There is a quiet alchemy that occurs when an artist allows their lived experience to bleed entirely into their medium. For painter and ceramicist Diane Chappalley, the studio is far more than a workspace; it is a sanctuary where the ephemeral realms of memory, nature, and matrescence are rendered tangible. Rooted in the misty pre-Alpine landscapes of her childhood and inflected by the visceral, grounding realities of motherhood, Chappalley’s work invites viewers into a dreamlike dialogue between the external world and our own internal geographies.
For this week’s Sunday Series, Diane speaks with us about the tactile magic of clay versus canvas, the intentionality of time in motherhood, and the quiet sources of solace that anchor her creative universe.
Let’s get into it.
What is the first thing you do when you step into the studio to get into a creative mindset?
I light some incense as a gesture of acknowledgement for being in the studio, my sanctuary. I then sit down, look at the paintings I have in progress and plan the day ahead.
Your recent work explores maternity and matrescence. How has motherhood changed your relationship with time and focus as an artist?
I am extremely grateful for the time I have in the studio. My days are shorter, but I am sharper, more decisive and extremely focused when I am working. There is no time for doubt and that has been liberating.
You move between atmospheric oil paintings and tactile ceramic sculptures like Anxious Flowers. Does clay answer a different emotional need than canvas?
Working with clay is very playful for me. It is a direct contact with the earth, and a way to record gestures through touch. I find it grounding yet magical, whereas painting has a more spiritual dimension for me. Perhaps it has something to do with using colour in a more direct way.
Do the misty, dreamlike colours in your work stem from a real physical landscape from your past?
I often think of the frost and fog that cover the ground and obscure the view of the Alps, where I grew up. I love how they alter our perception and transform an entire landscape; suddenly, we find ourselves somewhere else. Paintings can suggest multiple places at once. I also think about our own inner landscape and visceral colours: blood, flesh and amniotic fluid.
The title What Holds Us is deeply tender. Outside of work, what or who holds and restores you when energy is low?
It is a combination of things that allows me to thrive. My children bring me back to the present and to what is essential. My partner’s belief in who I am and what I do is incredible. My mother, with our endless conversations, my sister, my brother, my cousins, my aunties and my girlfriends, who are always there for me.
What kind of art, objects or heirlooms do you choose to surround yourself with at home?
I am drawn to objects that transport me to a different time or space. I have some traditional pottery from the Gruyère region, where I grew up. They seem to contain the soul of this unique pre-Alpine landscape.
Is your choice of colour an instinctual reaction to how you feel on the day, or do you plan palettes in advance?
For the show Porous Bodies, I wanted to explore a palette that was both earthy and fleshy, echoing blood and soil, bodily fluids and fog, skin and ground.
What does a perfect, uninterrupted Sunday look like for you?
An escape with people I love, surrounded by nature, art, music or great food.
What internal piece of advice brings you solace when a painting isn't coming together?
I have learned to trust that it will come together. That is the nature of oil painting, you can go back and forth, remove, add. It is a search.
Is there a recent moment in the studio where a mistake or unexpected spill completely altered the direction of a piece for the better?
Cosmic Happening was a painting that came unexpectedly quickly, in a constant flow of right choices. It felt as though the painting was almost painting itself. The title comes from that sensation.
What book, album or scent is currently inspiring you in the background while you work?
At the moment, I am researching Hildegard von Bingen, a mystic, healer and composer from around the year 1000. I am fascinated by her relationship with nature and the body.
Circular motifs like seeds and suns feature heavily in your art. What is one past version of yourself you feel you've gently outgrown?
I used to be very hard on myself. I am now much gentler.
What is one unexpected or quirky personal object sitting in your studio right now?
A peacock feather from an art residency I took part in at a monastery in Switzerland earlier this year.
What single feeling do you hope viewers take away after standing in front of your work?
Resonance
What lingers most after spending time in Diane Chappalley’s orbit is her profound intimacy with her practice. From the scented smoke that marks her mornings to the intuitive, earthly rhythm of shaping clay, her creative process feels less like work and more like a deeply considered way of living. By embracing the sharp focus of motherhood and finding comfort in the unpredictable nature of paint, she offers us a compelling reminder that the best work often emerges when we simply learn to trust ourselves and soften.
As she continues to weave together personal memory, pre-Alpine roots, and the visceral contours of the body, Chappalley leaves us with something altogether rare: a quiet space to slow down, feel the ground beneath us, and listen.
Image credits: Eva Herzog, Tom Carter
