Lopamudra Goyal
Goyal’s work is rooted in her lived experience rather than realism. Drawing from personal history and everyday observations, she identifies patterns in her surroundings and translates them into a visual language. A strong advocate for community engagement, she creates public murals that bring art into shared spaces. Her practice seeks to reveal unspoken commonalities across people and cultures, encouraging viewers to experience the physicality of her work from multiple perspectives.
She has served as Curator and Venue Producer for the CalArts 2025 Expo and presented her work in the 2023 Solo Mid-Residency exhibition at CalArts. Since 2023, she has been an Artist-in-Residence with Arts Bridging the Gap, a nonprofit organization in Los Angeles. Her public murals can be found in Hollywood and Reseda, West Valley, California.
A: Unspoken codes show up everywhere—in how we speak, move, dress, even in how we dream. Cultural norms and the need for validation quietly shape our choices, suggesting we must “do life right,” leaving little room for messiness or vulnerability. I felt this most clearly after college, when there was pressure to have a clear, acceptable next step. As an artist, that path isn’t always linear, and choosing it felt like breaking an invisible rule. These codes also shape how we inhabit our bodies—how we sit, stand, and take up space, especially in public. As someone who works with the body in art, I’m always aware of the tension between what’s considered presentable and what feels real. The body remembers what it’s been told not to do, and art becomes a way to undo those silent instructions.
Q: How does your practice, or this particular work, engage with or respond to these codes?
A: This sculpture explores personal space—not just physical, but the intimate, invisible space just beyond the skin: the gap between fingers, the hollow of a fist, the space inside the mouth. These aren’t “ours” in the usual sense, but we inhabit them constantly. I wanted to preserve and make these spaces visible. Each clay form was shaped directly with my body, holding the imprint of skin, teeth, knees—subtle records of contact. Clay’s softness and eventual hardness mirror memory itself: fleeting yet lasting. The jacket I wore before installation becomes a surrogate, gathering these fragments and holding them in place. Even in my absence, it signals presence.
Q: How do you navigate the balance between individuality and collective life — finding and standing by your own voice while also being connected to and supported by others?
A: There’s always a tug-of-war between making art that’s true to me and the pressure to create what’s polished, pretty, and sellable. Online especially, I see trends that make me wonder if I should follow suit—but that kind of work doesn’t feel like me. My art is messy, unconventional, sometimes illogical—and that’s the point. I make it for myself, not the algorithm. Studying at CalArts helped solidify that. Surrounded by fearless artists, I learned that making honest work is a radical act of freedom. In a world that constantly nudges you to conform, staying true to your voice is powerful.
Q: What has your path as an artist revealed to you about resilience, belonging, or empowerment in your own life?
A:Art is where I feel the most free. It’s the one place I don’t have to explain or justify myself. Through it, I can express the inexpressible, claim joy, and make space for myself—physically and emotionally. There was a time I questioned whether art was a “real” career, but I’ve learned that the people who doubt it often don’t understand its impact. Being an artist takes resilience—you have to keep believing in yourself even when others don’t. But it also gives you power: the power to create your own life, in your own language. I wouldn’t trade that for anything.
Q: Can you share what guided your choice of the work included in Unspoken Codes, and what you hope it might evoke for viewers?
A: This piece feels deeply personal, not just because of the forms but because of the jacket that holds them. I wore it right before installation—its presence is intimate, like a trace of me. It serves as a quiet foundation for the clay, letting each piece hold focus. The jacket gathers and protects them, like it’s keeping them warm. Each sculpture holds marks from my body—curves of a palm, ridges of teeth, creases of skin. They aren’t meant to be explained. I want viewers to look closely, notice the textures and spaces, and come to their own interpretations. This work is about embodied memory, personal space, and intimacy—but more than that, it asks us to slow down, observe, and feel.