What does it mean to belong to space; and to be shaped by it?

For Yasmin Watts, sculpture is both inquiry and offering: a means of reflecting on the interdependence between body, material and environment. Her work arises from the impulse to dwell, to find quiet structures that hold emotion and continuity.

Her interest lies in how we inhabit environments; not just physically, but emotionally. Sculptures begin as micro-gestures: folded paper, torn edges, delicate structures built from cardboard or thread. These small beginnings grow into spaces that hold the unspeakable—grief, tenderness, longing.

Rooted in her Zoroastrian inheritance and diasporic lineage, Watts builds through cycles of transformation and renewal. Fire and earth, movement and stillness, become her vocabulary of moral reflection.

Each sculpture is a meditation on care; an embodied philosophy where to make is to attend, to build is to connect.

Through her figures and spaces, Watts invites an experience of proximity and resonance, a slow encounter that restores the sense of shared presence.

I was born from fire. Zoroastrian fire. A memory of fire. A flame passed down. Palm to palm. Mouth to mouth. Still burning. I hold it.

Foot to stone. Stone to water. I sway. I cross. I miss. I land. I keep moving.

She speaks in form: not grand symbols, but fragments, surfaces that breathe, edges that wait. Her installations resist dominance. They invite reflection. They build quiet worlds from tension and care.

Influences like Isamu Noguchi and Louise Nevelson echo in her approach—form as poetics, surface as memory, space as feeling. But her language is her own: drawn from contradiction, shaped by rhythm.

Through sculpture, Watts makes space not to display, but to dwell. She builds what the body knows—then forgets—then finds again.