Sydney-based artist Maria Fernanda Cardoso (born 1963, Bogotá, Colombia) makes art that blends nature, art, science, and technology to transform unconventional materials into awe-inspiring installations, sculptures, performances and videos. Her work often invites us to observe the wonders of nature, and particularly of the small.  

To set the stage for our conversation about your projects, could you share some insights into your background and how it has influenced your artistic journey?  

I was born and raised in Colombia, where I attended the conservatory of music from 8-17 years of age, as well as full-time school. I studied architecture before I discovered that I could have more freedom in art, instead of being in an academy studying classical music or architecture, full of constraints.  I discovered that I could break with tradition and do whatever I wanted to. Since then, I have directed my interests towards many different fields. But everything is connected by the common thread of my artistic process. Since deciding to become an artist, I have been happy exploring new subject matter and techniques, from sculpture to microscopy, from performance to public art, and so on. I love working with my hands, and I also love observing and then displaying the wonders of the natural world that most capture my attention. 

What drives your curiosity in exploring the intersection of art, science, and nature?

My curiosity is driven by the delight found in discovering something new in the natural world, and by trying to guess the reasons for things a bit like the way a naturalist/scientist would do. As a child, I was fascinated by Sherlock Holmes, trying to deduct clues in almost imperceptible detail. I was also fascinated by Leonardo Da Vinci, who looked and drew and experimented trying to understand whatever it was that caught his attention. My grandfather was like that—a bit like a mad scientist. He trained as a medical doctor and surgeon, and his curiosity was insatiable. He wanted to be the first to experiment and conduct research in different fields, from nutrition to Malaria and then onto Cataract surgery. He performed the first surgery in Colombia in the 1930’s.

Spiders of Paradise, 2018 - ongoing

Can you give us a glimpse into your creative process? How do you go from initial inspiration to bringing a piece to life, and what keeps you motivated along the way?  

First I have to find something that amazes me. Like the way water fills a sponge, or the strength of a minuscule flea, or the sophistication of a spider that’s the size of a grain of rice. Then I want to know everything about that subject matter, and I become an ‘expert’ in each subject area I decide to pursue. Each project takes me years of research, but I enjoy every bit of knowledge and understanding I gain.   For example, to pursue a project that was difficult to produce, (A Museum of Copulatory Organs), I enrolled in a PhD program at the University of Sydney so I could have access to Natural HIstory collections and SEM microscopy. For the flea circus, I spent two years researching, and then six more years developing the Cardoso Flea Circus, from humble beginnings with six flea acts in 1995, to a parade of 1500 live fleas performing at the Sydney Opera House in January 2000, the peak of that project.

"Cardoso Flea Circus" at the Sydney Opera House, 2000.

In many of your projects, you create immersive environments that tell a story. How do you approach storytelling in your work?  

It varies. In 1994, I made an immersive marine environment for Capp Street Projects, where you could walk under and around clusters of blue starfish. The materials provide associations and trigger emotions, sensations, and memories of seaside experiences by means of an artificial sense of place. But I have to say I never thought of myself as a narrative artist, until the Cardoso Flea Circus changed me. I constructed a whole universe of fleas, flea tamer and flea trainer, and in this process the fleas gained personality and appreciation. I even had grand dreams and proclaimed myself ‘Queen of the Fleas’. My nerdy side expressed itself with my dual personality as ‘Professor of Fleas’. In contrast, The Museum of Copulatory Organs was very understated. I used words and phrases taken from fields of evolutionary biology or taxonomy that open worlds to whoever wanted to explore. I suppose you could say that I made objects talk. For example, I devoted an entire case full of scientific/artistic models of the genitalia of insects under the name ‘Sexual Coevolution’. Another, under ‘Sexual Conflict’. The scientific models told the stories of the complexity that sexual reproduction introduced in the evolution of life, propelling evolution into an ever accelerating race—and not just our race against viruses and bacteria that want to eat us, but the race that stems from the conflict between males and females who have different interests. That’s why everything outlandish, extravagant, beautiful and complex in an organism has to do with reproduction. You just have to look at flowers, antlers, elaborate courtship rituals, and interesting genitalia to see how extraordinary this evolutionary process is.

