In this exclusive interview, we sit down with the extraordinary Apolonia Sokol, an artist whose life and work transcend boundaries and challenge conventions. Apolonia’s artistic journey, documented over 13 years in the film “Apolonia, Apolonia,” offers a profound insight into her personal and professional evolution. Raised in the vibrant and diverse 18th arrondissement of Paris, Apolonia’s roots in an underground theatre of activism and avant-garde art have deeply influenced her creative path. Join us as we explore her unique perspective on art, identity, and the power dynamics within representation, and gain a deeper understanding of the struggles and triumphs that have shaped her remarkable career.
Apolonia, thank you for taking the time to do this interview. Can we start by asking how you’re doing?
Hello House of Solo, thank you for asking. I’m doing well. I have been quite busy with my last show “The False Rose of Jericho.” It was a duo show with Algerian-Danish poet and performer Zahna Siham Benamor on stereotypes. We were trying somehow to take control over the narrative through art.
Can you tell us about your upbringing?
I grew up in different places, but especially in an underground theatre located in a diverse working-class area called Chateau Rouge in the 18th arrondissement of Paris. The theatre, Lavoir Moderne Parisien, was a place of activism, avant-garde art, and social care. It’s in an area populated by different African diasporas.
Your journey is documented over 13 years in “Apolonia, Apolonia.” How did you feel about having your life and artistic process captured on film for such an extended period?
It felt quite natural. The theatre was a place of artistic energy and creativity. When Lea Glob came to me, she was still a student. She had the assignment to do a portrait of someone over two weeks. It turns out she kept filming for 13 years! In the beginning, I saw her as an artist and a student like myself, so I felt quite comfortable with her camera. Over the years of filming, I became less and less self-aware as Lea Glob became more affirmed as a director.
The documentary highlights your experiences at the École Nationale Supérieure des Beaux-Arts de Paris and your time working in New York and Los Angeles. How did these different environments influence your artistic style and approach?
I’m a child of the diaspora, and I think that moving into different cities was a part of my destiny. All of these places had an impact on me, probably. I believe we constantly learn… arriving in a new place is food for the soul, although the lack of stability has been very tough on me.
In the documentary, you’ve shared a significant part of your personal and artistic journey. Can you elaborate on how this exposure affected you, both positively and negatively, and if it has influenced your approach to art?
I’m very grateful for the attention and recognition it’s given me now that the film is being screened. During the years of filming, I have tried to be as sincere as possible. It is vulnerable to show one’s own despair, but it was important for us to expose the abuse of artists (especially women or minorities) in the Western art world.
The film touches on the challenges you faced working with collector Stefan Simchowitz and the pressures of producing 10 paintings a month. How did that experience impact your artistic vision and personal well-being?
Maybe it’s better not to mention his name; let’s just keep on calling him the Satan of the art world :). Unfortunately, artists are often pressured by agents of the market to overproduce. This leads them to become a product, an object of speculation. As a matter of fact, art needs time. I think the artist needs boredom to create, and one needs loneliness to think. We also need spirituality; art is a matter of faith somehow. In every culture, the artist has been close to different institutions of spirituality, from the shamans to the various priests. Pieces of art are objects charged with intentions. If art is a language with its specific vocabulary, then artists should have something to say, and thoughts do not come under pressure. I believe artists work with their souls, and it requires being in a certain dimension to be able to do so. Paint is a very old medium; painting with oil is a slow process. We transform more or less natural elements into paintings. The artist also needs their community with love and care. What I experienced with the Satan of the Art World was the absolute contrary. There was no community, no time, and no spirituality. I was being deprived of an inspirational process. Today, when I see images from the film, I get the feeling one isn’t really sure if the handle is about art or the artist’s body/identity. I definitely let myself be abused in hope of better days. Today I’m glad it’s filmed because it shows glimpses of how the art market can be a dark place for artists. Although everyone thrives economically on the artist’s work, the artist is too often at the bottom of the food chain.
Your paintings often explore themes like childbirth, abortion, public demonstrations, and gender identity. Can you elaborate on how these subjects contribute to your larger artistic narrative?
I use the art of painting as a tool of political empowerment. I like to explore the use of imagery and the power dynamics within representation in the history of Western art. Lately, I have actually been studying landscape painting as a colonial genre. We have developed this specific type of painting to depict a land emptied of its people, a free land… the new world. European painters have been sent overseas to produce landscape paintings of the Americas, the Arctic, or the Orient (whatever that word means) as a representation of the lost paradise to reconquer. These images were used as propaganda; they were sent back to the old world to convince people to settle overseas. Anyway, all paintings and images are political. Representation of childbirth is actually extremely rare in Western art history, although there are countless paintings featuring women. One could reflect on how come. Giving life is an extraordinary phenomenon, having two hearts in one’s body; it is the absolute creation. On the other hand, it is extremely banal, as anyone was born that way. Since birth-giving is extraordinary and ordinary at the same time, it should be a part of our imagery, although it is not. As a matter of fact, the ultimate creation and the power of life and death are traditionally incarnated through an elder white male figure, a god. African American intellectual Kimberlé Williams Crenshaw developed the notion of intersectional feminism in the 80s, and the term is reappearing today as it is cruelly needed. One cannot consider matters of ecology and climate crises without taking into consideration the anti-racism causes and anti-colonial fight; it is always a matter of land, resources, and economics. Likewise, the notions of gender and feminism must include all lives, as discrimination is also a matter of economics. Intersectional feminism examines the overlapping systems of oppression and discrimination; I have tried somehow to illustrate that everything is intertwined and different social movements are fighting the same evil.
The film mentions your close relationships with the models you paint. How does this intimacy influence your artistic process, and what role do your collaborators play in your work?
I don’t consider the people I paint as models. They participate actively in the making of the pieces as I try to represent them as they wish to be represented. We have a tradition of instrumentalizing the models, and I try not to. It makes the work of painting quite difficult but also extremely exciting. People change all the time, and sometimes they change gender or identity before I finish the painting. The title of my paintings is often the name of the people I paint. I also paint only people I love and relate to. We share political visions; I can identify with them. We have a tradition of using women as allegories, and it’s depriving them of their personal virtues. As a woman myself, I attempt to deconstruct these manners.
Your art often explores themes of nudity and intimate moments. Can you discuss the significance of representing these aspects in your work and any reactions or challenges you’ve encountered because of it?
I think the nudity in my work is not sexualized. I actually paint bodies as geometrical forms. I’m more interested in the identity of the person. I have been censored or menaced before because of the nudity or the subject of a piece. Being threatened with the destruction of my art is very painful, but it is also a good sign. It means that art has an impact, so I try to console myself with that thought.
The film portrays the challenges you faced, including sexism, self-doubt, and the struggle to secure gallery showings. How did you navigate these obstacles, and what advice would you give to aspiring artists facing similar challenges?
I think resilience is a key attitude towards obstacles. Today we have an elaborated vocabulary to define different types of discrimination at various levels. That is a good thing. One should try not to lose oneself in our polarized societies. We are in the middle of elections at this right moment, both in France and England actually. The French situation is alarming with a massive rise of fascism; I try not to succumb to panic. I wish for all artists to use their art as a receptacle and a place of healing.
You’ve lived and worked in various cities, each with its unique artistic environment. How did these different settings impact your artistic style and outlook? Do you have a preferred location for creating your art?
I think I feel at home where I can create; this is the only place for me. It has no specific geographical location. I try to remember there have always been artists since the beginning of humanity, before the industry, before a sedentary lifestyle. My main goal is to paint for the present; I paint for us.
