, ceramics, ballet, guitar, and piano. It was easy to explore all kinds of creative disciplines.
Materia: That’s such a crazy story! You’ve also described your work as “mythological crossbreeding” and tied it to Mesoamerican cosmologies. Could you explain what these concepts mean to you?
VP: The term “mythological crossbreeding” might sound bigger in English than what I intend, but I am deeply inspired by Mesoamerican beliefs and cosmologies. Over time, these have evolved into beliefs about the non-human realm, and the idea of care and hospitality that connects us to these realms. Mesoamerican myths, like the creation of fire or the fight between the sun and the moon, are full of metaphors explaining natural phenomena. I love mythology because it uses metaphors to describe something real, something that we may not be able to explain scientifically. It’s that kind of non-scientific belief system that inspires me—it helps bring life to things that aren’t immediately visible or tangible. I’m also drawn to the concept of non-human entities. We often forget that we are deeply connected to nature, to energies, and to the universe. In ancient cultures, people had a stronger sense of that connection. Through my work, I aim to represent that link between humans and non-human entities. I also find it fascinating to work with sound because it’s such a tangible form of energy—it’s felt physically, even though it’s invisible.
Materia: I really appreciated the way you incorporated planting seeds in the cracks at your recent Peana show.
VP: Yes, I’ve been exploring this idea for a while. I’m deeply concerned with concepts of reparation—how we heal, repair, and take care of what’s broken. We live in a world that’s increasingly chaotic, and sometimes, direct political action isn’t enough. Soft, metaphorical approaches can be powerful tools for healing and connecting with others. The idea of repairing cracks speaks to how we can transform something broken into something meaningful. Ceramics, as a material, is fragile and full of imperfections, which parallels this idea of accepting imperfection. I also have a fascination with seeds—they are the most magical, mythological things. They can live for millions of years, and with the right conditions, they can sprout and create life. It’s that power of potential that inspires me in my work.
Materia: I mean, speaking of seeds, it’s a process of patience and tenderness and faith, right? And then you watch, and there’s magic in that. I think that the integration of these little moments—like, what is repairing a crack? It’s like Kintsugi, the Japanese practice of repairing ceramics, and tying that back to repairing the cracks with the understanding that the cracks themselves are beautiful. Instead of covering them up or suppressing what needs to be reintegrated, we’ve lost this connection to nature and magic. It’s about highlighting that. I think creating those moments, where suddenly, like, you see a little leaf, and it’s like a private moment of magic and wonder—those things can be very healing.
VP: Yes, of course. Like an apparition, right? This little presence that appears at the end—it’s this little presence that’s totally healing. Sometimes, when I do my concerts or presentations, because I’ve been working with similar sound pieces for about three years, I’ve realized that it’s becoming more and more about healing—but not in a typical New Age way. It’s not about that kind of disposition. It’s more about relating to the audience, like an equality between us. We do it together, you know? It’s like a shared experience. And I realized that it works because people tell me they feel good afterward—they feel seen, or it brings images or thoughts. I love hearing that, because it means they experienced something that added to what I’m doing. It’s a discovery, even for me, through the audience.
“When you work with ceramics, you’re constantly aware of the four elements—it’s impossible not to think about them. Everything has to be in perfect balance: earth, fire, water, and air. Ceramics have that perfect equilibrium.“
– Vica Pacheco
Materia: And having that exchange. Your work is very modern, very contemporary, very avant-garde, but there’s also this intentional thinking about mythology, creation, and these things that are as old as time and yet timeless. I also think it’s interesting that your performances incorporate the four elements—water, air, earth, and fire—represented through sounds or ceramics, or even yourself as an organic element of your work. Is this a conscious choice to use all of those elements?
VP: Yeah, it is. It’s not like I set out to consciously work with the four elements, but I realized, when working with them, that I was actually collaborating with the elements, and I enjoyed it so much that I kept doing it. What I like to say is that I’m fascinated by primordial technologies. The history of musical instruments, for example, really fascinates me. For me, these objects are like technologies of communication—they represent some of the earliest interactions between humans and materials. A lot of those materials are ceramics, which brings you into direct contact with the elements. When you work with ceramics, you’re constantly aware of the four elements—it’s impossible not to think about them. Everything has to be in perfect balance: earth, fire, water, and air. Ceramics have that perfect equilibrium. In the end, it’s really something almost Genesis-like: from nothing, you create something, and then you add these forces of nature. It’s chemistry, it’s beauty.
