Elena Sofia Valentina Palomo is a Spanish-Finnish ceramist and sculptor who crafts quiet, poetic narratives that bridge nature, memory, and sci-fi aesthetics. Visit her beautiful Helsinki home and learn her ideas on the importance of patience, craft, and what happens after the piece has dried just a little. Photography by Silver Mikiver, questions by Anne Vetik.
If your creations could whisper secrets while drying, what do you think they'd say about you?
They might say I have a hard time leaving things alone. That I check in too often, adjust small things that don’t always need adjusting. But maybe they’d also admit I’m patient in my own way. That I try to listen closely and give them the time they need, even if I fidget while doing it. I think they’d know I care deeply, even when I’m unsure of the outcome.
Clay has memory — do you ever feel like you're collaborating with the material, or is it more like a stubborn dance partner?
Often it’s a smooth dance. It’s as if my hands are just moving with the clay, and the form begins to emerge organically, almost by itself, before I even know what it is. On those days, it feels like the material and I are in unison, speaking the same language.But I’d be lying if I said it’s always like that. Sometimes I’m too much in my head, and the clay picks up on that. It remembers hesitation, tension. My mentor once told me that clay rewards patience, and I’ve found that to be true. When I feel blocked, I try to step away, take a breath, and come back with more playfulness. That’s usually when the shift happens.
Some people talk to their plants. Do you ever have conversations with your work-in-progress pieces?
All the time. Usually in my head, but sometimes out loud too if no one’s around. I ask them what they want to become. When I have too many ideas, it can feel difficult to choose a direction, so I ask the sculpture to guide me. They rarely provide clear answers, but I suppose they do respond in their own way.
Ceramics in all countries have an exceptionally long history and tradition — how much of your work is a rebellion against tradition, and how much is a love letter to it?
It’s both. I deeply respect the traditions and am always eager to learn more about ancient techniques. I recently did my second raku firing, which is an ancient Japanese firing technique. My process is, however, very intuitive and emotional, not tied to any specific, maybe my work is a love letter written in a different dialect. I’m fascinated by how something so ancient can still be shaped into something new.
What tools or techniques are essential to your work? Are there any secret favorites?
The most important part of my process often happens after the piece has dried just a little so it’s firm enough to hold its shape, but still soft enough to carve. That’s when the final form starts to reveal itself. I focus a lot on proportions, curves, and how the surface catches light and shadow. I don’t work much with colour, so the shape has to carry everything. My favourite tool is a curved steel rib. It’s simple, but precise. It lets me carve details and refine the form exactly how I want it.
Your pieces may feel like little dream fragments — do you ever wake up and sketch your dreams straight into clay?.
Sort of. Sometimes new ideas come to me right as I’m about to fall asleep. I might wake up in the middle of the night and realize I’ve solved a problem or suddenly know how to continue a piece. I always keep a notebook, a pen, and my iPad by my bed to catch these ideas before they vanish. There’s a Spanish saying, "consultar con la almohada," which literally translates to “consult it with the pillow.” It means to sleep on an idea before deciding. I think the rest is underrated.
If one of your sculptures came to life for a day, what kind of mischief would it get up to in your studio?
I think it would wander around the studio and rearrange things, move my tools around. I would love it if it would make a small piece of its own and leave it behind like a secret. It would be interesting to see what my own creation would create.
What is your favourite soundtrack to create while listening to?
Usually, I prefer soft ambient, especially drone-based music, when creating new pieces. It helps me enter a meditative state and stay focused. My go-to artists for the past few years have been Anna Roxanne and James K. Lately, I’ve been listening a lot to Kali Malone and Maria W Horn as well, when working.
Some days I might need more rhythm. I love listening to Dinamarca, Rusowsky, and other Latin experimental electronic artists.
In a parallel universe, if you couldn't work with ceramics, what impossible material would you use instead? Marshmallows? Jelly? Clouds?
Probably water. I find it fascinating how it circulates through our bodies, flows through landscapes, and connects everything. I think I’d still be interested in shaping things, even if the material couldn’t hold its form. There’s something poetic in working with something that’s always in motion, always changing. It would be amazing to have water fountains spilling into the forms I’ve imagined.
And for the last question, can you walk us through your typical studio routine, from the moment you enter the space to when you call it a day?
I usually begin by just being there at the studio and having a cup of coffee. I make sure everything is tidy before I begin – I can’t think clearly if things aren’t in place. Then I put on some music, light a candle, and burn incense. It’s like greeting the studio and stepping into a state of creation. Then I’ll check in with pieces in progress, see how they’ve changed overnight. I rarely work on just one thing. I move between pieces, depending on where they are in the process. If I have any sketches or maquettes, I go through them and decide which idea to start that day.
I also like to sit down and look at the sculptures I’ve finished making. I observe them, photograph them. It’s become very important for me to sit down with my artworks before they go somewhere else. After all, they are an extension of myself, I think. They remind me of who I am and what I’m capable of.