Clasutta, an artist from Indonesia. Having transitioned from architecture to painting, her work humorously depicts small human failures and awkward moments through animal characters. What lies beneath these seemingly heartwarming scenes? We bring you an interview that delves into the essence of humanity that Clasutta observes and the core of her creative practice.

- What prompted you to transition from architecture to becoming an artist?

Clasutta: I didn’t leave architecture because I disliked it — I left because I felt myself slowly disappearing inside it. Architecture trained me to think in structure, scale, and logic. I was good at solving systems. But the questions that mattered to me were never logical — messy, fragile, and often irrational.

Painting became the place where I stopped fixing things. Instead of designing clarity, I stayed with imperfection — the small human failures we rarely plan for.

- In what ways have the spatial awareness and compositional skills you developed as an architect shaped your approach to oil painting today?

Clasutta: My architectural background still shapes how I build space and composition on the canvas, but oil painting allows me to slow down and sit with discomfort. I no longer design spaces for people to enter. I invite them into my inner landscape.

Clasutta and her works

- Can you tell us about the themes that are consistent in the concept and production of your works?

Clasutta: My work revolves around small, awkward human failures — the moments we usually brush off or feel embarrassed by. I’m interested in how those moments quietly connect us, regardless of culture or background. What we try hardest to hide often turns out to be what we share most. The more we try to defend ourselves or “fix” what’s wrong, the more tangled and absurd things become. That tension — between collapse and performance — sits at the core of my work.

Humor plays an important role. Sometimes laughter is the only entry point to honesty. I often use animals as characters to create a gentle distance. Beneath the humor, my work speaks about imperfect coping mechanisms — clumsy, tender, contradictory — and how deeply human they are.

- Can you share the background or catalyst that inspired this theme?

Clasutta: For me, life often feels like a series of small quests. Some pass unnoticed, while others leave marks that linger longer than expected. Those moments — brief interactions, awkward pauses, quiet misunderstandings — often stay with me.

Humans have always felt slightly strange to me. We shift quickly between confidence and confusion, rarely saying what we truly feel, yet constantly revealing ourselves through gestures, behavior, and silence. I became interested in the gap between what we say and what we show. This is where the connection to animals comes in. When I look at everyday interactions, I notice how instinctive we are: how we perform, adapt, and protect ourselves without realizing it. In that sense, animals became a way for me to talk about human behavior more honestly.

The theme grew out of ordinary situations — friendships, working dynamics, inner monologues, subtle tensions in conversation. These moments aren’t limits for me; they’re starting points. They’re where I begin to notice how much effort goes into appearing “fine.”

- When and how do you come up with ideas or inspiration for your work?

Clasutta: Most ideas start with small moments that feel awkward or quietly heavy, moments that don’t resolve themselves. I usually notice them in very ordinary situations — walking, taking public transport, scrolling on my phone, watching people react to something small. It’s often a pause, a gesture, or a response that feels slightly off. Those are the moments we tend to ignore because they’re uncomfortable or seem insignificant.

I don’t rush to turn these observations into artworks. I let them linger, sometimes for months, until they resurface with a sense of humor or irony. That’s when I know they’re ready to be painted. My practice is about staying with everyday life long enough to notice its emotional patterns and giving form to what we carry quietly, but rarely admit.

Artist in Studio

- For this exhibition was there anything you paid special attention to or a message you strongly wanted to convey?

Clasutta: For this exhibition, I focused on how viewers might sit with their own struggles rather than rush to escape them. I paid close attention to small mishaps, quiet frustrations, and emotional slips, the kinds of moments we usually brush aside. Instead of treating these moments as problems to fix, I framed them as part of being human. There’s a quiet relief in realizing that not every struggle has to be tragic. With a little distance, some of them even begin to resemble a kind of comedy.

Through humor and satire, the work creates space to breathe — not by making light of pain, but by allowing it to exist. I wanted the exhibition to suggest that even discomfort can carry warmth, absurdity, and a sense of connection.

- What kind of feelings or emotions would you like visitors to have when viewing your exhibition?

Clasutta: I want visitors to feel a sense of recognition. As if they’ve accidentally walked into a scene they weren’t meant to see, but immediately recognize as their own. I want them to see themselves as the main character, even when the situation feels slightly absurd.

Ideally, the first response is a small laugh. Not because the work is simply funny, but because humor creates a brief opening. At that moment, defenses drop. Beneath that, I hope there’s a quieter realization — “Oh… this is me.” Not dramatic, just honest. A recognition of the pressure to keep everything together, and the relief of seeing that struggle reflected back.

If visitors leave feeling slightly amused, slightly exposed, and a little less alone, then the work has done what it needs to do.

- Finally, are there any boundaries you’d like to test, or new territories you hope to venture into?

Clasutta: I’m pushing my practice towards darker layers of comedy — work that still invites a smile, but leaves a quiet aftertaste of discomfort. I’m interested in the moment when laughter slows down and turns into recognition. That pause where you think, “Wait… why does this feel familiar?”

I’m also expanding into new mediums and formats, not as a shift, but as a way to let my characters exist beyond the canvas — appearing in different forms and situations, almost as if they’re living alongside us.

At this stage, my focus is on sharpening my visual language and trusting it more deeply. More than anything, I want my presence to be recognizable in the work itself — not just in the imagery, but in the feeling it leaves behind. If that recognition happens before someone even reads my name, I know I’m moving in the right direction.

Clasutta creates works that evoke the small discomforts and embarrassments we feel in fleeting moments, using animal characters as her medium. Her purpose is to quietly present, through humor and satire, the sharing of imperfection and the recognition that this is what it means to be human, just as we are. By embracing this awareness, we find a small sense of relief and continue living.

Little Theatre: KAPPAO, CLASUTTA