It’s the middle of Art Basel in Miami. Seemingly the entire city is flooded with spectacle, art fairs, openings, parties, crowds, and traffic. It’s early evening, and I may have found the only quiet place in the entire city—a private viewing of Jaime Hayon’s new show, “Bestial,” at Mindy Solomon Gallery. Jaime greets me as I enter. We hadn’t previously met, but within just a few moments are in deep conversation.
Born in Madrid in 1974, Jaime has spent more than two decades establishing himself as one of the most influential voices in contemporary design. Trained in industrial design in Madrid and Paris, he joined Fabrica, Benetton’s communication research center, in 1997 before launching his own studio in the early 2000s. Since then he has blurred the lines between art, design, and craft with a signature style that is both playful and precise, rooted in deep material knowledge and vivid imagination.
Jaime has designed furniture for Fritz Hansen, ceramics for BD Barcelona, interiors for hotels, shops, and museums, and glass installations in Venice and beyond. His work has been shown at the Design Museum in London, Centre Pompidou in Paris, and the Groninger Museum in the Netherlands. In 2008 he received Spain’s National Design Award. And yet, even with this towering résumé, Jaime is currently in a moment of unlearning.
“I used to control everything,” he says, reflecting on the work in “Bestial.” “Now I’m letting go.” Jaime leaned into our conversation like a longtime friend—curious, open, and radiating the same warmth that animates his creations.
Artist and designer Jaime Hayon has blurred the lines between art, design, and craft with a signature style that is both playful and precise, rooted in deep material knowledge and vivid imagination. Above: “Thai Folk Vase.” Photo by Giovanni Riccò
Let’s start with this new show. How did it come together?
When I started the project, I wasn’t sure what I was going to do. I had worked on a project here with Mindy before—about a year and a half, maybe two years ago. At that time, I took one of the rooms and brought in some work from my studio. They suggested testing it out in the space, and it ended up going really well.
How did the two of you meet?
It’s funny how we met—we first connected by liking each other’s work on Instagram. Friends told me, “She’d be great for you in Miami,” so I reached out. Eventually she messaged me and the admiration was mutual. After an online meeting where I showed her my work, she said, “Wow, this is amazing. You should come do something here.” My first show, “Carate”—like “karate”—played on the Spanish word cara (face), symbolizing a battle of faces. I created large vertical paintings of confronting faces, alongside a few flower vases I had been working on.
“Imperfection became the goal. If a piece looked too polished I’d switch hands, using my left instead of my right to make the brushstrokes clumsier.” Above: “Totem Land Murano I,” 2023. Photo courtesy of L21
Tell me what the ideas were behind “Bestial.”
I explored an idea I’ve been drawn to for years: the “beast” inside us all. There’s a wild, instinctive part of us that just emerges. My process is intricate—I create figures entirely from my imagination, something I’ve done for over 30 years across ceramics, glass, large-scale public works, and installations. I draw from folk art and lost cultures like ancient Egypt and Greece.
What is the significance of the vases and flowers throughout the show?
This work feels like a dialogue with vases, inspired by the classical tradition of painting flowers in vases, but I don’t copy nature—I invent it. The flowers and vases always connect to a character. Birds, monkeys, or other elements reference past works, creating a narrative between the pieces. Though my flowers recall Dutch still lifes, I interpret them my way. I embrace imperfection, avoiding traditional fine-art brushes in favor of cosmetic brushes or my kids’ old ones. This keeps the work fresh.
“Each is an exploration of contrast—loose versus controlled brushstrokes, freedom versus precision,” Jaime says. Above: “Irish Flower Vase,” acyclic and oil on canvas. Photo by Giovanni Riccò
You’ve painted more than 80 of these works. What connects them all?
Each is an exploration of contrast—loose versus controlled brushstrokes, freedom versus precision. One sculpture is a cage made of 10 types of wood, enclosing an animal-like stomach that conceals something unknown. My work often has a surreal edge—like a face that opens when you pull its nose.
You mentioned earlier that you’re letting go of control. How has your mindset shifted?
I think it’s a change in my mentality. Over the past seven years I’ve been refining my style and pushing it further. Whether working in two or three dimensions, I stay true to my codes and imagination. My vases, my sculptures—you can always tell they’re mine. That’s what matters most. I’ve worked extensively with glass, collaborating with artisans in Venice and France.
“For this exhibition I abandoned control,” Jaime says. “I didn’t even worry about the gas bubbles forming inside glass. Instead I directed the glassblower on the spot: ‘Put green here, blow there, add this.’” Above: “Freedom,” 2024 courtesy of the artist and Mindy Solomon Gallery
My earlier glasswork was geometric and precise, inspired by diamond-like optical effects. But here I wanted the opposite—glass that feels like a painting, free and uncontrolled. In Venice they always require a plan or a drawing. But for this, I abandoned control. I didn’t even worry about the gas bubbles forming inside. Instead I directed the glassblower on the spot: “Put green here, blow there, add this.” It was visceral, like painting in real time.
Imperfection became the goal. If a piece looked too polished, I’d switch hands, using my left instead of my right to make the brushstrokes clumsier. After years of precision, I’m now embracing spontaneity. The pieces don’t have to match or be perfectly thick; whatever happens, happens. The process feels like brushing with glass, letting go of the need for control. People who know my older work say, “What happened to you? Were you drunk?” My first crystal installations were obsessively precise. But that’s not what I’m searching for anymore.
