June Canedo de Souza

Interview by Isabel Flower

The art of June Canedo de Souza cannot be tidily encompassed by medium or subject. The body—and the experiences that our bodies bear, hold, and are shaped by—guides her outputs in painting, sculpture, performance, and photography. She spent her early life in the inland Brazilian state of Minas Gerais and moved to the United States as a child. This formative migration continues to inspire her creative exploration of the thorny relationship between identity and place, and the understudied (to the point of becoming imperceptible) omnipresence of women’s many forms of essential labor. This past summer marked a significant milestone for Canedo de Souza as she completed her MFA just six months after welcoming her first child. Her most recent body of work, “All the Ways I Hold My Baby,” exemplifies her facility for molding experience into material.

Isabel Flower (IF): In a previous life, as they say, you were a professional photographer. Now you are a multimedia artist working in painting, sculpture, installation, film, and sometimes photo. Is there anything that you would like to share about how this change came about for you?

June Canedo de Souza (JCdS): I initially chose photography for practical reasons. Around 2012, which is when I moved to New York, there was an accessibility and popularity to photography driven by social media, which made it a feasible option for working as an artist. Social media allowed my generation to break into this insular industry. It was fun when I was still learning how to use the camera. I approached it from a painter's perspective—using film, scanning the film flat and colorless, and building color during editing—but photography was never my passion.

I continue to explore the same themes like women's labor, migration, home, and belonging, but now approaching them with a corporal and gestural language: processing history and memory haptically, through sculpture, performance, and painting. I struggled to achieve the same depth with photography.

My life circumstances have also shifted. I moved back to Brazil by myself for a while and I am now a mother. Childcare, for example, is becoming incredibly inaccessible; I anticipate spending time in the South (where my parents are) to sustain my studio practice while caring for my baby. But I’ll also have more space and access to nature there, so I see it as an opportunity to explore how some mediums might merge as I experience this familiar environment as an adult. I am even curious to introduce photography back into my practice, but from the perspective of performance.

Canedo de Souza and her daughter, 2023

Photo by Daniel Santos

IF: I never knew that you studied painting as an undergrad. It makes sense, having known your editorial photo work for a long time. I see that perspective in the composition of your portraits especially.

JCdS: When I first started taking photos, people would comment about the angles and ask why I would take pictures from below, for example. It’s the interest in perspective and scale that I brought from painting. I studied some painting as an undergrad, but I learned a lot from my peers at the time, primarily painters and sculptors. I didn’t even consider photography before arriving in New York.

IF: It’s hard to zoom out on your own life and see your path within the larger cultural trends of the time, and recognize how those things affected you. What you're saying about coming to New York in that moment when Instagram was becoming popular is very astute; that window opened up many new paths to becoming a professional photographer. Instagram was, at that time especially, a platform for and about photography, and you could “break in” early in a way that wasn’t possible in other visual disciplines.

JCdS: I was also very naive about industry dynamics and hierarchies; I cold-emailed incredibly successful photographers, asking them if I could assist them without ever having stepped inside a photo studio. I have no idea where I got that kind of confidence from, to be honest, but my parents made so much happen with no formal education and no money that I truly believed photography couldn't be that complicated. The mistreatment of assistants quickly made me realize it wasn't for me. Instead, I worked three jobs, invested all my earnings in film, and sent test shoots to every publication I could find. Some editors responded, and I maintain relationships with a few to this day. Being naive gave me the freedom to explore a lot of options. Not worrying about the right or wrong way to break into the industry, or the embarrassment of rejection, gave me the courage to confront the obstacles that continue to make it difficult for people with little access to pursue a career in art.

"Being naive gave me the freedom to explore a lot of options. Not worrying about the right or wrong way to break into the industry, or the embarrassment of rejection, gave me the courage to confront the obstacles that continue to make it difficult for people with little access to pursue a career in art."

IF: What was it like, culturally, to move from the world of "commercial" art-making to the world of "fine" art-making in your MFA? I use scare quotes because fine art is also commercial, of course, but the contexts are so different.

JCdS: I always return to the dichotomy between new and old money, where new money signifies contemporary, commercial fashion photography and old money represents the "art world." My experience in the deep South revealed how old money values influence the access people start with, and how family lineage and heritage continue to play a role in who gets to succeed and how quickly. While this dynamic may not be explicitly mirrored in the art world, it subtly influences it. I found this to be true in the MFA environment. How much access you’ve had to “art” or the “art world” before entering an MFA environment shapes your experience. I had to constantly remind myself that my path won't conform to conventional trajectories; I must carve out a distinct space beyond these predefined categories.

A nap, 2023

Oil, acrylic, and charcoal on paper, paper mache

IF: Well, you have a different story and I personally think it’s very cool that you already have a proof of concept of a career as a person making images. Most people who enter an MFA haven't done that yet. Commercial image-making, while perhaps not an elite space in the art historical sense, is still exclusive and it’s also a hustle. You’ve proven yourself in the hustle and I don’t think that’s a coincidence. You are an image-maker by talent and by trade.

