“Who Can I Be, If Not With You?”: Interview with Sofia Lai

Sofia Lai, The First Bloom (2025), GIRLS. On Boredom, Rebellion and Being In-Between at MoMu - Fashion Museum Antwerp, 2025 © MoMu Antwerp, photo Stany Dederen.

By GRACE PALMER December 18, 2025

“How can I create, if not thanks to you?” Sofia Lai's straightforward yet powerful question lies at the core of her artistic practice. Fascinated by the uncanny, drawn to abjection, and captivated by the bodily, Lai’s sculptures explore the binaries between individuality and universality, normativity and absurdity, dreams and nightmares. When I encountered her work in MoMu’s current exhibition, 'GIRLS. On Boredom, Rebellion and Being In-Between', I was met with a sense of both repulsion and fascination. Addressing themes of domesticity, motherhood, and girlhood, her figurative, headless sculptures challenge conventional perceptions. Instead, they probe society’s expectations of self-importance and highlight the threads of interconnectedness that bind us. I spoke with Lai about her intimate relationship with textiles, the significance of embracing the uncanny, and reconnecting with the “you” that fuels all our creation.

Sofia Lai, The First Bloom (2025), drawing on paper. 

Palmer: You describe your process as “constructing identities through textiles”. Are there particular materials you are drawn to that express a certain feeling, emotion or identity? Has engaging in this process allowed you to explore more of your identity?

 Lai: They all do, somehow. I’m always drawn to the small details - a strand of wool, a knot - that evoke a memory. To me, this highlights a deep interconnection between people, objects, and materials. This is just the way I like to look at the world: sometimes through the lens of people and moments from my past, which allows me to not feel alone in a world of strangers. Through textiles, I'm able to go back in time and remember people no longer here, through small gestures that would otherwise get lost in my memories. This way, I'm able to revive them and live with them in a new way, a way that allows me to feel connected to them and to the child I was.

Palmer: All of your sculptures are displayed with no heads, a technique that reminds me of Yinka Shonibare’s approach to figurative sculpture. What is the reasoning behind these headless figures?

Lai: The reasoning behind the headless figures is deeply personal and central to my artistic philosophy. Ultimately, it’s about shifting the focus from who the figure is to what the figure is experiencing, and in doing so, inviting the viewer into that experience. I’ve always perceived my own existence not through a single, static identity, but through a multitude of internal states and how they interact with the world. My sculptures represent these different "faces" of myself. But for me, those "faces" aren't found in the literal features of the head. They reside in the body. I am fascinated by the body as a map of lived experience. I think in terms of movement: the stiffness of a joint, the fluidity of a twist, the tension in a stretched arm, or the weight borne by a leaning torso. These physical sensations feel more truthful to me than a fixed facial expression. A smile can be a mask, but the slump of a shoulder or the arch of a back speaks a more primal, honest language.

By focusing exclusively on the body, I am stripping away the social performance of the face to get at the raw, physical truth of being. This is why the heads are absent. It happened intuitively at first, but I soon realised their removal was essential. A face, with its specific expression, dictates a single narrative. It tells the viewer, "This figure is sad," or "This one is joyful." That specificity closes a door. It restricts the viewer, locking them into my interpretation. By removing the head, I open up the sculpture. The figure becomes an open vessel, no longer a specific "me" or a specific "them," but a universal form. Without a face to guide them, the viewer is compelled to "read" the body. They must project their own understanding, their own memories of physical sensation onto the sculpture. In the end, I don't want the viewer to see my story in the work; I want them to feel the possibility of their own. The headless form is an invitation for them to complete the sculpture through their own lens, their own body, and their own perception.

Palmer: How did you become interested in tapestry creation? What is the process like for these textile pieces, and how do they differ from your sculptural work?

