10 Questions With… Ceramicist Andile Dyalvane

Andile Dyalvane loves to reminisce, especially when it comes to sharing the evolution of his craft. On our call for this piece, he recalled his hometown Ngobozana near Qobo-Qobo in the Eastern Cape province of South Africa where he was born and raised, the smell of clay, and the familiarity of making objects from earth. But he also told me about his experience coming to Cape Town nearly 30 years ago and how both locales continue to shape his artistry.

A ceramicist whose oeuvre borders around crafting exquisite stories with clay—stretching across spirituality, cultural practices, colonialism, biomimicry or any other inspiration—Dyalvane has been creating large- and small-scale ceramics sculptures for two decades. While clay has been a major medium, he has also worked with bronze, wood, glass and other materials. Spirituality and ancestral connectivity is one of the most prevalent messages in Dyalvane’s works. He operates on the belief that he’s of service to his ancestors and that they have evidently played a role in shaping his practice, especially in the way he exhibits his collection. “I believe it’s my duty, it’s my purpose that my ancestors led me to be able to do this in this way so that we can remember and bring back dignity to our people,” Dyalvane says. “That’s why it’s important for me,” he says.

On the heels of a busy year, which included shows at The Southern Guild in Cape Town as well as a solo exhibition “OoNomathotholo: Ancestral Whispers” which wrapped in late October at Friedman Benda Gallery in New York, Interior Design connected with the artist to discuss his creative journey, spirituality, and storytelling through clay.

Andile Dyalvane. Photography courtesy of the artist.

How Andile Dyalvane Expresses Spirituality Through Clay

Andile Dyalvane in his studio. Photography courtesy of the artist.

Interior Design: How would you describe your journey as an artist and ceramicist?

Andile Dyalvane: During my young adult days in the mid ’90s, I was introduced to someone in his third year at the College of Cape Town. At the time, he was working on a graphic design project, making packaging for a box, the branding, and crafting the letters and fonts for the labels. I remember being fascinated at how he had made them on his own. I had mentioned so to him and he was excited that I found interest in his work. The following week, he took me to register for the college. They asked me about my portfolio, asked if I could draw, gave me some samples to practice and from then, I’ve never looked back.

There, I studied ceramic design, graphic design, painting and drawing. Towards the end of my second year, I majored in ceramics and graphic design. I chose ceramics specifically because it reminded me of my childhood in the countryside, and because it was the same earth that I used to play with. But I did not know that you can fire a clay object object and make it permanent. We used to have these beautiful China cups in my grandmother’s cabinet that I thought they were made of stone. I never knew they were made of clay.

ID: Why was working with clay important to you?

AD: I didn’t know being a ceramicist could be a career because no one was making objects out of clay around me. At that time, the closest I’d gotten to firing my clay oxen was when I took it home from the field, and then left it next to the fire. I saw the color of the clay changing to orange, and I couldn’t follow that up because I didn’t know I could fire the clay and turn it orange. But growing up in my village, people still made objects to use everyday. With my uncle, we would fix things, shape spoons and tools to collect water, and make objects out of whatever material that we could find. So creativity and crafting [are concepts] I’ve just grown around and been exposed to.

ID: Your work explores the mystery and beauty of your Xhosa culture. Why are you keen to explore this in your work?

AD: In my village, we had an ordeal with colonization. We had Christian missionaries who came and displaced many people. Artifacts were thrown out; houses were taken down. When my parents moved there around 1963 or 1964, they lived in a section where it was segmented with limited movement. In those times, if you practiced anything that was cultural—dressed in a traditional attire or sang such songs—the church would call that blasphemy, which was considered a crime. As a result, many people lost their identity because it is very important to us to believe in our ancestors, the land, in the stars, and everything.

After some time, people were able to practice their cultural rituals and customs again, as long as they went to church and were educated. Being an artist, I found myself drawn more to my heritage, the stories of the past and the artifacts that were lost, looted and taken to different museums and white people’s homes around the area. I didn’t even grow up with one clay pot, which is one of the core objects that you would find in an African home that was used for storage, cooking, drinking the traditional beer, and for ceremonies. For me, when I started having these visions of these objects that I never witnessed, but were very familiar to my ancestors, I started digging deeper and drawing what I found.

From iThongo. Photography courtesy of Friedman Benda Gallery, The Southern Guild, and Andile Dyalvane.

From iThongo. Photography courtesy of Friedman Benda Gallery, The Southern Guild, and Andile Dyalvane.

ID: Your project “iThongo” was a beautiful one, with so many collaborations. How did the idea first come to you, and what was it like creating these works?

AD: iThongo is one of the most powerful projects I’ve ever undertaken. It has its own energy because it was realized during the pandemic. If I have a collection that I’m aiming to showcase, it’s because the visions have been coming through. Once that happens, I start writing them down, sketching, drawing, or discussing the illustrations with my wife. I believe the visions come from the ancestral realm as a way of reminding us about things that we may have forgotten, or things that we need to take notice of so that we live in harmony with nature and in spirit. What happened is that the Friedman Benda gallery in New York asked if I was ready to do another solo show, and I said yes. They were interested in me making a stool, which was a perfect fit because I had already started documenting these symbols that I’ve been making.

ID: Spirituality has also been one substantial theme in your work and it goes along in the way you hold your exhibition and ceremonial shows, especially with iThongo. Why is it important to your practice?

