Gwenda Jones is a British sculptor whose work moves between the equestrian and the human form with equal sensitivity. Working predominantly in clay, she captures moments of quiet strength, distilled gesture, and emotional presence. Whether sculpting a poised horse or a contemplative figure, Jones seeks not theatrical drama but essence.
Her sculptures reveal a deep understanding of anatomy, balance, and weight. Forms are refined yet expressive, simplified yet resonant. There is discipline in her modelling, but also empathy. The finished sculpture carries both structural clarity and a sense of lived observation.
Equestrian themes remain central to her practice, reflecting a lifelong affinity with horses and their unique combination of power and vulnerability. Alongside this, her figurative works explore posture, intimacy, and stillness. Across both subjects, Gwenda Jones creates sculpture that feels timeless, grounded and quietly compelling.
Your practice spans both equestrian and figurative sculpture. What connects these two subjects conceptually within your work?
My sculptural practice moves constantly between equine and figurative forms, exploring emotional presence, identity, and our relationships with one another and the natural world. Alongside the human portrait and figure, the equine and animal subjects allow me to investigate the subtle language of posture and expression we share and can learn from.
Working predominantly in clay, I use bold texture and layered surfaces to reveal movement, strength, vulnerability, and resilience, reflecting the subtle bonds and dialogues that connect us all, both human and animal, to the world around us.
Horses are a recurring theme in your portfolio. What continues to fascinate you about the equine form?
Growing up in a rural environment surrounded by horses, I was captivated by the daily sight and sound of strings of racehorses and riders. Their physiques, gestures, and the moments before and after exercise fascinated me. A lifelong bond with my own horses sparked my enduring interest in the equine form, whose intelligence, power, instinct, and sensitivity recur throughout my work.
Formative travels in India, Africa, and Nepal further highlighted the incredible, fragile bonds of trust we share with horses, animals, and one another. I sculpt to revisit these memories and emotions, to explore new possibilities of connection and empathy, and to translate the essence of their movement, spirit, and presence into clay. To capture the quiet moments between horse, human, and environment that continue to inspire me.
Your sculptures often capture contained energy rather than overt movement. What draws you to moments of stillness and restraint?
I am drawn to quiet moments of understanding, where human and equine forms exist without expectation, asking for nothing. These are instances of subtle communication, where presence is shared, and tensions gently release or build. In these pauses, energy lingers, awareness sharpens, and relationships unfold naturally. My sculptures aim to capture this stillness, the intimacy of simply being together, attuned to one another and the environment.
I revisit memories shaped by light and calm: early mornings, dusk, and roaming through the countryside, moments of realignment, reflection, and gentle interaction, rather than the rush of adrenaline.
Bronze is a historic and enduring material. What does it allow you to express that clay or other media cannot?
Bronze is a historic, enduring material that speaks of permanence and monumentality. It conveys weight, solidity, and a timeless presence in a way clay cannot. Yet much of my work, often mistaken for bronze, is ceramic. I achieve a similar depth through metallic colouring and patinas, inspired by my early fascination with the verdigris rooflines and sculptures of Oxford’s historic cityscape.
Clay, however, remains at the heart of my practice. It is incredibly versatile, demanding patience and respect, yet wonderfully responsive to expressive movement, much like the relationships I observe and value, whether human, equine, or animal. By working closely with its texture and form, I explore the emotional language of posture, gesture, and presence, capturing moments of connection, reflection, and shared awareness, and revealing the subtle interplay of strength, vulnerability, and resilience, qualities that clay itself embodies.
Can you describe your process from initial maquette to finished sculpture? At what stage does the piece truly come alive for you?
I begin each sculpture by sketching in clay. I let gesture, texture, and form either come from observing from life, or follow an idea, or evolve organically. I often work on several pieces at once to avoid overworking them. This helps prevent pushing structure and gravity too early. By doing this, I preserve the gestural marks and textures that give the work its energy, restrained or overt.
After the clay has stiffened for a day or more, depending on size, I work on mass and gestural marks. I may hollow out sections and manipulate the surface from within. This further develops texture and form.
After several days or weeks of drying, the piece undergoes a carefully controlled bisque firing to remove all moisture without causing any damage to the fragile clay. The piece is porous but more stable, ready to receive multiple surface treatments to achieve the layering within my sculptures.
It is after this stage that I bring life and colour to the work. This excites me. Using the earth’s natural elements, metal oxides, coloured underglazes, and layered techniques, I explore endless possibilities for surface, tone, and texture, fixing these effects through the chemical reactions and vitrification of high-temperature stoneware firing. Turning clay into ceramic.
