In the Studio with Tessa Zafón-Whalen
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Photos © Alhaurín de la Torre
Just days before graduating in May 2026, artist Tessa Zafón sat down with fósforo editor Dan Frost to discuss what moves her, what challenges her, and the life she gives her abstract forms.
DF: For your senior exhibition Woven Bodies, you’ve mentioned being inspired by a community of women textile artists from in Málaga (see image above). How did that shape your work?
MZW: It really comes down to how it honors women and their labor. What struck me about those weavers was how their work was domestic, yet so visible to everyone living in that environment and benefiting from it. It’s also just beautiful. It was this skilled, domestic response to local conditions—like the intense heat and sun—that naturally grew into a cultural and artistic reality. I was just really inspired by that idea of a group of women shaping their environment together.
DF: What drew you to working so heavily with yarn and textiles over traditional mediums like paint?
MZW: Yarn and textiles are inherently bound to the human form because of clothing. Any textile is basically designed to mimic the body, which makes it so familiar that we almost treat it passively. But when yarn is just sitting there unconstructed, it’s just string. It takes a jump in imagination to see that string becoming a piece of clothing you wear without thinking. That transformative process really fascinated me.
It’s also a deeply sensory experience. When you knit or work with fabric, you're constantly touching it, moving it, and checking its weight. To emphasize that raw materiality, I actually thrifted sweaters, cut them apart, and rearranged them. They don't look like familiar clothes anymore, but they still form organic, bodily shapes—so they're still mimicking what cloth is meant to do.
DF: You frame your exhibition as an exploration of women's bodies, but looking at the installation, do you see these forms as strictly female, or more universal?
MZW: The relationship between bodies in space is a huge element for me, especially with the wire sculptures hanging in the gallery. I want people to walk around them and have a physical, bodily experience.
My core statement centers on women’s bodies as transformative and productive spaces, but the individual painted or sculpted forms aren't explicitly anatomical or gendered. It’s more of an open question: Now that I’ve invited you to think about women’s bodies, are you seeing that? Are you feeling it, or is something else happening? I want to give people room to deconstruct how they think about their own bodies, too.
DF: How do you see the pieces in the alcove relating to one another? Do they need to stay together, or can they stand on their own?
MZW: I think of the show in three main groups. The large floor sculpture stands on its own, and the Cavities painting is its own distinct piece.
But the hanging wire bodies definitely belong together, orbiting each other. Bodies take up physical space, and I wanted that to feel clear. Having just one hanging piece in my studio felt too isolated. Two was better than one, three was better than two, and eventually I built out enough of them that the space felt alive. They’re all wobbly and strange in their shapes, so it was a fun experiment to see how distinct I could make each form while still keeping them closely related as a group.
DF: Were there any wrong turns or moments during the process where something just wasn't clicking?
MZW: Oh, absolutely. Luckily, we had a long stretch of time to work, and I tend to move pretty fast so I have room to revise and stare at things.
For the blue Cavities painting, I originally put it in a box frame. But people kept telling me it felt way too constricted, and I wanted it to feel expansive and take up room. So I pivoted, built a dowel frame to stretch the yarn over, and it immediately breathed.
Then with the large sculpture in the center, She Does Not Need to Comfort You, I originally tried inserting paintings right into the piece, similar to the wire bodies. But it was just visual overload! It was doing too much at once and taking away from the sculpture's own presence.
DF: How did you fix it?
MZW: Everyone kept saying, "The top looks great, but then you hit the paintings and it’s just a visual blockage." I agreed completely, so I pulled the paintings out and focused purely on the fabric.
I arranged the thrifted sweater colors in a painterly way, using specific tones to create an optical illusion of depth so the sculpture looks like it recesses much farther than it actually does. Stripping it back brought back that visual fluidity.
DF: How do you feel when viewers look at these abstract forms and project their own associations onto them—like seeing medical or anatomical shapes?
MZW: Honestly, that's the best reaction I can ask for! When people look at the large sculpture and ask, “Is that what I think it is?” I just say, “Sure, yes! It’s whatever it ought to be for you.”
I didn't set out to make a literal, anatomical sculpture—I just drew an organic shape that felt right in its movement. When my professor first saw it, she said, “That looks a little vaginal. Are you okay with that?” And I thought, You know what? Yes, I am. It felt like an authentic expression of the form, and I felt it was done in a tasteful manner, not excessive or offensive. Even my grandmother thought it was cool!
At the end of the day, it’s abstract. Whether someone sees a body part, a jellyfish, or something else entirely, I just want them to internalize it and feel whatever comes up for them.
DF: A final question: Your family is from Spain and you grew up in the US, spending time in both places. How has your cultural background shaped your art, or vice versa?
MZW: That's a good question. To be honest, I hadn't given it much thought until we sat down for this piece. I’ve usually viewed my art as guided my teachers, friends, and artistic influences. But thinking about this interview made me realize how much my Spanish roots have influenced what I make, even when I'm not consciously aware of it. I’ve really appreciated the opportunity to reflect on it that way, even if it usually isn’t on my mind.
