• Harry Anderson is Bound for Glory

    Written by Natalia Muntean

    “It says Bound for Glory because whenever I want to give up all this, thinking maybe I should do something more stable with my life, my family is always backing me and telling me to just keep on going. So that's for them,” Harry Anderson explains, gesturing to his work Jag är någonting på spåren, mamma (I’m on to something, Mum). The sculpture is part of his latest show, Narrow is the Path, at Saskia Neuman Gallery in Stockholm, on display until February 15th.

    Anderson has explored various forms of media, including comic strips created with one of his sisters, painting, and writing a novel Livet är inte alltid Hawaii (Life is not always Hawaii) inspired by his experiences in his twenties. He also engages in embroidery and shares humorous photos on Instagram with another sibling, where they impersonate famous characters or personalities, such as the duo from Absolutely Fabulous or Marina Abramović and Ulay’s encounter at MoMA.

    Anderson’s curiosity leads him to unexpected places, weaving personal narratives, symbolic elements, and cultural references into his work. “I walk everywhere and during my walks, I often notice things that catch my attention, and I write them down in my notes. For example, I watched as they emptied the recycling bins - lifting them and opening the bottom so everything just falls out. I found that process really interesting and wrote it down. Other times, it’s about observing people. I might see someone acting in a certain way and start wondering what they’re thinking about.”

    Poetry, music and films also serve as sources that feed him with ideas, such being the case with Kaddish, a poem by Allen Ginsberg as a tribute to his mother and her struggles with mental illness. “I love that poem. He wrote it two years after her death, and it’s like a story about her life, but all scrambled together. There’s one part in the poem that focuses on eyes, and the theme of eyes and being watched felt like the perfect connection for this work.”

    Reflecting on his creative process, Anderson says, “I know I like to be in control of my work. I think being around fewer people when I create stuff is better for me and for the work.”

    Natalia Muntean: Can you elaborate on your liking to be in control of your work?
    Harry Anderson:     When I'm in the studio and doing my pieces or my art, I'm in total control. It's just me, and that's a really freeing feeling. But the nice thing with ceramics is that I can't have full control, because when I put them in the kiln, with the glaze on, I have no control. You can do a lot of tests like using this clay and this glaze, and it turned out this way. And then I do the exact things again, and it turns completely different.

    NM: How is that for you? 
    HA:     It's really nice. I enjoy the unexpected, and also the lack of control. In the early years of my career, when I was painting, there was no moment of surprise. I still love painting and I think I look at painters more than sculptors when I work. But just that element of surprise or lack of control really evokes something in me - just opening the kiln in my studio and seeing all the different ways the sculptures change.

    NM: When working on an exhibition, how do you decide which ones to keep?
    HA:     It’s usually a quick decision. When I’m building a sculpture, I already know if it’s working. If I don’t like the expression on a face, I just take it off and start again. Sometimes I leave pieces I’m unsure about, thinking the glaze might save them. But if I’m stuck, I’ll call friends on FaceTime for their input.

    NM: Going back to your beginnings, you studied painting in Copenhagen. How did you make the transition to ceramics?
    HA:     Yes, and I love painting. I really do. But when I was painting, it was really lonely. I was standing there with myself, painting and listening to music. Every morning, I walked past the ceramics where they were sitting in the ceramic studio, and they all looked like they had a really nice time. They were sitting together, drinking tea, music playing, and chatting. I always thought that seemed so nice. One day, I just popped my head in and asked if I could join. The school wasn't strict, you could do whatever you wanted, so I started with ceramics and thought, this is amazing. In the beginning, I did a lot of vases.

    NM: Are you not really okay with being lonely or by yourself?
    HA:     I know it's like a thin line. Where I'm working now, it's a ceramic studio, so people come in and make things just for fun, for example. They always roll in at about three o'clock in the afternoon, so I get some company for the last few hours, and that is nice. I don't know why, but working with ceramic doesn't feel isolating like painting does.

    NM: What does the physicality of working with ceramics give you compared to writing, painting, or embroidery? Why do you think it’s different?
    HA:     I think the main difference is that I’m building something three-dimensional, so I get to see it from every angle. Also, when you work with clay, you buy it in bulk, like 10 kilos, and then you just take layers off. It’s nice to see how something disappears and something else appears. With painting, it’s just paint tubes everywhere. You can see your work happening, but it feels different.
    Now that I’ve been working so long with ceramics, I really like the environment of it. In painting, I also had a lot of other artists to compare myself to, which you should never do. I felt like I was just making bad copies of artists I love, like stealing a tree from one of them and putting it in my painting, so everyone could see it. I don’t know if they actually could, but I could, and that’s what mattered.
    But while working for Narrow is the Path, I started painting again at home—just small paintings of my walk home. It’s been about capturing sundown and how the colours change. I’ve been painting a lot of silhouettes of streetlights, street signs, or maybe some rooftops.

