Sophie Crichton sits down with Erik Sommer to talk about solace in solitude, cultivating a way of seeing, the rhythm of Barcelona, and the aura of a time and place.
What I’m really after is the endless process of becoming.
(ES) Describe your work for us.
(SC) Working on large scale canvases my work is freely expressive and visceral. The works are physical and bare the traces of their process. Working from an intuitive place, dancing between intention and chaos, my work is characterised by densely layered surfaces, tangled lines and frenetic mark making. Often I will deface and paint over the work until I feel I have found something that has developed with a certain desired emotional force and communicative energy. I sometimes reference and embed figurative elements into the works to create my own abstract visual language.
Tell us a bit about your background. Where did you grow up?
I was born in downtown Toronto and grew up in the surrounding area. I always craved more and thrived off the chaos of downtown. I grew up with creative parents who worked in the photography industry and introduced me to art and culture from a young age. They encouraged me to pursue my work and sometimes I would hangout in their photo studio. I was lucky to be brought up in a creative environment. Being downtown felt like a well of inspiration and I always felt fascinated by the character and grit of it, as well as the diversity of culture.
Where do you live and work now?
I’m currently based in Barcelona, Spain.
How do you think this has influenced your work?
Barcelona has a legacy of artists like Miró, Tàpies, and Picasso, whose works explored abstraction, symbolism, and materiality. Living in a place with that cultural backdrop has deepened my awareness of abstraction’s history and inspired experimentation. The rhythm of the city — its street life, markets, festivals, and nocturnal energy — carries a sense of vibrancy and movement. That vitality has seeped into my work as a kind of undercurrent, shaping mood and dynamism. The energy of the city, with its layered history, would naturally inform the work, not directly as imagery but as a mood or rhythm.
Do you remember any artists as a child that captured your attention?
My mom studied print making and my dad is a photographer so I grew up around art and design. I remember seeing my mom’s drawings and prints and my dad’s photographs growing up. Also the work of Irving Penn stood out to me and sticks in my mind as some of the earliest work I would have seen. My grandma had a print of ‘A Bar at the Folies-Bergère’ by Édouard Manet which would also have been one of the first paintings I saw. A bit later on I discovered the downtown scene of New York City in the 80s and I became really fascinated by the scene and the work that was coming from that time – not just painters but photographers, musicians and even the graff scene.
Any artists today you are looking at?
Artists I’m looking at are Lee Krasner, Joyce Pensato, Philip Guston, Don Van Vliet, and Galli.
You have spoken of how art is community but also solace in solitude, and from that solitude artists tap into the collective human experience. Can you expand on this?
My work for me is about connecting and expressing an inner world- not unlike the inner worlds of other’s, that every human being possesses. Of course everyone’s experience is subjective- but it is a shared experience in that we all have a human experience. Ultimately our experience is alone, we are born and we die alone but in the moment that we are here we get to have a sort of shared experience. Art is a way for a lot of artists to move through life and deal with it, and ultimately a way to live a life. Being an artist means spending a lot of time alone, you’re often alone in your studio working and dealing with the problems or ecstasies of being human. Art gives form to these subjective and often intangible experiences which every human grapples with, sometimes it questions more than it answers- but it unites and transmutes that sort of lonely existential experience. I draw on that and that experience when I am alone working in my studio. When those private reflections take form as a painting, they reach beyond the individual. They become an entry point for others to recognise something of themselves, even if only in fragments.
Your work is expressive and full of energy, but there is a quietness to them as well. Is it difficult to balance this, and is either idea more important than the other?
I’m definitely channeling and manoeuvring energy when I work — at the beginning it’s very raw, physical, and intuitive. I often think of each painting as having a life or creature-like nature of its own, something I can’t impose too much control over. As the work develops, the process shifts: it becomes more strategic, more considered, and I begin refining what first arrived instinctively. Balancing those two states — the raw immediacy and the quieter refinement — can be challenging, especially since I don’t use references to anchor the process. But that’s also where the vitality comes from. I’m always searching for that point where the offbeat, intuitive energy meets a sense of clarity and resolution, without losing the life force that started it.
How does your work sound to you? How would you describe it musically?
To me my work would sound like somewhere between post punk/ new wave, synth pop/dark wave with elements of electronic. Depending on the piece- experimental/free-style jazz.
You have spoken about little moments of awe, and finding the uncanny in the mundane. Looking back, are there canvases you’ve completed in which you still distinctly remember these moments?
Somewhat. I see my works as accumulations of how I move through the world and how my experiences filter into perception. Each painting is informed by a particular chapter of life — not in a literal sense, but through the moods, atmospheres, and small fleeting impressions that leave a mark on me. For me it’s about cultivating a way of seeing: slowing down enough to notice the strangeness, fragility, and even the beauty of the everyday. I think those little moments of awe are less about one dramatic experience and more about an ongoing awareness. The aura of a time and place lingers in the work, so that each painting becomes almost like a stream of consciousness — a layering of impressions that together suggest a life being lived. For example, ‘Swimming in Suburbia’, ‘Chinatown at Midnight’, and ‘Cold Tea’ are all works where the titles themselves hint at these moments. They’re drawn from seemingly insignificant details that, when held long enough, reveal their own kind of poetry. I’m interested in how those overlooked fragments can carry a weight of memory and emotion, and how painting can give them a lasting presence.
Are you more concerned with the process or the end result?
I love seeing the result of what can be a laborious and uncertain process — I’m always searching for that moment of surprise at the end. But at the same time, I’m very process-based. The act of doing and making is central; the painting becomes a kind of record of a happening. There’s an alchemy in that process. Painting feels almost like dancing with a beast — if you try to control it too much, you risk losing the magic. For me, it’s about embracing that tension, letting the work lead as much as I do. The result matters, of course, but what I’m really after is the endless process of becoming — always arriving, and yet departing at the same time.
What is your normal studio practice like? Any routines or superstitions?
My only superstitions are music and caffeine, haha- in that order. There is a lot of looking and watching the works in process. I contemplate and imagine a stroke or a mark but when the moment comes- it must be made honestly- otherwise it looses its magic. I spend a lot of time drawing and reading about art as well.
What about your working technique? Walk us through how you start and then develop a piece.
Some times I have a vision of a painting in my mind’s eye but often the work emerges through the physical process of art making. In the beginning the approach is very free and expressive – I have a loose sense of the mood of the work. It’s a raw and intuitive process of putting down base layers and marks, using colours and line quality to bring that atmosphere into being. As the painting develops it becomes a kind of dance between discernment and chaos. I start making more deliberate choices, but I also leave space for chance. Accidents and unexpected turns are essential — they often carry the work in directions I couldn’t have planned. For me, that unpredictability keeps the process alive and makes each piece feel like its own discovery.
What excites you the most about the current art world?
I’m excited to see that previously overlooked groups are slowly getting more recognition and acknowledgement.
Any recent or upcoming projects?
I’m currently working on a project involving clothing and will be revisiting sculpture/installation.
Finally, what is your favorite color?
At the moment, reds, oranges, purples and pinks.
To see more of Sophie’s work visit her Instagram page.