Being constantly surrounded by the visual world, it's rare that something still manages to surprise me – but Līga's work is definitely one of the few that does. Layered in nostalgia, her colorful pieces move fluidly between mediums. While today's society has weakened our attention span, her work feels temporal – encouraging the viewer to slow down and truly pause, to glaze over each embossment and detail. A true massage of the senses.
In this interview, we talk about what it means to build an artistic "handwriting", the emotional labor of making, and the pressure to be legible.
Diandra Rebase
You studied Visual Communication at the Art Academy of Latvia, where you worked with tools and techniques often associated with graphic design—digital photography, 3D modeling, screen printing, monotype, and more. I'm curious, did these mediums ever push you toward collaboration with graphic designers or influence how you relate to the design world more broadly?
Līga Spunde
As a matter of fact, the connection between the Art Academy of Latvia's Visual Communication Department and graphic design is rather slim. I would describe this department as more of a fine arts experience. While I did have the opportunity to experiment with various media, including those you mentioned, the most important element to me was always the concept. This educational experience definitely gave me the confidence that a strong idea is important not only in art but also in any creative discipline, including design.
Return of Episodes About Not Knowing How It Will Be.Korean National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art, 2025.
The Hike,RIXC Gallery, 2016.
DR
Fast forward to your time in New York: how did your residency there shift your perspective, especially as a Latvian artist? Was there something in that experience that shaped you personally or altered your approach to making art?
LS
I really enjoyed my time at the ISCP residency program in New York. Although it was relatively short, it was truly intense and inspiring. It's great to be in dynamic places; they seem to help me move faster too. At the same time, I understand that in the long run it can lead to burnout, which many people experience, and not only in New York. Overall, the two months I spent in residence were too short to really grasp New York's issues and opportunities, but they were the perfect amount of time to experience the big city life and spark the desire to return.
Cybervikings of Mars.427 Gallery, 202.
Looking back on your education now with some distance, was there anything you wish you had done differently, or something you wish you'd known earlier?
I had a great time studying. It wasn't easy or perfect, but I had wonderful teachers and classmates who are still close friends, and that seems important. Of course, sometimes I wonder what it would have been like to study abroad. Would it have given me more opportunities? Or would I not have been able to achieve my goals the way I have here? That is an open question, but luckily it doesn't change much at the moment.
The Bambi Project exhibition view.Kogo Gallery, 2021. Photo by Marje Eelma
Your work today carries a very particular psychological and visual weight—there’s an emotional clarity to how you construct objects, images, and atmospheres. Can you trace that back to a formative influence, whether visual, conceptual, or emotional, that still lingers in your work?
I think that my early interest in alternative culture and music, which often included a very critical approach to various social and political issues, has had a certain influence on how I view the world and how this is reflected in my work.I often use irony and sarcasm to visualize and explain absurd or paradoxical situations.
Your visual ‘handwriting’ is unmistakable. It’s so distinct that it feels instantly recognizable. How did that language begin to emerge for you? And when did you feel confident enough to let it take center stage in your practice?
Storytelling has always been a very important part of my practice, and I often visualize these stories using various media, such as photography, video or installations. I have always been interested in trying new things, new materials or techniques. I started creating my first digital drawings when I was on an Erasmus internship in Brussels, where the only tool available to me was my computer. From the very beginning, I was fascinated by this digital aesthetic, which seemed unprecedented at the time. After my first drawings, I realized that others also found this aesthetic appealing, which motivated me to develop this digital style. I just really wanted to see how an idea would be visualized using this technique, and the only way to see it was to draw it myself.
Alongside that, your work is rich in symbolism and cultural reference. What kinds of sources do you find yourself consistently drawn to? Maybe myths, media, literature, or personal memory?
I have always been fascinated by true but unbelievable stories – reality that is stranger than fiction. Of course, if the story is personal, it gives me extra strength to tell it, but I have always found it interesting to find a way to accurately and respectfully tell stories that I have found. Overall, I am interested in the present day and what is happening to us right now. I am also interested in the digital environment, its impact on our relationships, and the ethical issues and misunderstandings it creates.
A panic attack on a sunny day installation view.Tuesday to Friday gallery. 2023. Photo by Dibudibus
Digital tools play a crucial role in your process, yet you often translate those ideas into physical form. What draws you to that shift from screen to space, from the flatness of the digital to the tactility of physical materials?
I think it's my passion and curiosity that drives me to experiment and try out new materials. I think it's important to keep this desire to discover something new; it's a good incentive to develop and continue working in art. Sometimes working only digitally seems very tiring. It’s also tiring to find yourself repeating a visual language that has already been worked out.
