SCULPTURE SHAPED BY THE SEA: PARIS VIVIANNE PANIGIRIS
Through her expressive clay sculptures, Rhodes-born artist Paris Vivianne Panigiris transforms the movement of waves and emotion into tactile explorations of fluidity, transformation, and the enduring connection between people and the sea.
PORTES EDITOR:
Your artwork evokes fluid motion and emotional depth. What is it about the sea, and waves in particular, that draw you as subjects in your creative work?
PARIS VIVIANNE PANAGIRIS:
The sea has always felt like something deeply alive to me—constantly shifting, never fixed, holding both calm and intensity at once. Waves, especially, speak in a kind of emotional language that I connect with instinctively. They rise, curl, break, and return, echoing the rhythms of our inner world—cycles of tension, release, and renewal.
Working with air-dry clay allows me to stay close to that sense of immediacy and movement. The material remains soft and responsive, inviting a more intuitive, almost meditative process. I'm drawn to the balance between guiding the form and letting it emerge on its own terms. In that way, the act of sculpting begins to mirror the behaviour of waves themselves—shaped by unseen forces, yet deeply expressive and present.
I return to the sea again and again because it holds contradiction so effortlessly. It can be powerful and gentle, chaotic and soothing, vast yet intimate. Through my work, I'm trying to capture not just its physical form, but the emotional currents it carries—the feeling of something always in motion, always becoming.
How do you use color and texture to help capture the sensation of water in motion?
Color and texture are essential in translating the sensation of movement into something tactile and visual. I tend to work with a restrained palette—soft whites, muted blues, and natural tones—so that the focus remains on form and flow. Subtle shifts in color help in suggesting depth and movement, like light passing through water or the way a wave changes as it rises and folds.
Texture is where the motion really begins to take life. I build up layers, ridges, and fine surface variations that catch light differently—lightly depending on the angle. These textures create a sense of rhythm across the piece, guiding the eye in a way that mimics the movement of water. In some areas, I keep the surface smooth and uninterrupted to evoke calm, while in others I allow more raw, detailed textures to emerge, suggesting energy and disruption.
In three words, describe your art.
Emotional. Thoughtful. Fluid
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What specific memories of the sea have influenced your approach?
I was born and raised on the island of Rhodes, and being born on the 28th of June, I've always felt like a true summer soul—deeply connected to the sea. It has been a constant presence in my life, something I returned to endlessly as a child and continue to return to as an adult. It's the place where I feel most complete, where something within me settles and aligns, as if I'm exactly where I'm meant to be.
There is one memory that has stayed with me very vividly, almost like an imprint. It's a photograph of me at five years old, at the beach in winter. I have these melancholic, distant eyes, and I'm in motion—completely absorbed in creating something with sand and seashells. My own small world, my own castle. There's a quietness in that image, a sense of calm and presence that I still feel deeply connected to. When I look at it now, I don't just see a memory—I recognise something essential about who I am as an artist.
That moment, and others like it, continue to shape how I approach my artistic practice. I'm drawn to that same sense of immersion, of creating intuitively with what's available, of being guided more by feeling than by control. The sea, especially in its quieter, more introspective states, influences the atmosphere in my work, the softness, the movement, the emotional depth. More than anything, it's the feeling of being by the sea that stays with me.
I return to the sea again and again because it holds contradiction so effortlessly. It can be powerful and gentle, chaotic and soothing, vast yet intimate.
The sea can represent both calm and turbulence. How do you visually express these dualities in your art?
I express that duality through contrasts in form, texture, and movement. Calm emerges in my work through smoothness, more open surfaces—gentle curves, elongated lines, and a sense of stillness in the composition. These pieces tend to feel more spacious, almost as if time were suspended in a quiet moment before or after motion.
Turbulence, on the other hand, comes through in tighter, more dynamic forms—sharper folds, layered textures, and a sense of compression or tension within the clay. I let the material build, twist, and overlap, creating a feeling of energy that hasn't quite settled. There's often a push and pull within a single piece, where one area feels controlled and serene while another feels unsettled or in motion.
Because I work with air-dry clay, I can respond very directly to these shifts—working intuitively, adjusting pressure, and allowing imperfections to remain visible. Those irregularities become part of the language of the piece, reflecting the unpredictability of the sea itself.
Ultimately, I'm not trying to separate calm and turbulence, but to let them coexist—just as they do in the ocean and within us. Each sculpture becomes a moment where both states are present, held in balance.
Waves can carry stories, from maritime cultures to everyday moments. What sorts of narratives are you most interested in telling through your art?
I'm most interested in telling stories of migration and memory. How journeys across water carry fragments of identity, loss, and belonging. Waves, to me, hold histories of people leaving, arriving, and never fully being stagnant again.
I also focus on quieter, personal narratives, moments of emotional change that pass through us like tides: grief, joy, longing, connection.
Through my work, I try to show how these larger histories and intimate experiences flow together; how every life, like a wave, carries something forward and leaves something behind.
What would you say is your greatest challenge as an artist?
My greatest challenge has always been staying honest in my work while the world around me keeps trying to define it for me.
There's a constant tension between creating from a deeply personal place and navigating expectations; whether they come from an audience, an industry, or even my own inner critic. It's easy to get pulled into what is "working," what is visible, what is validated.
But the real work, the meaningful work, usually lives somewhere quieter, more uncomfortable, and less certain.
Another challenge is embracing evolution without losing my core. I'm not interested in repeating myself, but growth can feel like shedding skin. Every new direction comes with doubt. Will this still resonate? Will I still be understood?
Ultimately, the challenge is continuing to create with courage.
To trust my instinct over noise. To make something that feels true before it feels successful.
What do you enjoy the most about creating your artwork?
I enjoy most is the moment when something intangible becomes real. When a feeling or a memory takes shape in a way I can finally see and understand.
There's a kind of quiet clarity that happens in the process. I start with something unresolved, and through creating, it begins to reveal itself. It's less about control and more about discovery; almost like the work already exists somewhere, and I'm just uncovering it piece by piece.
I also love the intimacy of it. Creating feels like a private conversation with myself, but at the same time, it has the potential to connect with someone else in a deeply personal way.