AD: I needed people who came to experience this exhibition to be fully immersed, so I collaborated with my friend Nkosenathi, who is an Indigenous sound healer in South Africa. I asked him to create a soundscape based on the symbols of the pieces that I’ve created. Then, I asked Sissonge, who is a Shaman and has an understanding of literature, cosmology and the practice of shamanism, to also take part in this project as well. These ceremonial practices are a way of recalling the energy, intentioning what these objects will be able to energize, and pass messages to those who are experiencing them. All of these components come together as a way to pass the message and the intention of healing, as well as reminding us where we all come from. And lastly, it was important to take that spiritual offering from Cape Town all the way to my village in the Eastern Cape. For where I come from, you are raised by the community, and I wanted to show that.

ID: What has been the response of your family, community regarding your work and how has that contributed to your craft?

AD: It has been important for me to have the people in my village—my family and my community—to experience my work. It was crucial because they are an important part of the process, and having them making and energizing the project shows people the essence of who I am, where I come from and what I am made of. When the elders came for my exhibitions, they sat and blessed the objects. Also, one of the things we were guided to do by the visions was to place one of the objects in a certain way. We had to create a platform and erect a monument that pays homage to the spirit of those who were left in the gravesite in the land of our forefathers. Basically saying that now, in this generation, we are free to be able to express and continue where they left off. That was a very important gesture that we were guided to do, because everything that we do is to continue the legacy of our ancestors—since they were not able to do it themselves because of their displacement. This was us trying to give that dignity back to them.

From iNtlaka collection. Photography courtesy of Andile Dyalvane.

From iNtlaka collection. Photography courtesy of Andile Dyalvane.

ID: Your project with Loewe called “iNtlaka” explores biomimicry. How did the idea come to you?

AD: For the past two years, I’ve been exploring a collection called iNgqweji, which was inspired by a trip I took in the Karrouch to visit the desert side of Southern Africa and find these sociable river birds. They live in a large flock of about 200 or 300 in this huge nest they built on these camel trees. Fascinated by these birds, I interpreted that idea with clay. While making a clay nest, I infused copper and other materials into the piece.

When Loewe asked me to create a lamp for them, I was already thinking of how amazing it would be to make this nest and have glass come out of it instead. I decided to create a hanging lamp that will have this glass as if it was oozing out. The glass resembles the trees the social river birds lived on and also my childhood. When I was younger, I used to hunt and work in the fields, but we also used to eat berries and get some tree sap. As this tree was similar to that tree of my village that oozed out tree sap, I decided to make the glass resemble the tree sap and placed a light inside the lamp, making it shine in a different way. This was a fun way to explore a different medium and a combination of different mediums to create something new.

ID: Was this project your first time working with glass?

AD: Not at all. I was exposed to glass at Ngwenya glass in Swaziland, and I have explored working with glass before. What I have not done, though, is blow the glass myself. I’ll come up with the idea, go to the hot shop and give direction to the master glassblower, saying, “Okay, I prefer this form. I want to try this.” Then, they can use their expertise to determine the rest. It is something that I find very similar to clay, as you need to work fast with glass. Though unlike clay, you need to use tools instead of hands and you don’t need to leave it out to dry. For possibly my next show next year with the Southern Guild, I might be exploring the possibility of combining glass and ceramics together, or maybe just focus on glass sculptures themselves.

ID: What other materials are you open to working with? 

AD: I am open to working with wood and bronze. I once did a table that had legs made out of bronze. I have also worked with wood. And I have had pieces where I did a combination of ceramics, wood and glass. Then I also worked with copper—forged copper, to be specific. I’ve worked with my friend, Conrad Hicks, who is a blacksmith, on pieces where I used copped. I forged them to create these spikes that were in the sculptures that were inspired by the sociable river bird nests. Basically, I can work with any material if it’s going to give me the results of whatever sculpture that I have envisioned. But clay is always my core medium, and I sketch and illustrate everything that I do.

From iThongo. Photography courtesy of Friedman Benda Gallery, The Southern Guiild, and Andile Dyalvane.

From iThongo. Photography courtesy of Friedman Benda Gallery, The Southern Guild, and Andile Dyalvane.

ID: Symbols are an important component in your craft, and it feels like you’re communicating with them. What inspires these symbols?

AD: I think it’s part of an ancient knowledge that we have that is trying to come back via me as an artist. Before we had our educational system and the writing we use everyday, there were other means of communicating, like pictograms. Since people had to find ways to communicate with others as they move from one place to another, pictograms on cave walls would be a way of doing so. For me, it’s another way of honoring the past. It’s another way of recalling the knowledge system that was eradicated by the western systems that came to us, that may also serve as old wisdom from the ancestors.

When I start having these visions of a former gathering, a ceremony, or a root, plant or animal from the past, it’s a way to remind me to take care of our surroundings. We have to remember and recall certain practices that make us live peacefully with each other and value each other’s interactions. For me, it is important to be able to use these ancient symbols that might not be foreign to others, because anyone might find it familiar, even if they do not know why. It’s all a part of our DNA because we are all from a similar ancestry as well. That’s why for me, it is important.

S’khondo. Photography by Hayden Phipps / courtesy of Friedman Benda and Andile Dyalvane.

Gori. Photography by Hayden Phipps / courtesy of Friedman Benda and Andile Dyalvane.

Amaza Waves. Photography by Hayden Phipps / courtesy of Friedman Benda, The Southern Guild, and Andile Dyalvane.

Ixhanti. Photography by Hayden Phipps / courtesy of Friedman Benda and Andile Dyalvane.

From Ingqweji. Photography courtesy of The Southern Guild and Andile Dyalvane.