    NM: How has that been?
    HA:     Really nice and really hard because I get imposter syndrome when it comes to painting. I don't know why, but I had an idea that towards the end of this show when I was finishing all these sculptures, I wanted to have a painting as a backdrop to one of the sculptures, but it didn't work out. But I think there's something there to work on.

    NM: You don't feel the same with sculptures?
    HA:     No, I don't, and I don't know why. I think it's a comparison thing. There are a lot of great sculptors out there, and I can look at her work and think, I want to do that, but it doesn’t come naturally to me. The same goes for painting; when I look at what I create compared to others, it's different. When I make sculptures, I tend to look at old Greek sculptures or statues of famous people in our environment, for example. One of the sculptures here is inspired by Margareta Krook’s (Swedish actress) sculpture at Dramaten; you can go up to it and put your hand on the stomach, and it's warm. People are drawn to it. Because it’s a real person, I feel it’s strange that everyone takes liberties and gets invasive. If I were to have a sculpture of me that everyone was touching, I would feel weird about it. So that’s why I created my version of her, with a lot of eyes on her head.

    NM: Can we talk about “Narrow is the Path”? I know that this is a verse from the Bible, and can you tell me what inspired you to create it? I know it's the pull and push between chaos and structure.
    HA:     Exactly. I think what inspired me is I've been living a life full of routines. They work perfectly in my working life with the sculptures and creative endeavours. But the question is, how does it work for my personal life, and what does it take from this structured way? What do I miss out on? The narrow path contrasts with the broad way, filled with temptations. I rely on routines because I live my life in extremes—100 or 0 per cent. Without structure, I’d fall into temptations. I now choose what I want to be 100 per cent at, but I can also get really tired of being that way, like a machine. So the inspiration was to take part in my environment - not that I went out to do something I had never done before, but just to open my eyes and my mind to what happens around me. I walk everywhere, and I started to take in my surroundings. For instance, when I walk to my studio during rush hour when everyone is going to work, it feels like I am the only one walking that way while everyone is coming towards me to go to work. That’s why there are a lot of eyes in this piece; eyes are a theme. They represent, perhaps, people looking at me, or me looking at people. I also noticed that birch trees had a bark texture that resembled eyes, so the birch tree looked like an eye watching me. That’s where the form of the eyes originated from. I've also taken inspiration from sculptures on the houses and sidewalks; they always seem to look down at you. It’s not a sense of being watched; it’s just that everyone is there, and everyone has their own life. There are many sprinkled themes in this exhibition.

    NM: Was there a moment when breaking the routine brought you something surprising?
    HA:     It's hard to point out one thing or moment, but I just think the good thing it has brought me is the realisation that everything doesn't have to be this structured. I don't know how long that's going to last, especially now that the exhibition is finished, and I have nothing really to do. But change is good. And for me, it just helped me to realise that everything isn't dangerous.

    NM: Did you think that before?
    HA:     Not dangerous, but like, if my primary instinct is, “I don’t want to do this,” and it’s something normal people do, then maybe it’s something I should do. I can't live on this narrow path, because I know exactly how my life is going to be.

    NM: If we can stay on this idea of chaos and structure, how do you manage to express that through the sculptures?
    HA:     A lot of people see my works as really sad or melancholic, I see them as hopeful. As if they say the worst is over; you don’t know what’s going to happen next. I have a lot of chains in this exhibition, inspired by the chains they use to empty recycling bins and one of the sculptures has a chain in its head. I see that piece as representing the moment when you exhale because it’s been emptied of everything, so it’s a hopeful piece. I called it Som snö i en sommardike (in translation, Snow in a Summer Ditch) because of a phrase I heard in a documentary and it signifies something that’s been left behind, something that shouldn’t be there but still lingers, like snow in a ditch that takes forever to melt in summer. It’s indicative of change. The sculpture itself represents quick change, but the name reflects slow change.

    NM: Fascinating where artists’ minds go. I wouldn’t have thought about it like that. But going back to what you said about people seeing sadness in the expressions while you wanted to convey hope…
    HA:     I quite like talking about my work, but you’ll always have someone who thinks otherwise. And that’s fine. When I look at art, I get a certain feeling. Even if I read the artist’s explanation or hear what it’s about, it doesn’t change my feeling. It doesn’t make it worse or better in any way. People can think what they want. I can explain what the works are about, sure, but I think that’s part of it and it’s fun. I guess people think the sculptures are sad because they look down or seem miserable. I don’t mind; I’m not here to say they’ve got it all wrong. They’re hopeful to me.

    NM: Were you always like this when it comes to your work, or—
    HA:     I think I’ve always been like this but when I first started working with art, there was this idea that you should never explain what your work was about or what inspired it. Maybe 14 years ago, when I saw Karin Mamma Andersson’s exhibition at the Sven-Harrys Konstmuseum called Stargazer. She openly included works from other artists that inspired her. Seeing that was a relief, it felt so refreshing. Being open about her influences made it feel safe in some way.