Lai: As a self-taught artist, I always like to experiment with different materials and ways of expressing myself. The tapestry project is deeply connected with the memories of my grandmother and the perception that I had of her as a kid. During my childhood, I spent a long time watching my grandmother sew all sorts of garments for us. Experiencing wartime conflict, she always had an eye towards durability and transition. I've always found this vision so interesting; the ability to look at things and see, not the object, but what they could become with a few adjustments. In this series, the tapestries are made from various scraps of fabrics and vintage scarves and are mixed with paintings, representing myself or my everyday life. By combining these components, I found a new type of connection with my grandmother, which, despite not being here anymore, allowed us to share an intimate moment of rest and tenderness. In this way, my work is about finding meaning in my past, present and future.

Sofia Lai, Burden: The Dollhouse (2025), GIRLS. On Boredom, Rebellion and Being In-Between at MoMu - Fashion Museum Antwerp, 2025 © MoMu Antwerp, photo Stany Dederen.

Palmer: Your recent participation in MoMu’s ‘GIRLS. On Boredom, Rebellion, and Being In-Between’ offers an insightful commentary on the pressure and psychological weight of motherhood, domesticity and the triple-shift. How important is it for your work to speak to current political and social injustices? Is there a particular message that you hope audiences gain from interacting with and experiencing your art?

Lai: My work is more related to social topics; I wouldn’t define them as injustices, but rather as explorations of perception and interaction with others. I’ve always been drawn to the different signs that characterise our world and which eventually allow us to unconsciously find and follow rules that help us coexist in everyday life. But sometimes, when these signs become part of ourselves, we tend to forget a sense of otherness. Eventually, this brings us back to a state of interdependence - we are all connected by invisible threads, and every action we take inevitably affects others. My work explores this delicate balance between individuality, perception, and the unseen connections that link us.

The following is something I wrote a long time ago. It still resonates with me and is perhaps the starting point of my creative journey:

 "You are who you are.

You are the people who came before you,

and the ones before them.

You are the roots and the branches,

the ending and the beginning.

You are the bridge between who they were,

and who others will become.

 You carry their weight and their strength

in everything you do.

You are yourself - and others too.

The sense of place, of belonging.

 Miscommunications within oneself.

The lack of communication creates interruption.

The interruption becomes misunderstanding.

Misunderstanding turns into anger.

Anger transforms into hatred.

Hatred is born from the inability to adapt.

 You are the voice in my head that fades away and slowly reappears.

You are the strength that emerges when I’m vulnerable.

You are the hatred within me that decides to destroy me.

You are, and always will be, part of me.

Your memory, the way you made me feel and perceive my surroundings, will be something I carry with me constantly.

Every day, you will be a reminder of who I could be, both at my worst and best.

You are me, and I’m living within the fear of myself.

Who can I be, if not with you?

How can I create, if not thanks to you?"

Sofia Lai, Foreigner in Your Own Body (2025), GIRLS. On Boredom, Rebellion and Being In-Between at MoMu - Fashion Museum Antwerp, 2025 © MoMu Antwerp, photo Stany Dederen.

Palmer: What relationship does your work have to the uncanny? Are these figures intended to evoke a Freudian uncanniness, something that is familiar yet alienated, or are they perhaps more related to the nightmarish, unsettling uncanniness of contemporary pop culture?

Lai: The idea of the uncanny has always fascinated me, especially from the perspective of the viewer. For me, the uncanny is a lived experience. It’s that strange discomfort, that tension between the familiar and the unfamiliar, which forces us to pause, reflect, and sometimes to confront aspects of ourselves or our surroundings that we would rather ignore.

When I translate my own nightmares and unsettling visions into my work, it’s a deeply personal process. I’m not trying to shock for the sake of shock, but rather to engage with the fears and anxieties that linger in the background of everyday life. By bringing them into a visual form, I take control over them. What once felt terrifying or unknowable becomes something I can face, explore, and even play with. Often, I include a satirical or ironic element to acknowledge the absurdity that can coexist with fear. In this way, my work becomes a space where discomfort and reflection meet, where the uncanny is not only observed but lived and, in some sense, embraced.

Palmer: Long red claws seem to be a recurring motif, particularly in your recent works like Foreigner in Your Own Body. What significance do these talons have to your figures? Are they referencing particular imagery of the femme fatale?