Pirañas, 1992. Preserved piranha fish, wood, paint and glue.

In your Seed Pod Time Capsule project, you collaborated closely with the Suzu community to gather materials like caltrops and Japanese pinecones, which became integral to the artwork. How do you see the relationship between your art and the communities you engage with?

That experience was amazing. The community was very keen to help gather tens of thousands of seed pods, and yet, they were surprised to discover how they had never looked at them in detail, or even noticed them before. They were proud to discover the beauty and power of what we did together, and how it communicated an appreciation and reverence to the beauty of the natural world. This is something that I find in common with my sensibility and an aesthetic in Japanese culture that values the natural world and all its so-called imperfections.

"Seed Pod Time Capsule" at Oku-Noto Triennale, 2023.

The Naked Flora series reveals the hidden aspects of plant reproduction through deep focus photography. What was your motivation behind 'undressing' flowers, and what did you hope viewers would take away from this intimate perspective?

After having done MoCo (Museum of Copulatory Organs) I wanted to bring to the attention of the audience how flowers are reproductive organs. We don’t seem to have any compulsion to censor them but we feel very differently when it comes to animals. I simply did what Karl Linnaeus did in the 18th century.  He is considered the father of taxonomy, and his system of classifying plants was based on counting how many ‘husbands’ and how many ‘wives’ a flower had. Of course he anthropomorphized the pistils into wives, and stamens into husbands in line with what we might regard today as rather presumptive or perhaps sexist. But he did this with a cheeky humour and propagated his system by describing the petals of a flower as the ‘nuptial curtains on a wedding bed’. Any plant collector around the world knew how to count and therefore his system stuck.

Naked Flora, 2013-2014.

Your famous Cardoso Flea Circus turned something as mundane as fleas into an international sensation. What inspired you to create a flea circus, and how do you reflect on the impact it has had on audiences and your career?

I love how everyone in the world, no matter which culture, is familiar with fleas.  We  humans used to have fleas before modern hygiene. It was called the Pulex irritans, and it’s very hard if not impossible to find these days. But most people know them because they want to get rid of them in their pets.  So the idea of a flea circus is a classic.  I don't know why it triggers the imagination, but it is inherently humorous.  I didn’t invent it, I just revived the lost art of flea training. I set myself the goal to match the mastery of Bertolotto who was the greatest flea empresario in the 19th century.  Many of his acts were quite complex and hard to make, so I invented quite a few of my own.  It was a success thanks to technology.   Because traditionally you could only perform to a crowd of a dozen or so people at a time, and you had to perform many times a day to earn a living. But thanks to video magnification, we could have a larger audience, both in the live shows, but also as an artwork (a video installation of the circus toured on its own for ten years.  By the way, it is on view now at the Fabric Workshop and Museum in Philladelphia).   I was lucky to marry video artist Ross Rudesch Harley, who joined the circus and brought the power of live video magnification to the audience, as well as really funny music. I also caught the audience's attention by explaining to them that although I have been Yale-educated I abandoned it all to lead my troupe of fleas. The audience at the time didn’t necessarily know that it was a living artwork that they were watching. It was exhilarating but also hard to become a carnie and an entertainer.  It is not in my nature as I am shy and introverted. And yet…

"Cardoso Flea Circus" at the San Francisco Exploratorium, 1995-1996 World Premiere

Your mural project Ripples and Droplets spans a significant space in Sydney's CBD, making it one of Australia's largest public artworks. Can you share what inspired the concept behind this monumental piece, and how did you approach translating natural phenomena like rain and ripples into such a large-scale urban canvas?