“Lost,” 2023, courtesy of L21
What do you think drove that change?
After two decades of nonstop work, you start thinking too much. In Spanish we say “desaprender”—to unlearn. Without it, precision can become a trap. Looking at an older painting now I think, “No.” The forms are mine, but they’re too controlled. My newer pieces, bestial—meaning “from a beast” in Spanish—are my response. They come from deep inside. The brushstrokes are loose, visceral. I’m not painting figures—I’m discovering what the brush can do.
Do you feel more freedom now than earlier in your career?
I think real freedom—especially after so many years of working—is when things start to truly make sense. When you start to see something that excites you and pushes you to keep going. It’s not easy to stay excited after 30 years of doing the same thing—going in every day and saying, “OK, let’s make another glass” or “Let’s make another ceramic.”
“I used to control everything,” Jaime says, reflecting on the work in “Bestial.” “Now I’m letting go.” Above: “Bestial” on view at Mindy Soloman Gallery. Photo courtesy of the artist and Mindy Solomon Gallery
What keeps me going is how things are always changing, evolving. Every day feels like starting from zero. I could burn every painting or ceramic piece I’ve made before. I feel this urge to constantly reset. I’ve learned to accept that there are different versions of me, just like everyone else. You look back 20 years ago and think, “Did I really do that? Did I like that?” Creativity is this constant cycle of learning and unlearning. It’s so important to relearn but also to lose what you’ve learned, so you can see things from a new perspective.
Do you think this freedom comes from confidence?
Yes, it’s definitely about confidence. I’ve made countless mistakes, but each one taught me something. I’ve taken on projects that felt impossible—like designing a carousel in the Austrian mountains. I had no idea how carousels worked… but somehow, we pulled it off. We used nearly 10 million crystals—completely insane—but the result was magical.
“What I’m doing now feels like a very free Jaime who doesn’t need to demonstrate anything to anyone anymore. I enjoy the work for its own sake.” Above: “Folklore Andaluz Vase,” photo by Giovanni Riccò
What I’m doing now feels like a very free Jaime who doesn’t need to demonstrate anything to anyone anymore. I enjoy the work for its own sake. It’s not that I’m giving up and saying “fuck everything,” but it is a little bit. I’ve stopped caring about being understood. I approach everything with the joy of doing. Now I’m wondering what’s next. Can I still be myself in this rawness? It’s an exciting moment.
This freedom and confidence you feel now—does it imply that earlier in your career you felt constrained or lacked confidence?
Early on I was always trying to prove what I could do. That’s normal I think, in any creative field. When you’re starting out, you feel like you have to listen to everyone and meet their expectations because you don’t have the credentials yet. Now I don’t feel that way.
“My earlier glasswork was geometric and precise, inspired by diamond-like optical effects. But here I wanted the opposite—glass that feels like a painting, free and uncontrolled,” says Jaime. Above: “Totem Land Murano II,” 2023. Photo by Giovanni Riccò
My last project was a public sculpture project in Korea, and I traveled to Seoul with my concept in my pocket. When the client asked for my proposal, I literally left some coins and sketches on the table and said, “This is it.” Of course, I also had some amazing renders, but the confidence to say, “This is what I want to do” is something I’ve earned over time. It’s taken years of trying and failing, but now I work with people who trust me. I’ve built that trust by proving I can deliver even when things seem uncertain. But in the beginning you’re more calculated. You can only risk so much because you’re still figuring things out.
“Bestial” on view at Mindy Soloman Gallery. Photo courtesy of the artist and Mindy Solomon Gallery
Very few contemporary creatives navigate the line between the design world and the art world as smoothly as you do.
It’s challenging, but it feels natural—it’s always been this way. The Renaissance man isn’t new. Think of Leonardo da Vinci—both an engineer and a painter. Today society feels more segmented. I respect many artists, but bad art is everywhere. It’s like a bad song—you hate it at first, but after hearing it enough, you start to accept it. Repetition creates familiarity, not necessarily quality.
With today’s advancements in technology, Jaime says creating art has become “too easy.” “That’s why craftsmanship will define design’s future—whether or not something has a human touch.” Above: “Bird Dutch Vase,” 2024
What do you think defines quality in art or design today?
Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about how we’re bombarded with information—social media, the constant scrolling, the nonstop exposure. People are reacting to this, trying to express themselves in response. I see this with my students in Switzerland. One told me, “I did a fair in Paris, my work got published everywhere, but I’m still in the same shitty apartment.” Attention doesn’t always translate into success.
“The Castle of Transgression,” 2021. Photo by Giovanni Riccò
Today making something is easy. With technology I could produce a design in concrete, aluminum, ceramic—even gold—anywhere in the world at the push of a button. AI can now generate paintings in seconds. The challenge isn’t just production—it’s content, story, and meaning. If everyone can do it, it loses value. That’s why craftsmanship will define design’s future—whether or not something has a human touch.
I recently made a piece entirely by hand. I could’ve used a laser cutter for precision, but instead, I used a small saw, cutting every piece myself. The imperfections, the subtle flaws—they add character. Machines can replicate form but not soul. True craftsmanship is about process.
A version of this article originally appeared in Sixtysix Issue 14.
Cover photo “Mingbeast Vase II,” and text illustration by Jaime Hayon, photo by Giovanni Ricco