    I’ve always been a storyteller; I tell stories through my work, so I don’t mind talking about them now. If you’d asked me some years ago, I probably would’ve answered differently. But now I believe in involving people instead of excluding them. It’s more fun for both of us if I share those stories and include people in the process. And this is important, not just in art but in life generally. In the last five years, I’ve found it easier to have conversations and to be more open. I think part of that shift is because I realised my work didn’t have a story to talk about before. That created a feeling of exclusion, both for me and the viewer. I think I see myself as someone afraid of conflict but I’ve realised it’s not so bad. The worst thing is, you end up having a tough but meaningful conversation with someone you care about. And that’s still better than avoiding it. Not having those conversations is worse because things just brew over time.

    NM: I agree with that. Can you tell me about I Am the Machine Your Parents Warned You About?
    HA:     Yes, this piece is a perfect example of how my mind works. If we’re tying it to the idea of the narrow path, this routine-based life, it’s humorous and self-critical work. It stems from the phrase, “I’m the guy your parents warned you about,” someone parents wouldn’t want you to end up with. I changed “guy” to “machine” because when I’m working, I feel like a machine: waking up, eating my porridge, going to the gym, staying focused, and not letting anyone in.
    So, in a humorous and self-critical way, I thought, “Yeah, this probably isn’t the kind of person a parent would want for you.” But that’s also part of my work: even though the sculptures might look melancholic, there’s humour in some of them. And even though the work feels melancholic, that’s not how I feel, it’s just something I’ve been exploring.

    NM: How important is humour for you?
    HA:     I think it’s important because I just think it’s generally important in life. I’ve seen a lot of Aki Kaurismäki movies. They’re all sad, and melancholic, but there’s a lot of humour in them, and they always end with the lovers together in the end. So it’s a positive ending, and that’s inspiring. You can find the humour in the melancholy.

    NM: I can relate to that. I read an interview from 2019 where you mentioned Chet Baker and Amy Winehouse as tragic figures. How do these themes continue to evolve in your current exhibition? Why do you think you’re drawn to melancholic narratives?
    HA:     I think I’m drawn to it because I can relate to it, and I feel inspired when I listen to that music or watch those movies. I think it’s a part of reality that’s always present. I don’t think it’s about me in my head; it’s more about the way I present myself. I guess I don’t feel sad all the time, but I think that’s interesting.

    I don’t listen to jazz that much but what interests me about jazz are the musicians and their lives. They’re good at something, and sometimes they’re excellent, but they often have this downfall. Some people manage to overcome part of it, but some tragically die. I find it inspiring because—well, I don’t know if I’m explaining this well—but life is fragile. I can understand how they get there. I don’t know this personally, but I feel they give a lot of themselves artistically, and people just want more from them. I’m not saying that happens to me, but I understand it. 

    NM: When you explore themes like tragedy or melancholy, are you revisiting those feelings, or is it a way to distance yourself from them?
    HA:     Now, it’s more revisiting, but it doesn’t affect me. I don’t take it home with me. I see it as another form of inspiration, like looking at a birch tree. It’s something I can draw from, but I don’t carry it with me. I think that’s good. For me, it’s almost fictionalised. Even if I’m inspired by real events or people, by the time it moves from reality to inspiration, it becomes something between fiction and reality. It’s not something I adapt directly; I just take from it. My inspiration is really wide, it could come from music, movies, literature, or even recycling bins. I think it’s fun to look at things and consider: what if you see it from another perspective?

    NM: Do you also draw from personal experiences?
    HA:     Yes, of course, but I think of everything as buckets. There’s a bucket for personal experiences, one for music, another for books. I take from all the buckets. So, while I have one piece that’s officially a self-portrait, I could name five others that are, in some way, self-portraits too. I’ve sprinkled pieces of myself into all of them.

    NM: Can you tell me a bit about mythology and its influence on your work?
    HA:     There are three that are close to me. I made one of the self-portraits—it’s me, like Medusa. The main element about Medusa is that anyone who looked at her would be petrified. I’ve taken this idea of turning to stone because, as I watch things, I write them down and freeze them in time; this becomes a moment in time for me. The sculptures are ways of capturing memories of inspiration that I’ve frozen in time.

    There’s another myth about Leda and the Swan, a story about a really beautiful woman named Leda. Zeus, admiring her beauty, transformed himself into a swan and made love to her. All the sculptures depict them embracing. However, I read a poem by Yeats that describes everything as rape, portraying Leda as a victim. I created a piece called After the Swan, showing a woman turning her head away, all in a black, shiny glaze. There is a swan feather on her shoulder, what’s left of that encounter.

    As a child, I remember my grandma had a sculpture called Amor and Psyche. Instead of replicating it, I created a piece with a person and a large shadow behind them. It’s up to the viewer to decide—who is Amor, and who is Psyche?

    So that’s how mythology got worked into this. I think about those things, and then I try to think about them some other way.

    NM: You mentioned in another interview that you don’t seek perfection in your work. Does this still hold? How does it shape your approach to materials and technique?
    HA:     For me, perfection is everyone seeing the sculpture and immediately recognising it as anatomically correct. But I don’t approach them that way because I know I can’t create typical perfection. I realise I have my own version of perfection, so I don’t put out just anything. It has to be perfected in some way for me to show it without being embarrassed.

