Interview by Ann-Kathrin Riedl

Donna Huanca: “Everything And Everyone Has The Right To Change”

One could call it symbolic: In a Berlin suburb, just one street separates two completely different worlds. On one side, the former Stasi prison of Hohenschönhausen still looms dark and intimidating, a place where a regime driven by greed, ego and control imprisoned its opponents. On the other side, directly across the street, is Donna Huanca’s studio, where she creates art that represents the opposite: freedom, transcendence and transformation. Stepping into the industrial space feels like entering a wild explosion of vibrant, earthy colors and organic textures, such as hair and skin-like silicone. Donna Huanca is one of the most exciting creatives of her generation, known for her live performances where models interact with her sculptural installations, often covered in layers of paint and textiles. Her work can be found in the Whitney Museum of American Art as well as in the windows of Louis Vuitton, for whom she has designed handbags. Fräulein spent an afternoon with the artist to talk with her about dissolving of the ego and the endless fluidity of identity.

Interview by Ann-Kathrin Riedl

Scar Tissues (Blurred Earth) Performance, Courtesy of Faurschou New York

Ann-Kathrin Riedl: When I was doing my research, one thing that fascinated me was your first experience with art in a broader sense. You mentioned a festival you attended with your parents as a child. Can you tell me more about that experience?

Donna Huanca: It’s important to understand the context of the immigrant experience. I’m American, born in Chicago, but my parents are Bolivian. So, every summer, we would travel to Bolivia and visit this big, wild pagan festival – the Festival de Urkupina. These days were full of chaos. I often think about the vivid colors, the sounds – it was like stepping into a different dimension. I was allowed to run around freely. My parents trusted the community to look after me. In the US, my life was all about rules and order. In Bolivia, there was none of that.

Today, your art is said to be very much influenced by femme and indigenous, specifically Andean, narratives and rituals.

Yes, this festival reminded me everything exists on the same plane. It was a glimpse into a reality that isn’t as rigid as what we experience in the West, where things feel regimented. In truth, everything is more chaotic and naturally takes care of itself. Psychedelics can be a reminder of how we’re all made of the same material and that nature is the ultimate law.

How did you make your way into the art world?

In my early 20s, I was really into making music. Playing drums and creating sounds felt intuitive to me. Then, I tried to study anthropology, but I realized that it felt very archaic, even colonizing, in a way – studying cultures from that perspective. After that, I got into geology because I love nature and rocks, in particular, but my eyes weren’t sharp enough to see the details. Eventually, I found my way into art, and it felt right. In art, you can bring all these interests together to create something new. There are no boundaries, and that’s what I love most about it.

Your meditative, dream-like spaces blur the lines between art and life, merging human bodies with abstract forms. What do you aim to express with your art?

Right now, it’s about creating something that takes people away from the matrix – a work that stretches time, shifts your perception of reality, and offers a doorway into a different perspective. It’s about world-building, making something that I’ve never seen before, and not being too attached to the final outcome. Conceptually, much of my work is about the human condition and how we’re confined within our bodies. I believe we’re so much more than that. There are rules imposed on our bodies, and I want to break those boundaries.

That sounds like your artistic vision is a lot about giving freedom. Your performances don’t follow a strict choreography either, do they?

Freedom of movement and the model’s agency is very important for the success of the performance. I set up a stage and have an idea of what is supposed to happen because all of the sculptures are made in service of the performer. Maybe the models move from one sculpture to another, but how and when – that’s entirely up to them. I want people to have authentic experiences within my work, therefore I encourage their own agency. I come from the world of psychedelics, so I’m interested in creating a space where they can explore their own subconscious.

How do you create worlds for your performers? And how do you guide them through?

My environments are complex, with layers and textures, so they have something to focus on, to almost dissolve into. As a performer, you’re aware of being observed, but you’re also asked to exist in your own space. You have to create a boundary around yourself. A lot of my sculptures serve as protective elements for the models, and the garments act like a second skin. There are also mirrors, so they can observe themselves. In my recent show MORTAL COIL, 2024, the audience could see the performer, but the performer couldn’t see us. It’s similar to how we exist on our phones – everything we do can be watched, but we don’t know who’s watching. There’s no real consent.

Meditation and introspection are important to me, and the performances are an example of that. They can be a deep moment of self-reflection for the performer. After every performance, I ask the models to write about their experience, because I genuinely want to understand what was going on in their minds. I keep those statements in my archive as part of my research.

This issue is focused on the topic of ego, and I believe many aspects of your work are fascinating to view through this lens. It seems that much of what you create involves letting go of the ego, transcending it, and reaching another state of consciousness.

It’s about fluidity. The ego often gets in the way of this. It would be such a positive experience for us to step back from constantly thinking about and defining ourselves – our feelings, our identities. Society wants us to believe: I’m Bolivian, I’m American, I’m a woman, etc. These subcategories confine us. The real challenge is breaking free from these categories. In reality, we are all part of something bigger. If we can tap into that universal law, we can experience ultimate freedom.

Even art often comes with these identities or labels – she’s a painter, she’s a sculptor – but these distinctions blend together. For me, it’s about creating a larger world. Whether it’s fabric, hair, or makeup, it’s all made up of the same particles.

DONNA HUANCA photographed by Thomas Lohr

“When we’re born, the first thing we do is eat, then we start talking, developing an ego, and forming an identity. But when you stop feeling important, when you stop communicating, you’re left with only one thing to do – to look inward.”

Mortal Coil, 2024. Courtesy of the artist and Number 1 Main Road, Berlin

“The need to control comes from the ego.”

Spathe, 2019. Courtesy of Peres Projects

Speaking of that: What does hair symbolize in your work?

Hair is something fundamental to human life. Hair collects a lot of information and trauma – everything you’ve ever experienced, every substance you’ve ever taken, can be traced in your hair. The Incas used to use knots of hair and fabric as recording devices. I’m really fascinated by objects being storytellers that exist be. Personally, I wouldn’t say I’m a great speaker – my true language is texture and material.

Tell me about your experiences with meditation. What has it taught you?

Meditation is a lifelong process. I was really into Vipassana meditation for a while, which is part of a global network of meditation centers offering 10-day retreats. You hand in your phone, they give you a place to stay, they feed you, and it’s completely free. The meditation is in total silence – 10 days without speaking. You go through a lot to get out of your own mind. But, by the end, you’re just so grateful. Some people might call it torture, but I think of it as fasting for the brain.

When we’re born, the first thing we do is eat, then we start talking, developing an ego, and forming an identity. But when you stop feeling important, when you stop communicating, you’re left with only one thing to do – to look inward. This practice is available to anyone who wants to do it, but it’s not super popular because the idea of letting go of your phone for 10 days can feel terrifying, like the world will end. But it doesn’t.

It seems like your work is a search for that feeling you get from meditation.

Yes, I aim to create spaces that feel meditative. I like to think of them as glitches – places where time operates differently. We’re used to speed: You come to a gallery, see a show, and leave. But, during my performances, time stops, and things slow down. That’s what happens in meditation, too. Forty minutes can feel like four hours when you’re just sitting and listening to your breath. It’s horrible at first, but if you can get through it, you’re conquering your mind.

Another interesting aspect of your work is how one piece seems to lead into another. It’s like a never-ending cycle of growth, decay and renewal.

Exactly. That’s why I love nature and plants. I’m obsessed with watching things grow, die, come back, and die again. It’s about not being afraid to see something die, because it can transform into another state. That’s something meditation taught me – to not be so attached to things. To understand that everything and everyone has the right to change. The need to control comes from the ego. But the best things happen when you stop trying to control them. That’s the nature of life. Even though it can be painful.