So, yes, I’m conscious of the elements. These whistling vessels I work with are a perfect example—they use hydraulics and they work in a magical way, but ultimately, it’s pure physics. Just imagine the first Mesoamerican people creating these incredible objects with the elements to produce sound. We don’t really know how they used them, but I find that incredibly inspiring. Thinking about primordial technologies opens up so many creative possibilities for me. It helps me think about art and the process of creation in new ways.
Materia: And, aside from those ancient technologies, you also incorporate newer technologies like 3D printing, animation, and computerized technology. How do you approach that relationship?
VP: I think it comes from an understanding of the similarities between old and new technologies. New technologies are often made for industrial or capitalistic purposes, but I like to reframe them for creative use. For example, most of the programs I use are designed for industrial design, but I love the idea of transforming them to meet a different purpose—something artistic, not necessarily practical. It’s about taking these modern tools and using them to return to basic creative needs—whether that’s making an instrument, creating a mold for an instrument, or thinking about new ways to use them creatively. We have access to amazing tools today, and I find it exciting to combine them with older materials and methods. But, in the end, most of the materials I use are still quite basic. I use 3D printing primarily to create molds, not for the final product. It’s just part of the process, a way to help create complex shapes that will eventually become ceramics.
Materia: How would you describe your sound ecosystems in three words?
VP: Meditative, humid, and transformative.
Materia: Okay, and what about your clay creations? Three words.
VP: My little monsters. Oh, those. I call them my little monsters. It’s weird; I have a strange relationship with some of them because they become a little like friends. I like them as if they were little souls. For me, they are little totems.
They have a personality and fragility, which is something I’ve learned over the years: to be as soft as possible with my instruments because I know they can disappear in an instant. So the way I collaborate with them is as gently as I can.
Materia: I love that – your little friends. You’ve presented your work in such varied contexts —performances at Dries Van Noten shows, Peana Gallery, the ethnobotanical garden in Oaxaca, concerts, galleries, and more. How does the context inform the performance? Does your work change at all when you’re interacting with, say, fashion versus art versus a natural context?
VP: Totally. I react depending on the context. There are places where I feel completely open, and there are places where I feel completely closed. It depends on the energy I receive. I’ve had moments where I thought, “Oh my God, that was hard,” or “That was amazing.” The energy and the attention are never the same.
For example, I love to play in churches because I feel really comfortable in those beautiful spaces with great acoustics. I’ve learned, though, that I will never again perform at openings, because people aren’t in the mood to listen—they want to talk and have drinks. The attention isn’t there, and you’re just part of a larger group of artists, not really performing your own show.
But when I’m doing a show I’ve been playing for three years, I’ve realized that the audience’s comfort and disposition are really important. I want them to feel part of the experience. I like to have the audience seated at the same level as me. They’re free to lie down if they want. It’s more about creating a 40-45 minute experience where we go somewhere together, rather than having too many distractions around.
It’s important to have the right space—a quiet, focused space for the performance.
Materia: Do you have any superstitions that you adhere to, or any rituals that are connected to your performance, especially in terms of creating?
VP: Yeah, for sure. Well, I am a full kisser. I love to kiss a lot. For example, I kiss my plants a lot because I believe they actually feel it, that they feel my love. I kiss my kombucha, too, just to show that I’m taking care of her development. I like that kind of contact, that energy exchange. I also do it with my instruments, especially when I’m building them, before they’re fired, when they’re still fragile. I show them a lot of affection, a little private thing, but it’s true. I like to put part of me into the objects I create. When there’s a firing, I sometimes leave something next to the kiln, like a little protection or amulet, just to make sure everything goes well.
It’s part of my process. It’s about protecting them, wishing them well, and letting them know I want them to be alive. I do the same with my little creatures—my sculptures. Even though they’re not alive in the traditional sense, I know they’re alive in another way. So, I give them little kisses, or I talk to them, thank them. It’s a very animistic way of relating to my plants and sculptures.
Materia: I believe it! I accept it too. It feels real.
VP: For me, it works. My plants are alive, and they respond. I give them kisses and water, but it’s also about the attention I give them. That energy seems to make sense to them, and they thrive because of it.
Materia: Yeah, I think it all ties back to what we’ve been talking about—the idea that we don’t exist outside of the things that surround us, the natural world. To really be in a relationship with them is so important, and I think we’ve lost that connection as a culture.
VP: Totally. I think it’s because we’re in this era of replaceability—if something breaks, you just buy another one. But there are things that are irreplaceable. It’s not materialism, it’s more about that animistic care, the contact you have with what’s in your space. For me, plants are a great example, but it also applies to the creatures and objects I create. They come from elementary processes—they’re air, water, minerals—they’re still organic, and to me, organic means really alive.