Chilean artist Iván Navarro , renowned for his striking light and mirror sculptures, tells Dionne Bel about his cyclops-themed solo show in Paris fusing neon, myth, cosmic cartography and political symbolism

Brooklyn-based artist Iván Navarro is internationally renowned for his electrifying sculptures that fuse light, language and illusion to explore themes of power, control, memory and resistance. Born in 1972 in Santiago and raised under the Pinochet dictatorship, his early experiences of political repression continue to reverberate through his work, where neon, mirrors and repetition become tools to probe deeper questions about freedom and perception. Whether transforming recycled signage into poetic declarations or crafting infinite optical spaces that reflect both beauty and brutality, his artistic language is deeply engaged with both the personal and the political.

Over the past few years, Navarro has increasingly turned his gaze upward, drawing inspiration from the cosmos and constellations – a subject intimately linked to Chile’s stunning night skies conducive to stargazing. In Cyclops, his latest exhibition at Templon gallery in Paris, he unveiled a new body of work that includes a giant neon sculpture designed to be experienced in daylight, a laser-cut zodiac map, mirrored celestial explosions and politically-charged optometrist eye charts referencing recent demonstrations in his country of origin. The show wove together mythology, astronomy and protest through a series of creations that are both visually seductive and socially resonant.

Your exhibition Cyclops explores celestial phenomena. How did your interest in astronomy begin?

I’ve always been fascinated by the cosmos. As a kid, I loved looking through telescopes – it felt mysterious. My mom loved stargazing too, and my dad recently gave her a telescope for her birthday. It’s funny –she’s 70, and now she’s got this new toy. The skies in Chile are incredibly clear, especially in the north, where you find some of the most powerful telescopes in the world. That clarity shaped my awareness of light, and also of light pollution – how in cities, we hardly see stars anymore. One of the works in the show, The Observatory, reflects on that. It’s a light piece of a solar eclipse enclosed in a tank so it doesn’t emit light outward – it creates a contained universe you view through a peephole.

What does the cyclops represent for you in this body of work?

In Greek mythology, the cyclops was the being that produced natural disasters, which explained thunder, lightning and electrical storms. People needed a figure to personify these extreme natural forces. For me, it’s symbolic of raw power, of the forces we can’t control. But I also see it as a metaphor for dictatorship – like Pinochet in Chile. The cyclops becomes this creature that creates destruction with light and electricity, which connects directly to how electricity was used as a tool of control through blackouts and torture during the dictatorship.

You mentioned that the cyclops could also be seen as a victim. Can you explain that duality?

During the Chilean protests in 2019–2020, the police targeted protesters’ eyes. Many people were blinded. That brutality struck me deeply. In the show, I have these Eye Chart pieces with words like “react”, “revolt” and “rebel”. There’s this idea of vision – literal and metaphorical. The cyclops, in that context, is someone who sees with one eye and also someone who loses sight. It’s a complex symbol of both power and vulnerability.

Has Greek mythology always played a role in your work, and how does it feature in your piece Zodiac Constellations?

Yes, mythology has always been there, especially through constellations, which are rooted in mythological traditions. In this show, I’m including a piece that doesn’t use the modern, geometric way of representing constellations, but instead returns to older, classical imagery: figures of animals and people. These older images are directly connected to mythology. Zodiac Constellations is based on an equatorial chart that maps both the northern and southern constellations at the same time, as if you’re standing on the equator and seeing the entire universe simultaneously. It’s about that impossibility of trying to see everything all at once.

You’re known for using neon in your light sculptures. How did you approach the monumental piece The Cyclops technically?

The piece is made of eight panels, which I could work on individually in my studio. It’s all hand-assembled, using recycled neon from signage that once advertised products. I like reclaiming those materials, stripping away their original commercial purpose and reconfiguring them into something poetic. In the centre of The Eye, another piece in the show, you’ll find the word “peace” spelled out – one of those hidden fragments that people might or might not notice.

One of the more political pieces in the show is Shell Shock. How did that series come about?

Shell Shock refers to the trauma of explosions – initially cosmic, but also psychological. The images of fireworks are taken from magazines or the Internet, transferred to glass using a laser-cutting technique, then hand-painted. It started during Covid when I had to return to working by hand rather than industrial fabrication – no assistants or fabricators due to being isolated. That handmade process became meditative. And yes, the explosions are also metaphors for war trauma, both in the mythological world and in the very real violence we continue to experience.

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