Sébastien Léon does not think in categories, nor does he fit into them. He is a multifaceted creator whose practice takes the most familiar mediums, materials and forms and finds in them something fundamentally different. “Each creation acts as an act of discovery: an object that is revealed through transformation,” reads his bio, and in his hands, resin can become leather or stone and glass can metamorphose into mist or folds of fabric or lava. So, too, has the French-born, New York-based artist transformed himself from creative director to designer and artist. He is variously described as a sculptor, musician, furniture designer and installation artist.
Léon first experimented with blown glass in 2019 when working on a lighting collection shown at Design Miami, and he describes the medium as a shift—sand mutated by fire, then formed by air into something solid. This arc, from one state of matter to another, is a useful description of his general approach to his work, which includes not only physical objects but also sound works. He has collaborated on projects with the Dallas Symphony Orchestra, released three solo records, built a permanent sound sculpture for the Orange County Museum of Art, and created immersive sound environments around the world.
(Later this month, he’ll debut a new sound for NOMAD Hamptons, the first in an upcoming series of interconnected pieces. Title The echo of our dreamsshe mixes sculpture, sound and technology to explore the boundaries between natural and artificial forms of communication.)
His work has been shown at the Palais de Tokyo, the New Museum, the Palazzo della Triennale and the UCCA in Beijing, and his commercial collaborations have extended to Audi, Samsung, Audemars Piguet and Krug, among others. Recently, he completed an 18-month stay at Ralph Pucci sculpture studio in Manhattan, resulting in a new body of work, “Inca City.”
The series of otherworldly lighting and furnishings takes its name from the Angustus Labyrinthus on Mars—a networked complex of geologic ridges so geometrically precise that they looked like the ruins of a lost civilization in images sent back to Earth by the Mariner 9 probe. Alas, the resemblance was an apparent coincidence, but for Leo, this possible misread opened a door to what he calls speculative archeology—the fabrication of relics from a civilization that never was.
The works in “Inca City” are the result of the material philosophy that Léon has refined throughout his career and the experimentation that has driven that career forward. During the residency, he built and refined the pieces on display in Ralph Pucci’s workshops, where he had access to master craftsmen and the tools to work with materials ranging from clay and resin to metal. The Observer caught up with Léon after the show opened to discuss what it means to excavate a civilization that never existed, why function might be its own kind of illusion, and what sound has to do with sculpture.
Your work encompasses a wide range of materials and techniques. Is that multiplicity driven by a search for the right medium, or is the movement between materials itself the point?
More than anything, I think it’s because every idea requires its own medium. Glass, steel, resin, sound, etc., each carries a very specific behavior and symbolic weight. What interests me is how far I can push those behaviors until the material begins to contradict itself: resin that reads like leather, mirrors that dissolve into transparency, wool rugs that feel like furry terrain. My exploration between materials is really a way of staying in that volatile territory that shifts perception.
Your sound works are incredibly immersive. How does your engagement with sound relate to your work with physical materials?
Sound is probably the most direct way I think about presence. It is invisible, and yet it completely shapes the way we experience space. It suggests a memory, an emotion, a place, even a form of materiality. Every sculpture, for me, is something that emits: light, reflection, tension, or even a kind of silent atmosphere. I approach a light sculpture the same way I approach a solid sculpture. They all have a voice, something to say, a role to fulfill.
“Inca City” at Ralph Pucci International feels suspended between abstraction and something almost geological, like artifacts from a civilization that may have existed elsewhere. It has a strong sci-fi undertone. Was this intentional?
“Inca City” is a real geological formation on Mars, resembling the ruins of a lost city. It became the starting point of the exhibition, which I developed as a kind of speculative archaeology, creating artifacts from a civilization that never existed. The sci-fi aspect is definitely there, but not in a futuristic sense; it’s more about shifting time and location altogether. I’m interested in imagining a different physical world, almost a set of parallel conditions where matter follows a slightly altered logic. Glass can behave like stone, surfaces can shift between darkness and reflection, and materials can grow into their final shapes instead of being cut to fit.
When you create functional pieces, do you treat them differently than your more speculative works?
What interests me is when a piece fulfills a use but at the same time destabilizes your perception of what it is. A table that seems to float, or a mirror that behaves in unexpected ways. I integrate the function like a magic trick, like an illusion. So I see my work as a continuum where function becomes a kind of entry point into a more ambiguous experience. I’m often asked if my work belongs to the world of design or art, but I don’t think in those terms.
On your website, you ask the question “Design or Transmutation?” What are you trying to convey with this idea?
“Design” broadly means solving a problem through the creation of an object, but I’m more interested in transforming the nature of the material itself. Transmutation suggests a deeper, almost alchemical shift. What I hope to foster is a moment where the viewer is no longer sure whether they are looking at something familiar or something that has been radically altered. In the word “transmutation,” there is a notion of magic, of turning lead into gold, and invention, all of which resonate with me.
There seems to be an element of world building in your work. Is there a line connecting these parts?
There is definitely some form of world building, but it’s not narrative in the literal sense. It is more like fragments of a larger system that continues to grow to reveal itself. Each creation, each exhibition, becomes a way to introduce new elements, be they sculptural, sonic or even olfactory. Over time, the idea is that this environment will slowly reveal itself as a set of conditions for us to discover. “Inca City” is slowly being revealed to me and to everyone.
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