This tension between the virtual and the physical often carries emotional weight. Take A Panic Attack on a Sunny Day, for example—where anxiety is embedded in lenticular shimmer and steel. How do you think about emotion as something that can be sculpted or spatially experienced?
When creating my works, it’s always important for me to understand how my feelings might look. That’s why you can find a wide variety of materials in my works, because depending on the project, they seem to be the most accurate and appropriate materials for expressing a certain idea. I believe that choosing the right material can enhance the power of the message, but at the same time, I often choose materials that interest me simply for aesthetic reasons.
Strong emotions like anxiety can be overwhelming. Is there something therapeutic in your process, something healing or clarifying in how you transform those states into visual form?
In my opinion, the creative process itself – defining the theme or issue, researching it, delving into it and, of course, creating the work – serves as a kind of therapy. Very often, the theme of a project is a nagging thought or event that won't leave me alone, and when I finish the work, I feel at peace.Often in my projects, I interpret events with other characters or change the situation slightly, but without losing the essence of the story. This allows me to look at the situation from a different perspective and understand something that was not possible when I was too directly involved.
When Hell Is Full the Dead Will Walk the Earth.Kim?, 2019.
In a world that demands clarity, explanation, and resolution, how do you protect space for intuition in your practice?
It’s not an easy task coming from an education system where the most valuable things have always been considered to be concepts, sharp ideas, and wit. It is very easy to get confused and lost in the creative process. There are so many different internal and external circumstances that make you question everything you do, but more and more often in such moments I try to trust my first impression — if there has been even one moment when an idea has seemed really cool to me (and that's not so often), I try to keep that feeling in mind and stubbornly believe in it even when faced with difficulties.
And when it comes to the structure of your works, do you ever feel pressure to resolve them narratively, or do you intentionally embrace ambiguity as a kind of final form?
Since I have always been interested in storytelling, narratives come very naturally to me. At some point, I realized that my ideas were too emotionally charged to be dealt with through conceptual formalism. Therefore, I address them through narrative and strong imagery.
Episodes About Not Knowing How It Will Be.Online exhibition, 2022.
Every artist faces critique, whether it’s constructive or just a critic’s personal allergic reaction to a strong aesthetic voice. What kinds of feedback have you received over the years, and has any of it changed how you see your work?
One of the most interesting comments I recently heard is that my work looks very old-school. It took me a moment to realize that, even though I focus on stories from today, it's true. The aesthetic I use is strongly connected to my nostalgia for the time when I was a teenager and explored the good, bad, and ugly of the internet in the early 2000s.
You also engage with ideas of identity and the body, though not always directly. In a time when identity is often flattened or digitally mediated, what does “embodiment” mean to you?
Nowadays, the concept of identity and the issues surrounding it are extremely broad. I find it interesting how the digital world has given us the opportunity to create our own digital identity. It opens up a wide range of possibilities for stylization and manipulation, allowing us to freely choose who we will be today and why. This creates a completely new model of a fictional society.
Eden is exhausted too.Plantentuin Meise, 2025. Photo by Michiel De Cleene
Looking to the present: what’s the emotional tone of the work you're currently making? Is it fractured, hopeful, something entirely new?
Currently, I’m working on a project focusing on how to exercise our sense of joy. I think it's a reaction to all the darkness we're experiencing, from the war in Ukraine and Gaza to the consequences of global warming, which brings a feeling of hopelessness.
Field of Exercises.TUR, 2026. Photos by Kristīne Madjare
And with your new solo exhibition opening on the 20th of August, how did the idea for this show begin? Was it sparked by a particular image, phrase, or feeling?
The idea came from a need to resist the feeling of helplessness and the belief that nothing can be done to make things better. The initial inspiration came from exploring mirror therapy, a physical rehabilitation method that uses the reflection of a healthy limb to project the possibility of movement and help stimulate motion in the affected limb. Through sculptural gestures, I aimed to recreate situations mimicking small acts of kindness and care, thereby reinforcing the belief that positive changes are possible
Once a show is open, how do you typically relate to it? Do you take time to reflect or are you already deep into whatever comes next?
After the opening, I will give myself a day off to reset my mind for what’s ahead. Still, I know I’ll need more time to truly reflect and analyze everything, especially since I am preparing and experimenting with new approaches. It’s always a risk, but taking risks is essential for moving forward.
If you had to describe a ‘Trickster’ character using only words—no images—what would that look like?
No matter what I write here, the Trickster will most certainly read it with a suspicious smirk.