Thanks for doing so much research into my work! For this project I took a material-based approach.  The building was made out of solid concrete by a great Sydney architect called Angelo Candalepas.  I did my research and learned everything about concrete (a liquid that solidifies), and found some mineral pigments that chemically attach themselves to the concrete, like a tattoo, therefore becoming permanent without peeling or fading like most paints do in an outdoor setting.  Experimenting with the mineral paints and the chemistry of the cement I noticed that at certain dilutions the lines would form droplets around the lines that I was painting—the same way that dew would form droplets around a spider’s silk. And to make the drawings I invented a device to use my arm as a pendulum, and a fluid releasing substitute to the traditional painter's brushes. And then everything clicked together.  To upscale it, I hired a small group of people to help me do it, and translated it identically from the small scale that I drew/painted to the large mural scale.  Every drop and kink in my lines is in the walls of the building. It was a lot of fun to play with true mineral paints and colors, although I ended up choosing white as I knew it would work.  White stands out the most, and still is very simple and elegant.

"Ripples and Droplets" at 116 Bathurst Street, 2022.

Looking back, is there a particular piece or project that stands out as a turning point or defining moment in your career?

There are a few.  When I discovered that I wanted to be a material-based artist in 1983, as an undergraduate student. I did my honors thesis on the topic of Water. I then became a researcher and experimenter.  

My series of preserved animals won the first prize at the Bogota Biennale in 1990, as people understood the deep prehispanic connections of the art work in relation to the conflict of having to constantly look at death in a country full of violence.  It touched a nerve in my home country.

The Flea Circus of course (1994-2000). In a certain way, I suppose it defined my life before and after.

MoCo (Museum of Copulatory Organs) 2012 was a highlight. I enjoyed a quarter of a million people at the Biennale of Sydney looking and being surprised and engaged by the novelty of what they were seeing. 

While I Live I Will Grow is my favorite public art piece. Honestly, I never thought I could make a public art piece as they have to be permanent, and I like to work with natural materials, which would degrade.  But I discovered that I could display bottle trees as living sculptures, which will grow over the next 100 years to become giant trees. I presented them on a double spiral sandstone sculpture that doubles as seating. I will be dead when it is truly magnificent, which is an amazing thought for me to entertain.

"Cardoso Flea Circus" at the Fabric Workshop and Museum, 1996-1998. Performance, Installation, Video, Art and Science.

Given your extensive career and the recognition you’ve earned, what advice would you offer to emerging artists who aspire to create impactful and boundary-pushing work?

The only advice I have is that if you have a plan B for your life, do that. Art is an impulse you have and you simply can’t do anything else.  It is not an easy path, as glamorous and exciting as it may sound.

"It's Not the Size That Matters, It Is Shape", 2008-2009. 3D Modelling in collaboration with Matt Booth and Vert Design.

Many emerging artists struggle with doubts and uncertainties about their art. In moments of doubt or uncertainty about a project, how do you determine when a work is complete or when to push further? Your insights could provide invaluable guidance in navigating these challenges.

I ask for feedback from others. I find it very useful.  Sometimes for me, it takes years to have that sense of completion.  Is there any rush in finishing? I work in an iterative way until I am done.

Finally, what are you currently working on, and are there any future projects or themes you are particularly excited about exploring next?

For the past couple of years I have been researching animal architecture. Because the subject is vast, I want to work with other artists and architects. We recently started a collective focussed on the topic during a three month residency in Berlin. My grand dream is to make an Animal Architecture Museum, indoors and outdoors, somewhere in the world.  I  want to ask the question: “Who said that humans invented architecture?”  Our newly born Animal Architecture Collective did a residency in East Berlin at Spree Park Artspace and we have a show coming up in March/April 2025. 

I  am also enjoying doing projects in Japan, and I just recently came from the Northern Alps Festival where I did an art installation at an empty school library, titled Library of Wooden Hearts.  In Japan they are trying to combat depopulation with art, and they bring artists from all over Japan and overseas to make art that will bring audiences to remote places.  I love going there.  It is a very interesting model, and you get a lot of support to produce the work which is a relief when you are a solo operator. And I feel an aesthetic affinity with the Japanese which I  find very special.