The kiln becomes a place of anticipation; waiting for it to cool and opening the lid is always exhilarating, often exceeding expectations. Sometimes the process is repeated to add further depth, layering, and meaning, each piece informing the next.
Every sculpture is unique, acting as both a culmination of emotion and gesture, and a precursor to the ideas I continue to explore, colour, texture, and layered form, the presence, energy, and emotional connection at the heart of my work.
Surface texture plays an important role in sculpture. How do you decide when a surface should remain refined and when it should retain the marks of making?
When I’m working from life over several days, it becomes a bit like spending time with someone or something and really seeing them. Getting to know them both physically and emotionally. I watch, talk to them, notice subtle shifts, and allow the clay to respond to what I observe. That process deepens both my skill, patience and understanding.
I keep the marks that speak to me as they are part of the journey of making. Works developed through sustained observation often hold a quieter, more considered presence. My more textured, expressive pieces tend to emerge from memory, experience, or conversation, where I respond to the essence of the subject rather than recording what is in front of me, allowing the energy of my loose mark-making to remain visible in varying degrees.
When working on equestrian pieces, how do you balance physical power with sensitivity?
When working on equestrian pieces, I let the clay guide me. Form, mass, and texture interact to capture tension between power and sensitivity, strength and grace, and movement grounded in the materiality of the clay. The stability of the piece, both aesthetically and physically, comes from this balance, the weight, the form, and that pivotal point of tension or release that I find so important.
The piece becomes an ongoing conversation with the clay, where the sculpture works in harmony with the material. Each curve and mass responds to the other, creating a sense of equine held in delicate equilibrium. Understanding the clay, its capabilities, and how far it can be pushed toward its limits is exciting and reflective of both the material and the subject.
Sculpture demands physical engagement. How does the physicality of working in clay inform the emotional tone of the finished piece?
Sculpture demands intense physical engagement. Working in clay, the weight, the act of turning a piece to view it from all angles, articulating shapes, and moving and firing the work without losing the freshness of its textures, all shape the emotional tone of the finished piece. A single bag of clay weighs several kilograms. A life-size human portrait often exceeds this; an equine portrait far more.
This heavy, wet medium requires grounding, deliberate movement, attention, and space. Time. Time to breathe. Time to let the clay respond rather than forcing it. Time to stiffen and defy gravity and retain its new given form. Clay is intensely sensory and gestural; my fingers and simple tools shape it. To add and take away. Responding to proportion and form, and listening to the material’s qualities and limits. Overwork or over-stress clay, or let it dry too quickly, and the properties change. Less gestural. Less fluid.
The sculpture’s emotional tone is dictated through its mass, balance, grounding, and the lightest, most delicate touches on the surface. The physical engagement carries a subtle lightness; each gesture is alive with expression and movement. Maintaining that quality is key.
Clay is a perfect medium when you understand it, for this demanding, tactile dialogue, allowing me to be fully in tune with what I want to express and fully engaged both physically and mentally.
Do you work primarily from observation, reference material or imagination when developing new compositions?
I work primarily from observation and lived experience, watching people, horses, and other animals, attuning to gestures, expressions, and the subtle language of movement. Communicating without words.
I sculpt from life to understand my subjects fully in the round. Three-dimensionally. I reference my own material to guide shape and form and revisit details. Imagination, memory, and touch are equally vital, helping me revisit emotions and moments that remain vivid decades later. Conversations, experiences from youth, real or altered. These I sculpt from memory, reimagined. Conversations with myself. Conversations never had.
Touch is central to my practice; it is how I understand form, muscle, and tension. My work evolves organically with the clay, experienced from all angles, with light, tone, and texture shaped as one. Form emerges through observation, feeling, and intimate interaction with the material.
Looking ahead, are you interested in exploring larger public commissions, more abstract interpretations, or perhaps expanding further into figurative themes?
I’m very interested in creating large-scale clay works for outdoor landscapes and public commissions, developing these from figurative and equine subjects that interact as a whole.
By combining the textures of clay with the durability and gravity-defying qualities of bent, cast metals and other materials, I could create sculptures of scale that can fully withstand the elements and physical public interaction. A sensory, more inclusive experience. Sculptures people can fully touch, explore, and climb. Informed by my smaller-scale maquettes and sketches in clay, each work could seek to engage physically, emotionally, and visually, celebrating form, texture, and environment.
For me, it’s about art being accessible for all, inviting interaction and connection with those who encounter it. Creating experiences. Creating memories.
You can currently view Gwenda’s work at Zebra One Gallery in Hamsptead, London zebraonegallery
For more information you can visit Gwenda’s website and Instragram