JCdS: I enjoyed the process. In retrospect, I don't view my photographs as particularly good, but I was indifferent to their technical quality at the time. I believed my efforts were inconsequential, yet I hoped they made a slight difference. This cognitive dissonance allowed me to pursue photography without an attachment to the outcome.

IF: Maybe you were doing the assignment. Even in the 10 years since you started your career, a lot has changed in the industry, the academy, and the art world. The movement towards “Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion” takes many forms, some of which are much more meaningful and effective than others. Having just finished school, do you feel like it's an empowering moment? Or is a lot of labor, or maybe it’s pressure, still falling on you?

JCdS: I genuinely desire creative freedom without the burden of over-explanation or conforming to specific identity expectations. My discontent with photography grew as I felt confined and realized the difficulty of breaking out of a predefined lane. This realization took several years to understand; after being repeatedly assigned similar work, I understood where editors thought I fit in and began to see how little control I had over my career. By the time I decided to move on from photography, I had come to understand that a large part of my identity as a photographer was what others had created for me or about me. I think this happens to a lot of artists in their twenties. As I mature into my practice, I am keenly aware of these constraints and am more mindful to engage with opportunities that allow for a broad range of work and subject matter.

IF: On that note, I did think about exactly this when I was writing these questions. The suite of works that you created for your MFA is titled “All the Ways I Hold My Baby,” so I do feel you are inviting me to talk to you about motherhood, but I also don't want to pigeonhole your work, or this conversation.

JCdS: That's actually something that I am excited to talk about.

IF: Maybe because we're talking about a real experience that you're living through right now.

JCdS: As I delve deeper into making work about motherhood, I've noticed the indifference of the art world (and the world in general) towards motherhood or parenthood as a subject.

IF: No one's that interested in motherhood across the board, and I think, except mothers.

JCdS: …which is insane. Paradoxically, this disinterest has motivated me to explore it further. There is excitement around doing something no one seems to care about. People underestimate the profound intersection of motherhood and migration, for example, migration being a topic people are currently interested in exhibiting. One would think that migration from the perspective of mothers would be a very interesting topic to explore. It goes back to age-old ideas around women, women's labor, and women's experiences not being perceived as profitable unless they are sexualized or used for entertainment.

"There is excitement around doing something no one seems to care about. People underestimate the profound intersection of motherhood and migration, for example, migration being a topic people are currently interested in exhibiting. One would think that migration from the perspective of mothers would be a very interesting topic to explore."

She swept in the company of angels, 2022

Fired stoneware and wood

IF: Yes, it’s indicative of how generally normal it is to be disinterested in, to the point of being disgusted by, women's experiences. It's beyond apathy. It's a kind of contempt.

JCdS: I think so too, and even as mothers, there’s so much we don't know because of that disinterest. If our medical system can’t be bothered to give me basic information I need for surviving postpartum, why would a gallery be interested in showing art about it? [laughs]

IF: I was excited to get this chance to interview you because us having this experience in parallel has been special. You and I both became mothers to daughters this year, six weeks apart. We talked during our pregnancies and "fourth trimesters." For me, commiserating with you was an important part of an experience that can also be isolating, overwhelming, even surreal. I feel like one of the most unexpected things about giving birth is that, in addition to the baby being born, you sort of are too. It’s an end and a beginning in your own life arc. What have you learned about yourself since your birth/re-birth?

JCdS: For one, I realize now that the birth was the easy part.

IF: Oh my god. Someone else told me that while I was pregnant I thought they sounded completely nuts. I see it now.

JCdS: There is no room for overthinking when you're limited in time, energy, money, and sleep. There is a freedom that emerges from this. During the initial months of my baby's life, when they slept for most of the day, I produced a significant amount of work, knowing that this opportunity was fleeting. In a way, this was reminiscent of the sense of freedom I experienced in my early twenties in the city. It's a relentless drive grounded in the belief that something remarkable will eventually transpire. I have to believe that to continue doing what I am doing. I have to think that everything will work out. I am not sure how else to describe it.

Paper heart expanding, 2023

Paper mache, pearl pins, acrylic paint, tempura paint

"During the initial months of my baby's life, when they slept for most of the day, I produced a significant amount of work, knowing that this opportunity was fleeting. In a way, this was reminiscent of the sense of freedom I experienced in my early twenties in the city. It's a relentless drive grounded in the belief that something remarkable will eventually transpire."

IF: I know what you mean. There are so many things I used to think about that I just don't anymore. Sometimes it feels like survival mode, but sometimes that feels like a good thing because so much falls away and life becomes…clearer?

JCdS: Absolutely. Even in recent studio critiques, the worry of being misunderstood has faded. I've embraced the realization that misunderstanding is unavoidable. My focus is on creating without an excess of explanation; I trust that something meaningful will unfold with time. As I craft a language around my experiences, everything will eventually merge, and the clarity of this language will resonate with anyone engaging with my work. Creating your language takes time.

IF: A baby brings a certain hopefulness, too, I think, in spite of how hard it is. You have to be hopeful when you’re looking at life from the ground up. I haven’t lived with a baby since my sister was born when I was four years old. It gives you a fresh perspective. It’s an existential transition to go from being one person to two. As the birth giver, you literally become two bodies in the world. It’s kind of unfathomable until it happens, and even then it’s still hard to process. I love what you’re saying about reframing the constraints of this time, which can feel like a loss, as a new kind of freedom.

