A conversation with Sara
Sara Magambetova
Hello Sara, how are you? Could you tell us a bit about yourself and your background?
Hi! I’m doing well, thank you. I’m a ceramic artist and illustrator based in Blois, a small city in the center of France, although I originally come from Moscow, Russia
I’ve been drawing for as long as I can remember, but at some point I discovered ancient clay sculptures, especially the Minoan snake goddesses and human figurines from Cyprus. I remember being completely blown away by them. That was the moment I first started working with clay myself. I would make small figurines of people and animals, without really firing or glazing them. Instead, I painted them with whatever materials I could find, adding pieces of glass or broken ceramics. It was all about experimenting, and discovering the freedom and dimension that sculpture can bring.
I think it comes from a combination of not having a formal artistic education, and my love for naive, early medieval and archaic art.
Rather than trying to capture a specific person or place, I’m more interested in expressing a feeling or a sense of movement. I like to play with meaning through composition and proportion. For example, I’m currently working on a ceramic box with a small golf player on top. The figure has exaggeratedly long legs and tiny arms raised in the air, holding a small golf club. I like the idea that we, as viewers, take on the perspective of the golf ball, looking up at him from the grass.
Yes, definitely. I find a lot of inspiration in old photographs and films, which might explain why many of the characters and scenes I draw feel like they belong to the past, even though I can’t place them in a specific time.
My process really depends on the project. For instance, when I worked on a project about Camille Claudel, I did extensive research and used archival photographs, family images and drawings as a starting point. With ceramics, it’s often much more intuitive. A quick sketch or a passing idea is usually enough to begin a piece or even a whole series.
In some ways, this interest in everyday rituals and quiet, fleeting moments comes from artists I admire, like Vermeer, Pieter Bruegel the Elder and Edgar Degas. At the same time, it’s also something very personal. I love water and the sea. I can spend hours just sitting by the shore, watching the waves.
Your work feels very childlike in the way it embraces imperfection, especially in the way you draw and paint on the surface, which I really love. What role does imperfection play in your work?
That’s a beautiful observation. I’ve always loved children’s drawings, especially when they are very young and simply draw what they imagine. What we often see as “imperfect”, the lack of detail or definition, actually carries something very universal, and at the same time deeply personal. I value the spontaneity of a first impression, or an image that appears in my mind. Trying to overly refine or polish a piece can feel a bit disingenuous to me. Imperfections feel more honest. They remind us of the hands that made the work, of small slips, distractions, or moments of change along the way.
It can definitely be challenging. The process requires patience, and a certain level of acceptance when things don’t go as planned, when you have to let go of ideas or pieces that simply don’t work. But for me, that unpredictability is also what makes it exciting. I’m still just as amazed by how glazes and colours turn out after firing as I was when I first started working with ceramics. In a way, the process itself naturally leads to embracing imperfection. There are so many moments where the outcome is out of your control, and you have to remain open to whatever the work becomes in the end.
At the moment, I’m preparing for Saint-Sulpice Céramique, a four-day ceramics fair that takes place in Paris during the summer. I’m working on a variety of forms and pieces, but thematically I find myself returning to ideas of childhood, play and movement. I’m exploring scenes around dancing and sports, but also more unexpected memories, like the intensity of children’s ballroom dancing competitions, or the feeling of boredom during circus shows as a child.