    NM: In your novel, you explored the notion of the tortured artist. Did your perspective on this change?
    HA:     At 20, I felt tortured, but I don’t subscribe to the idea of the tortured artist now. If I were one, I wouldn’t get anything done. The image of a tortured artist requires that inspiration must come, and they have to drop everything and be left alone. That’s not how it is for me. I'm lucky to have inspiration all the time, or if I don’t, I just make something.

    NM: Are there any other media or techniques that you’d like to explore?
    HA:     I’m really into embroidery. After finishing an exhibition, I often feel empty, but ideas come. Back in art school, my teacher encouraged us to explore our ideas and see where they’d go. This feels fresh, and I’m considering incorporating embroidery into my work. I’m not sure how yet, maybe creating backdrop paintings or placing sculptures on embroidered pieces to see how it turns out.

    NM: And my last question: what message would you like people to take from Narrow is the Path?
    HA:     Oh, that’s a hard question, and I haven’t really thought about it. Maybe just that I did a good job. It’s been hard but nice work. Since I see the works as kind of hopeful, I hope they leave with this feeling.

    Photos courtesy of the artist, Saskia Neuman Gallery and Carl Henrik Tillberg, portrait taken by Hugh Gordon.

  • Andrea Tsang about ceramics, meaningful design and The Bear

    Written by Natalia Muntean

    Andrea Tsang, founder of the recently opened Studio ANDREA TSANG, transitioned from fast fashion to ceramics in search of an answer to a pressing question: “When we design something, should it just be for design’s sake, or can it last and truly connect with people?” For Andrea, ceramics provided the solution. “When I see people holding a coffee cup I’ve made, they’re not just using it as an object - they appreciate it in their life. It’s about connecting the object to their everyday moments.” Over time, Andrea’s pieces have evolved with refined techniques and consistent quality, but her focus remains steadfast: creating timeless objects that blend East Asian craftsmanship with Scandinavian functionalism. From her coffee cups, born out of her daily hand-drip ritual, to the candle holder featured in The Bear, Andrea's journey embodies a commitment to meaningful design.

    Natalia Muntean: Tell me about your beginnings - how did you start working with ceramics?
    Andrea Tsang:     I studied visual art in Hong Kong and then landed a job as a design assistant at a handbag company. Over ten years, I designed various fashion accessories. Before the pandemic, I worked for a Dutch fast-fashion company as a design manager, enjoying the creativity and travel but feeling disillusioned with the rapid pace of the industry. When the pandemic hit, I was headhunted by a tech company for an innovation team, but the travel and company politics left me feeling unfulfilled. I realised I wanted to do something different. I’d been thinking about going to a pottery studio for a while. In Shanghai, I used to pass a studio and think, “Maybe this weekend, I’ll go there,” but I never did. During the pandemic, I finally called them, and they were open. When I went, it was just me and one teacher in a big studio. It wasn’t my first time on the wheel—I had tried it in university—but back then, it didn’t mean much to me. This time, it felt different. It was just me, my hands, and the clay.
    After two classes, I still couldn’t centre the clay properly, but I was determined to practice. I spent a whole week in the studio, morning to evening until I could control the clay with my hands. I felt so happy. I started watching YouTube videos at night and couldn’t wait to get back to the studio the next day. That’s how it started.
    Later, I moved to Stockholm and. I thought, “Why don’t I give myself a break?” I quit my job and focused on ceramics. During this time, I made my first coffee cup and shared it on Instagram. People started asking how they could buy my work, so I set up a website and an online shop. That’s how Studio ANDREA TSANG began.

    NM: You blend East Asian craftsmanship with Scandinavian functionalism. How do you balance these two pieces?
    AT:     Where I grew up, in Hong Kong, we have mixed influences from England, Europe, America, and Japan, which have greatly influenced me. I’ve always admired Scandinavian design for its simplicity, minimalism, and the thoughtfulness of its functionality. However, I find it a little too cold for my taste. In contrast, Chinese and Asian cultures emphasize warmth and inviting elements to foster human connection. Therefore, I aim to create a balance between minimalist functionalism and the aesthetics of Chinese and Asian culture. The texture of an object can tell its own story—for instance, a bowl may appear simple at first glance, but upon closer inspection, its unique details, such as trimming marks, reveal that it was handmade.

    I believe that the craftsmanship approaches in Asian cultures, like Japanese or Chinese pottery, differ significantly from European methods. I am particularly fascinated by Japanese pottery because of their dedication to perfecting their craft and focusing their lives on creating the ideal cup. This mentality inspires me. While I’m not limited to making just one cup, the mentality of how they treat craftsmanship is really fascinating, and that's what I want to inject into our work as well.