JCdS: Creating work specifically for parents, particularly mothers, is invigorating rather than limiting. Delving deeper into this particular experience over time will enhance the work's thoroughness and depth and foster more nuanced and compelling conversations. Currently, my focus lies more in the quality of these discussions, rather than a widespread recognition of my work. If I could be in conversation with people, about giving life, for the rest of my life, I'm fine with that. I'm totally fine with that. That's a beautiful way of existing. That's a beautiful career to have. Just to think about it brings me joy and inspiration I didn't know was possible.

Night feed, 2023

Oil and charcoal on canvas

IF: You mentioned that you worked intensively in the first three months. Since then, how have you found the time to make the work? I can’t emphasize enough how hard it is to do something that requires intense creative focus while also taking care of an infant. I’m genuinely curious as to how you’re managing that.

JCdS: Being the eldest daughter of undocumented immigrants felt like the best work experience I could have gotten, as it involved learning to manage various responsibilities for everyone around me. However, I am learning to slow down due to the unpredictability of caring for a baby. As a mother, I have approximately three hours a day to focus on my practice, not to mention that I haven’t slept for eight months.

IF: If someone asked me that question, I would be like, I have absolutely no idea how I get anything done. Clearly, I am doing things, because here we are on this call. Working mother proof of concept. But I have no idea how anything happens.

JCdS: It's super successful if you get one thing done during the day.

IF: There are so many women artists who've also addressed these topics in one way or another. Are there any specific artists who have inspired your work? This is a two-part question, actually. First, who has inspired you on the topic of motherhood, but also in general, which artists resonate with what you're going through and the type of work that you're trying to make?

Couple in bed, 2023

Oil, acrylic, and charcoal on linen

JCdS: I wish more artists would make work about parenthood. During a critique session with a sizable audience, sharing my work on the subject opened up a space for people to discuss their experiences. Despite being parents, I observed that many people in the room hadn't previously discussed their experiences with each other. The impact of a specific work—a collapsing bed I made out of papier-mache, for example—prompted overwhelming emotional responses, highlighting the universal nature of certain aspects of parenthood. I made a painting mostly in black of figures colliding with each other and, immediately, someone made a comment about how much of parenting in those first few months happens at night and in the dark, and then recalled the first few months of his child's life to all of us. It was incredibly moving to me that he knew what part of the newborn experience I was trying to describe with this painting and that he responded so emotionally. I wish more artists would address how significant this experience is to their practice and day-to-day lives. I looked around and thought that it was incredibly sad to see that nearly half of the audience had children, yet none of our children were there with us.

I always return to Louise Bourgeois. She was shamelessly making work about her emotions. What makes sculpture, performance, and painting so exciting is that I can express these complex emotions without using English or Portuguese. I can use my body, and the people who know what the body has gone through during specific experiences can read these gestures without much explanation. I am speaking in a language that feels more direct and distinct, and speaking directly to the people who know these gestures in their own bodies.

"What makes sculpture, performance, and painting so exciting is that I can express these complex emotions without using English or Portuguese. I can use my body, and the people who know what the body has gone through during specific experiences can read these gestures without much explanation."

IF: That’s crazy for me, as a writer, to think about, because everything I do is with and through words. All I have is language. But there are so many ways to be felt. There’s a mythology that in order to be a good or true artist, you have to give yourself completely to your work. We’ve talked about how the same martyr myth exists around being a mother. What does doing both look like for you?

JCdS: Babies don’t care where they are as long as you’re there. You’re their home. I’ve moved almost every year since I was born. That’s why my work frequently explores the concept of home; it is a deeply rooted, unmet desire that I am always reaching for. I don’t want my daughter to yearn for home or belonging like I’ve had to. My sculptures are often about portable objects that I was able to carry from one apartment to the next—the textiles and other small things that became symbols of home. I hold on to seemingly insignificant objects that were given to me in the moments when I felt most loved, or witnessed love. I will keep that in mind as I create these meaningful memories for her. That’s what I can offer her as I divide my time between caring for her and my career.

A que distância está o sol, 2022

Fired terracotta, rust

IF: I read once that the best thing you can give to another person is your attention. People remember how you made them feel.

JCdS: I can’t wait to have her in the studio with me. I am already changing how I work to make that happen. I have been having a lot of fun working with papier-mache, for example, which is a non-toxic material, and utilizing the kitchen as a second studio. I can’t wait until she can express her opinions about my work. I can’t wait for us to be friends.

Birthcake fossil, 2023

Paper mache, acrylic paint

Isabel Flower

Isabel Flower is a writer and editor based in New York. Her work has been published in Artforum, Bookforum, The Wall Street Journal, Cultured, Garage, Kaleidoscope, and others. She is executive editor of Deem Journal, co-host of the Top Rank Podcast, and co-author of The Nameplate: Jewelry, Culture, and Identity (Penguin Random House, 2023).