Lai: All the sculptures I do are moulded from my body. I always have red nails, but they are usually short. The extremely long red nails in the sculptures both represent me and something I would never wear. They show the dualism in every human being, and by expressing them through my sculptures, I let myself see and feel parts of me that sometimes get lost or feel irrelevant. In the end, the red nails are the bridge through which I find harmony between the different inner forces that make up who I am, which, together with the movement and the garments, is what makes my work feel so intimate.

Palmer: You credit your works as exploring the unconventional, especially through your manipulation of the body. Does the notion of the abject influence your fabric constructions? I note this in particular reference to Julia Kristeva’s exploration of abjection in Powers of Horror, where she investigates the abject as the object ‘cast off’ from the cultural world, presented as a corpse of the original subject.

Lai: Absolutely, it's actually the core of my work. I remember the first time I approached a work by Kristeva. I was seventeen, and I discovered her, in part, thanks to my fascination with Schopenhauer and his book The World as Will and Representation. I was trying to understand deeply how will manifests in us as our instincts, desires, emotions, and urges: the will to live and to strive. This striving is the source of suffering because a desire satisfied is only replaced by a new desire. Which is, if you think about it, the idea expressed by Kristeva with the concept of abjection: the way that a corpse represents us as an endless force through our souls, but at the same time, it's an object. It shows us our own materiality and inevitable decay, blurring the line between life and death, self and other.

Palmer: How important is capturing movement within the photographs of your work? Especially for commissions such as your photo set for Port Magazine Issue 35.

Lai: Movement is important to me because it’s the way I give emotion to my sculptures. Since they don’t have faces, movement becomes their voice, the way they communicate a feeling or a state of mind. My work often comes from dreams or fleeting thoughts, so I focus on gestures and poses that capture those emotions as honestly as possible. I like to explore moments of tension, discomfort, or intimacy, things we usually keep private. In a way, I’m inviting the viewer to share a small, unspoken part of my inner world, to feel something raw and unexpected. It’s not just about the body itself, but about the stories and emotions the body can hold, even when it’s still.

Palmer: Your painterly practice reminds me of the Vienna Secessionists, notably that of Egon Schiele and Gustav Klimt. What inspirations do you draw from in your painterly and drawing practices? How much of your work is composed of external influences in comparison to your internal ones?

Lai: That's a fascinating observation, and I absolutely see the visual connection you're making to Schiele and Klimt, especially in the raw treatment of the body and the use of symbolic elements. I've always drawn since I was a kid. Back then, it was a way to coexist with and make sense of my nightmares. I would pretend they were real worlds where I could find new ways of living with new friends.

That instinct has stuck with me. Nowadays, drawing is my first step in letting go of thoughts that would otherwise get stuck in my head for days, even months. I try to put them on paper. It's hard to explain, but for almost every work I do, I've already seen and felt it in my dreams. It's not just a visual thing, but I know exactly what I need to draw. I know the shapes of the body I need to represent how I felt in the dream, or how it feels when your body is healing. I suppose I'm trying to find meaning in something concrete. This is why most of my drawings are bodies. They are my body, trying to give sense and a concrete form to how I felt.

Sofia Lai, Untitled (Sketch), drawing on paper. 

Palmer: Where can people find your work? Are there any upcoming projects you would like to bring attention to?

Lai: The most consistent place to find my work is through my online presence. I maintain a website which acts as a formal archive of my completed pieces, and I use Instagram more as a public studio journal, sharing sketches, thoughts, and the day-to-day evolution of my ideas.

As for what's next, I am currently pouring my energy into a new, deeply personal project, one that has been quietly taking shape in my mind for a very long time. It feels like the most authentic extension of my practice yet; it aims to dissolve the line between static visual art and live performance. I am fascinated by the idea of giving my textile-based bodies a voice and a movement to create a fully immersive environment. This developing work is very much conceived with a solo exhibition in mind; I see it as the first complete world I build from the ground up. It's in a vibrant, but still formative, stage right now. WM