    NM: Can you describe the journey from your initial sketches to the final glaze? Do you let yourself be guided by intuition, or do you have a plan?
    AT:     I don’t usually sketch things at first, like the cups, for example. However, for pieces like the vases, I create some brief sketches at the beginning. What I love about pottery is that I can just mould them with my hands using the clay. Those pieces are one of a kind, but for more functional, everyday objects, I typically refine the form until I'm satisfied with the proportions and the overall look. After that, I create actual proportion sketches that include measurements, since I need to refer to specific sizes when I make them. When someone else is assisting me in the studio, we go back to those sketches, which we call our “Bible.” We document everything, including how thick the handle is, because even though it’s handmade, we still need precise measurements. For one-of-a-kind pieces, I rely more on sketches and then let my intuition guide me as I work with my hands. When it comes to details, like the handle, I don’t have specific size references, but the final touches are guided by my intuition. So, my creative process involves throwing the clay by hand on the wheel, refining it through a few rounds, and then creating a more precise sketch for production. For moulds, I also start with a sketch and then ask someone to help 3D print it for me, which I then use to make a plastic mould. It’s different approaches for different pieces.

    NM: Do you have any rituals before you go into the studio? Like, to get yourself into the mood?
    AT:     Yes! You can’t just go into the studio and start working. First, you have to have a coffee. Coffee is essential! So I sip my coffee and make a mental note of what I need to accomplish that day. I take it slow at first, but I usually start by organising and cleaning the studio. A lot of times, we leave things out from the night before, like brushes that need to be put away. So, yes, I always begin with a cup of coffee - it definitely sets the tone before getting to work!

    NM: Your collections, Terra, Mizu and Amphora, have distinct inspirations. Can you share a bit about these narratives and their names?
    AT:     Terra is inspired by terracotta. It embodies earthy tones, using colour glazes that match the original clay texture. We don’t use a high fire for this. It’s very stable, with a firing temperature of around 1220 degrees, making everything durable while still offering warm earth tones. The concept behind Terra is about hope and ease of integration into everyday life. For example, if you buy one bowl, it will seamlessly blend with other ceramics you may already have. The colour tones are designed to mix and match, allowing you to create a cohesive table setting without needing identical pieces. This makes it versatile and user-friendly for daily life. In our Terra collection, we also offer tableware, espresso cups, and coffee essentials. Recently, we developed kitchenware like an olive oil bottle and matching utensils. I particularly love the olive oil bottle; it’s entirely handmade and has a sculptural quality with a smoothly designed spout. We’ve invested a lot of time in making it work perfectly. The form features simple lines and warm tones. Then we have Mizu - this collection started three years ago when I spent time with my family in Hong Kong. I wanted to create something less precise, focusing on flow, which is central to pottery. It’s about finding beauty in that organic, less structured approach. I found a lovely material, black porcelain, with a beautiful texture that resonates with this concept of life being more about flow than precision. Mizu, which means water in Japanese, embodies this idea. The collection incorporates elements of Ikebana, the Japanese art of flower arrangement. Each piece, made from delicate black porcelain, has its own unique texture, as every item is handcrafted. The goal is to help people appreciate life a little more, allowing them to create beautiful flower arrangements and find calmness in the making process. Finally, we have Amphora, which is also made from stoneware. Amphora is inspired by ancient Greek vessels, which I encountered at a museum. I was fascinated by their dual purpose—functional objects for storing wine or water that have now become decorative items. My work aims to explore this balance between functionality and decoration. I initially designed a candle holder as part of the Amphora collection, which brings a more commercial aspect to this venture, reflecting my desire to provide unique yet usable pieces for the home.

    NM: Tell me about the candle holder that was on “The Bear” - how did that happen?
    AT:     The producer and set designer contacted me in February. She called at 9 PM, and at first, I thought it might be a scam. But when I answered, she asked about placing an urgent order and mentioned emailing and messaging me on Instagram. The request was for 50 candle holders and plates for the new season of The Bear! She wanted the candle holder to be hollow so it could also function as a vase. Although three weeks was a tight timeline, I worked every day to complete the order on time. Afterwards, I realised it was a brilliant idea to make the candle holder hollow, and I designed it to fit a candle insert perfectly. Now it works as both a vase and a candle holder, and it’s been selling really well.

    NM: How did it feel to see it in the show?
    AT:     It gave me goosebumps! The first time I saw it on TV, I was so excited because I had been a big fan of the show since season one. I was just over the moon to see my work on the show!

    NM: It sounds like serendipity.
    AT:     Yes, it feels like it! It was such a big moment for me, and I couldn’t believe it. Knowing my work was on the show was a huge validation, and I was really happy!

    NM: What drew you to clay as a medium, and how does it differ creatively and emotionally from, say, fabric and fashion design?
    AT:     When I was in fashion, I would do sketches, but it’s interesting because when I started making handbags, I realised I had to draw them to scale. If I gave the factory just a nice artistic sketch, they wouldn’t follow it correctly. They might take liberties, and the finished product wouldn’t resemble my original design. In fashion, I relied on someone else to create the sample, which meant waiting for their work. But with clay, I can spend an entire week or day making the sample myself. I don’t always have precise sketches. I usually start with an idea and then work on the wheel, doing several rounds until I feel satisfied with the piece. After that, I create actual sketches for later production. This process feels much more hands-on and fulfilling compared to fashion, which is why I find a great sense of satisfaction in it.

