Enrique Martínez Celaya’s new Los Angeles exhibition is caked in nearly 6,500 pounds of sugar—but it isn’t always meant to be sweet. “The Sextant” centers on a large-scale recreation of the Cuba-American artist’s childhood home, transformed into a saccharine meditation on memory and upheaval. The latest installment of a three-part exhibition trilogy, the project began in 2024 at Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes in Havana—Celaya’s birthplace—before traveling to New York’s Hispanic Society, and now the Wende Museum in LA. Celaya, who started working as a painter’s assistant at age 12, has long mined his own biography, using sugar to evoke both the industry that shaped his childhood town and the broader turmoil Cuba faced during the Cold War.
For those who missed the trilogy’s monumental three-part run, Celaya’s ode to Cuba will live on in his forthcoming book, The Cuban Trilogy: Cuba from Hatje Cantz, out this September. In October, he’ll return with new work in a major collaboration with the Los Angeles Opera for its season opener, Carmen.
Amid this swirl of projects, Celaya caught up with CULTURED to talk about his “stark” studio snacks, his love of Diego Velázquez (to whom he dedicated the second installment of “The Cuba Trilogy”), and the accident he’ll never forget.
What do you do when you enter your studio?
I walk through the studio, stand in front of a painting or sculpture, and look at the notes written on blue towels that I pinned next to the work the night before. I usually remain there for a while without touching anything. Then I change into my working clothes.
What’s on your playlist?
Leonard Cohen, Johnny Cash, Nina Simone, Muddy Waters, Amália Rodrigues, Mozart (especially the “Requiem”), Mahler, occasionally Bach, Arvo Pärt, or a single piece on repeat. Sometimes poems read aloud.
What’s in your studio fridge?
It is a stark affair. Diet Coke, salami, and water.
If you could have a studio visit with one artist, dead or alive, who would it be?
If it is a visit to my studio, I would like to stand next to Piero della Francesca while he looks at my work. If it is a visit to his, I’d like to watch Diego Velázquez work on a painting.
What’s the biggest studio mishap you’ve experienced?
The most common is thinking a work I finished was good. The most extreme was cutting myself with a chainsaw while working on a sculpture.
If you splurge on materials, what are your must-haves, and where do you get them?
I spend a lot on materials because many of my paintings, sculptures, and installations are large, and I work constantly. But nothing is indispensable. I don’t have a favorite brand of paint or a preference for expensive brushes.
When’s the last time you lost track of time?
This morning. I was lost in a painting that seems to be going nowhere.
What is one thing that you’d change about the art world?
There is too much pretense, too much anxiety about relevance, markets, and what is immediate, and too little substance, attention, and confidence that something might endure beyond the proverbial 15 minutes.
What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever done in your studio?
Sometimes I sing to my paintings, which is particularly odd because I’m a very bad singer.
Tell us about the best studio visit you’ve ever had.
When a gallerist came to my studio and offered me my first exhibition.
Do you have any rituals to prepare for a studio visit?
When I was younger, I tried to think about what work to show. Now I don’t have any rituals except to make sure I show myself and my work as we are.
Can you tell us about a book that changed how you think about art?
I love books, and many have profoundly shaped me, so this is a difficult question. But if I had to choose one, I’d say Moby-Dick.
What has been your weirdest studio visit experience?
Twenty years ago, a famous collector came to my studio and liked a sculpture. When I told him it was sold, he had a tantrum and stormed out with his art consultant running behind him.
What’s the best piece of advice you’ve ever received from another artist?
My friend Leon Golub once told me, “Take yourself seriously, but lightly.” I’ve found it to be very good advice.
Have you ever stolen something from another artist’s studio?
Early on, I used to steal ideas of what a studio was.
