Artist Carlos Vega's Transhistoric Exploration of Spirituality in “Anima Mundi”

For New York City and Granada–based artist Carlos Vega, the exhibition “Anima Mundi” (running now through April 18 at 513 W 20th Street) is a demonstration of the alchemical power of lead. Not, however, as a revelation in its mythic reputation to transmute into gold, but as a canvas for storytelling beyond its materiality. Within his large-scale lead works—which are accented with gemstones, postage stamps, Renaissance frames, and other ephemera—Vega conjures soulful scenes that bind the past, present, and future. Ultimately, Vega’s works connect spirituality, nature, and humanity through enchanting symbolism with philosophical punctuation.

There’s a growing hunger right now for meaning outside of institutional structures. Do you feel that your work is arriving at a particular cultural inflection point? How consciously are you speaking to this search?

We live in a time when everyone is constantly surrounded by distractions—there is this digital noise that we cannot turn off that follows us all the time. In the midst of this, I believe people are thirsting for tangible, real connections, and are seeking out ways of understanding the chaos of the world we are living in. Exploring these questions of meaning is not new to my practice or a response to our current moment, it’s something I have been delving into for longer than I can even say. But I hope that my work can speak to people more profoundly among this climate, that it can help them to find that missing sense of community or meaning that they are seeking.

Lead is such a charged material—it carries toxicity, transformation, history, and this alchemical promise of becoming something greater than itself. Why is this your material of choice and what does it mean to you to make something luminous out of it?

There is such a history and depth to lead, and I love the way, when a viewer recognizes these aspects of the material, it imbues my work with deeper layers, meanings. I confess, lead has truly bitten me. I find it such an alluring and tantalizing medium. Beyond the symbolism it instills into my work, just the physical challenges of working with it has changed my practice so much. It forces me to be more intentional and thoughtful because of how unforgiving it is.

You and Jack Shainman are partners in life and in business. Can you tell us more about the operational side of your role at the gallery? And how do you toggle between your roles as gallerist and artist?

Honestly, I feel incredibly privileged to see both sides of the art world. Though it definitely doesn’t make my career any easier, it does give me a unique perspective through which to understand everything. I can approach gallery matters with the lens of an artist, and vice versa. But more than that, working with Jack has given me truly singular opportunities to explore areas I never imagined I would be able to. Being able to be involved in architectural projects like The School and our Tribeca gallery is such a singular experience, and I am so grateful to be a part of something so big.

You and Jack have been living with a rotating collection for decades and you collected lead BB pellets and figurines as a kid. Now lead is the foundation of your practice. It sounds like collecting has always been less about acquisition and more about attunement to certain materials and objects. As a collector and an artist, how do you know when something has that pull for you?

I guess, ultimately, collecting to me is a search for something deeper than aesthetics—everything I collect, from art to objects to anything, needs to have some sort of emotional resonance for me. Whether that is because of a personal association or a deeper meaning that the object has, it doesn’t matter. I just am drawn to things that, more than being purely ornamental, reveal some kind of important truth.

For thirty years, you’ve built an artistic practice drawing on ancient philosophy, Renaissance materials, and personal history, while much of contemporary art sprints toward newness. What has staying with these deep, slow questions of spirit and meaning offered you?

My art has always been focused on exploring those questions that most preoccupy my thoughts, regardless of how new or cool those topics are. At the end of the day, I want to feel like I am creating something important and enduring, something that will be just as relevant in hundreds of years as it is now. Ultimately, I think time is the greatest curator of all, and I can only hope that the subjects I grapple with will stand its tests.