    NM: What does success look like for you as a ceramicist and as a business owner?
    AT:     That's an interesting question. I think that when you’re a ceramicist, you want to try all different things. You might even want to make your own clay and glaze from scratch. However, as a business owner, you need to find a good balance and prioritise because time is limited. I've realised that if you want to truly be successful, you need to have experiences across the board. But now, as a business owner, I also appreciate seeking help from professionals who are specialists - whether they’re experts in glaze or moulds. I love the process of creating, but as a business owner, I don't have the luxury of time. The next step for me is to start looking for someone to help with specific tasks, such as moulds, to increase the quality of the work and also enhance productivity. That's the most important thing. But I'm still enjoying the journey as a ceramicist because that's what keeps me going. If I just focused on the business side, I would lose the authenticity and something I believed in from the very beginning.

    NM: So your success is about balance?
    AT:     Exactly! If I were to switch completely from being a ceramicist to a businesswoman, I'd just pay someone to produce my work, and that's not what I want. I still enjoy creating and showing people how I make things. I’m really happy to share my experiences with others, like how I made my journey happen. Finding that balance with freedom is crucial for me.

    NM: What would your dream project be, and what’s next for you?
    AT:     I think it would involve collaborating with an interior company or a small boutique hotel to design a more homey, tailored environment with my pieces and tableware. I’m excited to express the Andrea Tsang aesthetic and style, not just through individual objects but through the entire dining room experience. I want to cover the whole aesthetic and art direction together. Before, I was focused on the object, but now, if you see our space, our showroom is more like a different room design. So I would definitely want to move from product design and ceramics design to art direction and interior design. Yes, because I think everything is a whole. It's not just separate pieces; everything should look harder as a whole. When people step in, they shouldn’t be distracted by one thing. They should feel the entire environment, feel warmth, and feel invited. I think that’s the most important thing, and that’s what I want to bring to people.

  • photography Annabel Elston
    fashion Josefine Englund

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    all clothes Sugar y Sal
    shoes Model's Own

    The Dull Flame Sugar y Sal is Breaking Boundaries Through Fashion of Desire, Interview with Byrina Yu

    Written by Natalia Muntean by Sandra Myhrberg

    Sugar y Sal blends boldness, history, and politics into gender-fluid designs that challenge the traditional boundaries of menswear and womenswear. the brand, born out of personal experience and observation, promotes inclusivity and self-expression through fashion. from its unofficial start in 2019 amidst the challenges of covid-19, to its breakthrough collection in 2023, Sugar y Sal has steadily grown into a symbol of brave, sustainable, and globally inspired fashion.

    Byrina Yu, founder of sugar y sal, talks about her motivation to create the brand, how politics and fashion are related, and her hopes to bring more acceptance into the world.“I WANT PEOPLE TO WEAR IT REGARDLESS OF AGE OR GENDER, AS LONG AS THEY HAVE AN OPEN HEART AND ACCEPTANCE OF THOSE AROUND THEM.”

    Natalia Muntean: Could you tell me a bit about your brand? How did it start? And what does the name represent?
    Byrina Yu:     It’s Sugar y Sal, a mix of English and Spanish. The Spanish part is because my husband is from Spain, and he has been my muse for every collection since I was in university. I thought, why not use that as part of the name? The brand was founded in 2019, but we didn’t officially release any collections at first because of COVID and all the bureaucracy went through, moving between Spain and China. The first collection actually came out around 2023-2024. The reason I started the brand is because a lot of my friends are gender-fluid, and I’ve listened to their stories. I’m not one of them, but I’ve seen the social pressure they deal with, especially from their families and in places like China and other countries. I feel like fashion and beauty are ways people can express themselves without pressure. If you try to debate concepts like gender fluidity, people can get defensive or angry. But when you talk about it through something beautiful, like art or fashion, it’s easier for people to see it and accept it, and maybe understand a bit more about how others think. For me, fashion is a way to communicate across different societies, and that’s the motivation behind the brand. Every collection touches on menswear, history, and even politics, especially with how tense things are in the world right now. So many issues come from people not accept- ing each other. So Sugar y Sal is really about communi- cation between different groups of people.

    NM: Communicating through clothes - that’s beautiful! So was it a conscious decision to create 163 non-gendered clothing?
    BY:     Yes!

    NM: Could you tell me a bit about your background?
    BY:     I started university in Kingston, London, where I did my bachelor’s in fashion design. In my second year, I shifted to menswear because I’ve always been drawn to its history, the manufacturers, and all the details. After that, I continued studying menswear at Westminster Uni- versity for my master’s. Then I studied visual merchandis- ing because, by 2018, I wanted my own brand. I felt that studying visual merchandising could help me create a physical shop—not just to make money, but to commu- nicate with customers through the space itself. It’s about more than just shelves; it’s about the message you want to share with them.

