Interview with Naomi Sermet
- Cista Arts team
- 3 hours ago
- 5 min read
An interview with visual artist Naomi Sermet.
What initially sparked your interest in pursuing art, and how has your journey evolved since then?
My journey into art began as a deeply personal response to experiences of trauma and isolation. After graduating from Sciences Po Paris and working as a policy consultant, I felt compelled to shift toward a more embodied, expressive way of engaging with the world—one that allowed me to explore emotional and ethical questions through visual language rather than systems. Art offered me a space where vulnerability and complexity could coexist without explanation. Over time, my practice has evolved into an exploration of the intersection between memory, nature, and survival. While it remains rooted in personal narrative, it now speaks to broader ecological and existential concerns.
Art offered me a space where vulnerability and complexity could coexist without explanation. Over time, my practice has evolved into an exploration of the intersection between memory, nature, and survival. While it remains rooted in personal narrative, it now speaks to broader ecological and existential concerns.
Can you tell us about a specific piece of your artwork that holds particular significance to you, and what inspired its creation?
One particularly significant series in my practice is The Unnoticed House, a collection of four paintings created after my residency in Iceland. Each work imagines a house camouflaged within the dramatic landscape surrounding Goðafoss, one of Iceland’s most iconic waterfalls. There are no actual houses in this area—its raw, untouched terrain is striking in its purity. That absence became the conceptual seed for the series.
While exploring Akureyri, I initially focused on built structures like the Hof Cultural and Conference Centre and the Akureyri Church. Though not especially striking at first glance, I began to see how their forms mirrored the basalt columns and volcanic textures of the land. They seemed to inhabit the environment quietly, without disruption.
The Unnoticed Houseis a meditation on that kind of architectural humility—on how humans might inhabit nature with the same adaptive sensitivity as animals who survive by blending into their surroundings. Through imagined structures embedded in the Goðafoss terrain, the series questions how we might reduce our footprint and learn to coexist more gently with the natural world. It is both a reflection on camouflage and a quiet proposal for a new kind of presence—one that prioritizes respect, invisibility, and harmony over dominance.
How do you navigate the balance between staying true to your artistic vision and experimenting with new techniques or styles?
Staying true to my artistic vision doesn't mean remaining stylistically static. The core of my work lies in emotional honesty and conceptual clarity—those are the constants that guide me. I see materials and techniques not as defining features, but as tools to deepen and expand that expression.
Spontaneity plays a crucial role in this balance. There are moments when a sudden, intuitive need arises—a gesture, a material, a shift in scale—that doesn’t fit neatly into existing plans but feels necessary. I’ve learned to trust those impulses, as they often lead to breakthroughs or unexpected connections. New techniques, when approached with this openness, become ways of re-encountering familiar themes from fresh perspectives. That interplay between consistency, curiosity, and spontaneous response is vital—it’s what keeps the work alive and evolving.
I’ve learned to trust those impulses, as they often lead to breakthroughs or unexpected connections. New techniques, when approached with this openness, become ways of re-encountering familiar themes from fresh perspectives.
What role do you believe art plays in society, and how do you envision your work contributing to the artistic dialogue?
I believe art plays a vital role in articulating what often escapes language—emotions, memories, and ecological realities that resist simplification. In a world increasingly driven by speed, data, and distraction, art creates space for slowness, ambiguity, and embodied experience. It allows us to feel before we interpret, and to sit with complexity without rushing to resolve it.
I see my own work not as a statement, but as a kind of support—an open structure that invites quiet reflection. My visual language is intentionally accessible, even to children: gentle, recognisable forms that are emotionally resonant without being didactic. That simplicity is a way of disarming viewers and opening space for more layered, ethical questions to surface quietly. Within the apparent softness of the work, I hope there’s room for discomfort, tenderness, and moral inquiry.
Rather than issue calls to action, my pieces offer propositions—meditative environments where vulnerability and resilience can coexist. Through this quieter approach, I aim to contribute to the broader artistic dialogue by offering a space of stillness in which pressing concerns—ecological, emotional, existential—can be felt deeply, and perhaps differently.
Rather than issue calls to action, my pieces offer propositions—meditative environments where vulnerability and resilience can coexist. Through this quieter approach, I aim to contribute to the broader artistic dialogue by offering a space of stillness in which pressing concerns—ecological, emotional, existential—can be felt deeply, and perhaps differently.
Are there any upcoming projects or themes that you're excited to explore in your future artworks, and if so, what draws you to these ideas?
I am particularly drawn to exploring the ethical complexities of humanity’s influence on the natural world, inspired by Charles Darwin’s The Variation of Animals and Plants under Domestication.. His work highlights how humans shape and control nature, raising urgent questions that I continually return to: What are the moral consequences of our impact? How do we balance progress with responsibility, curiosity with restraint?
In my upcoming projects, I want to delve deeper into these tensions—between dominance and interdependence. Through my paintings, I aim to create reflective spaces that invite viewers to consider not only our power over nature but also our potential to coexist respectfully within it. These themes resonate deeply with my ongoing inquiry into survival, adaptation, and the quiet ways both humans and ecosystems endure.
How do you hope your art will impact viewers, and what message or emotion do you aspire to convey through your creative expressions?
I hope my art creates a space where viewers can slow down and engage with complex emotions and ideas that often go unspoken—vulnerability, resilience, and our intertwined relationship with nature. Rather than prescribing solutions or offering direct statements, my work invites quiet reflection and emotional resonance. I want people to feel both comforted and unsettled, to experience a gentle tension between fragility and strength.
By using accessible, almost childlike imagery, I aim to disarm viewers, opening a space where layered ethical questions can surface subtly. My intention is to evoke empathy and curiosity, encouraging a deeper consideration of how we live alongside the natural world, how we carry personal histories, and how we survive in the face of uncertainty.
Ultimately, I aspire for my art to be a proposition rather than a conclusion—a place where complexity can be held and where the coexistence of vulnerability and endurance is acknowledged and honoured.
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