Interview with Los Angeles Based Sculptor MEAGAN CIGNOLI: Time Space and Presence

What drew you from short-form digital storytelling into the world of sculpture and physical materials?

The move from advertising to art wasn’t a switch—it was a return. Ceramics and sculpture were mediums from a young age that I always got drawn back into every so often. When the pandemic hit, it really saved my life, I felt like I had no meaning and once I started to sculpt again I felt so happy to be alive.

How does your experience in commercial visual media influence the way you approach your fine art practice?

I try not to let it influence me, but I’m sure it does. It's similar to not allowing people-pleasing into my art practice. I catch myself making something just because I think others will like it.

One part of my commercial background that has stuck with me is an instinct for when something is too polished. If something is overproduced, I think the eye just glazes over. I love work where you can see the hand—the imperfection, the texture.
 

Infatuation, 2025, Plaster 

In your work, there’s a clear dialogue between permanence and ephemerality. How do you explore that balance creatively?

I’m drawn to materials that feel fragile - paper pulp, raw clay, fabric, plaster, eggshells, glass, because they carry emotion and feel honest. They change over time, and I let that happen. I’m not trying to make work that lasts forever. Sometimes the most meaningful things are the ones that fade. I like to put the paper pieces in the sun and let it crack and sunbathe.

At the same time, I’m trying to hold onto a moment, like saving a note or a feeling. That tension between holding on and letting go is at the heart of what I make.
 

WYD, recylced paper, clay and pigment on birch board

As a queer artist, do themes of identity and visibility inform the way you shape your materials or narratives?

Being a lesbian shapes everything I do, even when I’m not consciously thinking about it. But I’d say that being a woman—and specifically a woman who has experienced long-term abuse—has had a more direct influence on my materials and narratives.

A lot of my work centers around communication, especially the words exchanged between me and the positive, nurturing people in my life, most of whom are women. That emotional intimacy finds its way into both the tone and the materials.

When I was in school in the early 2000s, I felt pressure to make work that was more masculine to be taken seriously. Back then, anything feminine was often dismissed as unserious. Now, I fully lean into softness. I let vulnerability show. I no longer try to make my work fit someone else’s idea of strength. That, to me, is deeply queer.

MEAGAN CIGNOLI Portrait
 

What role does location, especially Los Angeles, play in your current creative process?

Oh, Los Angeles is just the best. It’s given me permission to soften. I’ve always been a workaholic, but people here aren’t as obsessed with the grind. It’s helped me relax and stop trying to prove myself constantly. In New York, I thought if something came easy, it wasn’t worth anything. Now, I’m learning to grow from ease, from joy, from positive reflection. I’m just a better, happier person here, and I think that shows in my work.

Also, being surrounded by so many types of landscapes—deserts, lakes, mountains, ocean, this has shifted something in me. I notice more, I rush less, and I let things be a little looser and more intuitive. It’s changed the way I see, and definitely the way I make.

RUOK, 2025, recylced paper, clay and pigments on Birch Board

How do you see the relationship between digital attention spans and the slow, tactile experience of sculpture?

I think sculpture can snap people out of digital autopilot. It pulls your body and your senses back into the room. Screens are so flat, so fast, so forgettable. Sculpture demands time, space, and presence. It reminds people that feeling something physically, texture, weight, shadow - matters. But since process is everything, I love the digital world for showing a look into the process that people don’t always see. People love to see the glass blowing, or the layout of fused glass before and after I melt it, things like that.

Can you talk about a recent piece or series that felt like a breakthrough in blending your past and present mediums?

Before I studied fine arts, I majored in fashion design, and I grew up making or remaking my own clothing. A recent breakthrough for me has been bringing fabric into my sculptural work in a more direct way. In earlier pieces, fabric showed up more as texture or a hidden layer. But recently, I’ve started letting it lead—the folds, the raw edges, even the act of tearing fabric have become part of the final form. I might have an addiction to ripping fabric and how the scissor cutting through it feels and sounds. WM