    NM: Is having a physical space important to you?
    BY:     Ideally, yes. Eventually, I hope to have one because I think online shopping distances you from people. In a physical shop, people can experience everything—you know, they can smell, touch, and hear what you want to express. You also get to hear their feedback, which is so important. We always want to communicate and understand people—that’s our goal.

    NM: You said that in your second year of studies you became more interested in menswear and shifted focus. Where did that interest come from, and why did that change happen?
    BY:     I was studying fashion design, and mostly everyone was focused on womenswear. I spent two years in China, in Shanghai, and I felt like
    everyone was doing the same thing. So I started wondering why people weren’t doing menswear, and why menswear trends were so much smaller compared to womenswear. When I moved to Kingston, I spent a lot of time in the library and discovered that, historically, men wore high heels, corsets, lace, and vibrant colours—more fashionable than women at times. It was tied to the fact that men had more power and money than women back then. That got me thinking. People today might not understand the history of menswear or gender roles, and maybe that’s why there’s discrimination against gender-fluid people. I realised that in the future, people might look back at our current discrimination and think it was ridiculous, just like how we look back at past racial discrimination. So I hope people can see through my collection that terms like ‘menswear’ and ‘womenswear’ are just labels. There shouldn’t be borders. Learning about the history of menswear really opened my eyes, and that’s why I decided to focus on it.

    NM: What do you believe sets Sugar y Sal apart from other brands in the industry?
    BY:     I don’t want to say we’re very special, because every brand is special in its own way, right? But for Sugar, every design is so connected to my personal experience and how I think about things, which makes each piece unique. That’s something I learned at university in London—your perspective needs to come through in your designs. I may not always have solutions to the problems I think about, but I always raise them in my work, and I believe that’s what sets us apart. Of course, other brands have their perspectives too, but that’s our difference.

    NM: Can you walk me through your creative process when working on a collection?
    BY:     Sure. I’m always sensitive to politics, and I keep up with the news. For this collection, I was inspired by a YouTuber who made a video about a terrorist attack in Barcelona a few years back. The people involved in the attacks were just normal individuals who turned to violence because they didn’t feel accepted by society. Their differences—being gay or Muslim—made them feel like outcasts, despite appearing to be treated equally. This got me thinking about how to incorporate these themes into my designs. I researched menswear history—how what we now see as feminine was once considered masculine. I wanted to play with that contrast and filter those elements into my patterns for menswear that’s more acceptable today. After that, I went through the typical design process: sketching, sourcing fabrics, focusing on sustainability and quality so the clothes last longer. In the studio, we create a lot of samples, but many don’t make the cut. That’s one of my biggest challenges as a designer—being very critical of my own work. Once we finalise the designs, we move on to styling, shooting, and putting together the collection. Even if some pieces look a bit crazy, I still include them because they’re part of the process and feel real. That’s my long creative journey.

    NM: I wouldn’t have expected this connection between politics and fashion. It’s very interesting. You mentioned politics as a main inspiration, but are there other avenues that inspire you?
    BY:     Of course, I love painting. Before I went to fashion design at university, I was always painting. My mom told me that when I was little, I would sketch while watching cartoons, and that’s when she realised I had a talent for it. In high school, I would casually join painting classes during the summer. When it came time to choose a university, I initially wanted to study painting, specifically oil painting. So, painting and art have always been a huge inspiration. For example, my 2025 Spring/Summer collection was inspired by the Spanish painter Salvador Dalí. I often combine elements from paintings, like colours or structures, with political themes. It can create a contrast. My next collection is very colourful—beachy with blues, yellows, and sunlight—but behind that brightness is a serious topic. That contrast is very much part of my brand, just like sugarcoating serious issues.

    NM: Do you have any rituals when you start sketching or working in the studio?
    BY:     I have a habit of collecting things online and on my phone when I travel. From time to time, I’ll look through it and print out what I’m drawn to at the moment. I scatter everything on the table without organising it, and then I see what inspires me. I’ll make a collage on the mood board and, once I get excited, I’ll start sketching non-stop. There’s no logic at that point. After sketching, I begin the process of elimination—that’s when the logic comes in.

    NM: Is that the hard part?
    BY:     It is for me. From a marketing point of view, we can’t have everything. Some things just don’t work together.

    NM: So you’re killing your darlings in a way. How does your cultural heritage influence your designs?
    BY:     I don’t want to sound too negative, but it gave me what I’d call “negative inspiration”—showing me what not to do. China is great—amazing food, and it raised me. Luckily, I was born in the 90s, when things were more open. We could still use Google when I was in school, so I had a little peek into the Western world. It made me realise how free and wild you could be. But then, in secondary school, everything got blocked—no Instagram, Facebook, nothing. That made me curious and rebellious. I kept using VPNs to access those things, and eventually, I went to London to study, just to get what they didn’t want to give me. That’s my biggest inspiration, along with politics. I believe creators need challenges in life to make great work—if you’re too comfortable, you might not get inspired. Also, on the positive side, in China, there’s an abundance of materials and manufacturers. That exposure has made me different from other designers.

    NM: You mentioned materials and sustainability. How important is sustainability for you in the design process, and how do you implement it in your collections?
    BY:     Sustainability is very important to my brand. But being a small brand, I can’t afford to be 100% sustainable in every way. I try to make careful choices with materials and manufacturing. We’re a slow fashion, made-to-order brand, which helps reduce waste by only producing what’s needed. While we might miss some sales opportunities, I’m willing to sacrifice that for sustainability as a business strategy. I’m always looking for ways to save energy, and water, and reduce pollution in manufacturing and fabric sourcing. Also, my dad runs an organic fruit farm, which we started in 2016. We’re the only 100% organic farm of its kind in China. It’s expensive, and the market for high-end fruit isn’t great, but my family believes it’s the right thing to do for the planet. This approach, both in our farming and in my brand, is about doing the right thing for ourselves and the world.

    NM: And speaking about the fashion industry, it’s very fast-moving at the moment. How do you balance trying to stay true to your brand’s identity while also needing to make a profit?
    BY:     I’m not very successful yet, so I don’t know if my method will work, but my plan is to make-to-order and lower costs as much as possible. For example, we negotiate with fabric suppliers, buying only a few metres and stocking up when prices drop— but not too much. We only have two workers in the studio, and I carefully plan their hours to avoid wasting time and energy, because every penny counts. We have fewer costs than other brands; I handle all the design, and my cousin, who’s a graphic designer, helps me. With our savings, we can have a bigger profit margin but still keep slow fashion in focus. We hope our message spreads through word of mouth. I believe many, especially young people, want to support slow and sustainable fashion. So, by staying on this path, I hope we can find a balance.

    NM: What about the trends in the fashion industry? There are so many micro-trends lately. How do you balance those on the creative side?
    BY    : Trends always change, and if we chase them, we’ll always be behind. We’ll never be leaders that way. We’re a small brand, so we focus on what we believe in. I do love trendy things, but for business, we have a unique angle, and we need to find our own customers. I don’t want to attract the whole world, even 1% is enough. We think our gender-fluid, sustainable approach will find its place in the market without chasing trends.

    NM: Tell me a bit about your AW24 collection.
    BY:     The AW24 collection is very much a dance, and you can see that in the imagery of people modelling while dancing. It’s a contrast I wanted to highlight, reflecting the history of menswear. This collection is my first official statement for the brand, and it challenges the idea of why men or women should dress in a certain way. There’s a deliberate merge between genders, so when people see the collection, they might wonder: Is this menswear? Is this womenswear? Even in model selection, we aimed to blur the lines, sparking conversation around whether it really matters as long as it’s beautiful. We also played with contrasts in colour—black and white, shiny and matte—and used vegan leather as a sustainable option. There’s some blue in there too. Because we didn’t want the collection to feel too cold and because Sugar y Sal is about love, we added softer, gender-fluid colours like yellow, blue, and green, which are often associated with babies who don’t care if something is pink or not. We wanted to bring a genuine, fluid feeling to the collection.

    NM: And who do you see wearing Sugar y Sal? Can you paint a picture of the person you envision?
    BY:     I picture open-minded people, but not necessarily young. I love the idea of older people wearing bold pieces—people who don’t care what others think. I want anyone to wear it, whether a grandma or a 19-year-old boy. Age or gender doesn’t matter. What matters is that you embrace it, that you and the piece fit well together, with an open heart and acceptance.

    NM: You started the brand unofficially in 2019. How has it evolved over these five years?
    BY:     A lot has happened. We actually started in 2018 but didn’t release a collection until 2021, and that was only known to close friends. We faced setbacks because we didn’t understand certain things. Our first collection didn’t go well, and it was a learning process. At first, we were hesitant—trying to balance wearability and boldness— but that didn’t work. After those failures, we decided to fully embrace the gender-fluid, bold direction we wanted. Self-doubt is always part of my process, but we’ve become more confident in our vision. We’ve also learned that our market is more global than in China, where people are often restricted by fan-driven, money-oriented marketing. So, we focused on London, where we’ve found clarity in our design, statement, and audience. Over five years, we’ve discovered who we are and where we want to be.

    NM: What are your hopes and dreams for the brand’s future?
    BY    : It’s a big question! We joke about it sometimes, but I hope the brand lasts as long as I’m alive, even if it’s just a small store in a town. I want the spirit of Sugar y Sal to be remembered by a group of people. Maybe when I’m 80, I’ll still be sketching and spreading our ideas. Ideally, one day our ideas won’t be needed—because equality and acceptance will just exist. That’s the dream, but I know it’ll take time.

    photography Annabel Elston
    fashion Josefine Englund
    model Ami Nakako/ Bma Models
    special thanks to Marsh Hill and Black Pr London

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    all clothes Sugar y Sal
    shoes Model's Own

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