Behind The Work: A Talk With Nick Vye
Nick Vye is a senior at Boston College majoring in Studio Arts, and he’s already making a name for himself as an interdisciplinary artist to watch. Born and raised in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, Nick grew up with a twin brother and a younger sister. These roots have shaped his creative journey, and now, based in Boston, he’s building an impressive portfolio that speaks for itself. In just the 2024 season alone, Nick’s work has been featured in five exhibitions, and he recently snagged the 2024 Arts Fest Award—proof of his talent.
Nick’s shows have been as diverse as his art. Back in March, his work appeared in "From the Hunt," which I had the privilege of curating alongside alumna Megan Cassidy, and by November, he was part of "Emergence," another exhibition I curated. October brought "In Touch," curated by Pengyan (Max) Zhu at Phinista Cambridge, where he explored themes of intimacy through creative mediums. December’s "Show Me the Monkey," the Boston College Senior Studio Arts mid-year show, highlighted his contributions alongside his peers, while the underground gallery exhibit "The Spoils," curated by Catie Constas, showed off his willingness to push boundaries.
Nick’s plans don’t stop at graduation. He’s gearing up to keep creating and expanding his artistic footprint. With a knack for blending mediums and showing his work in such varied spaces, Nick is redefining what it means to be an artist in today’s world.
Did you get drawn to creating artwork at a young age? If so, how?
How? I don't know. I always do what comes the most naturally and has brought the path of least resistance, so far, but that will likely change after graduation (laughs). There have been several stages to how I think about art but it was not until encountering the work of Lee Bontecou in junior year of high school that I began to grasp the modern expanse of art. Not until Junior Year of college did the work actually reflect this vein of thinking, moving into sculpture then Senior year into experience.
What is the most meaningful piece of feedback you’ve received, and how did it influence your practice?
Two years ago, Professor Gallagher told me, “A single piece can’t be everything.” At the time, I didn’t fully grasp what that meant. But a few months ago, Professor Della Lucia gave me another piece of advice: “You need to limit your variables.” That feedback made me rethink my approach to the creative process in a more scientific way—thinking about control, variables, constants, and precision. It showed me that creating art is not just about inspiration but about discipline, experimentation, and balance. This shift in perspective has helped me approach my work more systematically and thoughtfully.
This year you were awarded Boston College Arts Council’s ‘Arts Council Arts Award for the 2023-2024 academic year.’ This award is distributed based on nominations from professors and staff recommendations. Is there anything you would like to say to the faculty and staff who submitted you as a nominee for this award?
I owe a lot to Cathy Della Lucia, and I’m not always good at accepting or returning praise, or even giving it in the moment. It’s something I try to be more mindful of. Even beyond this award, there have been times when I’ve been quick to dismiss my professors’ feedback as biased because they know me personally. But in reality, their support and insights have meant so much to me.
I also want to mention Professor Hartmut Austen, who has been on sabbatical this semester. He was the first person to suggest I mix sand into my paintings back when I was an underclassman, and it’s funny how accurate that advice turned out to be years later even though I have little interest in painting. Hartmut always gave me honest, sometimes harsh criticism that I truly need to grow as an artist.
I think some people assume that my more introspective nature means I need a lot of emotional support and validation, but that’s not what I seek. A simple fist bump from a little kid this week carried me further than any kind of praise ever could. What I really need are those tough truths, the ones that push me to improve—and Hartmut always provided that. I’m incredibly grateful to him, to Cathy, and to everyone who’s supported me along the way.
Due to the conceptual nature of your work, have you ever had to handle feedback or interpretation from viewers that differ from your intentions? If so, how do you approach that?
All the time—and that’s what excites me. If I were just trying to satisfy the expectations of my 18-year-old self, I would be failing—not in a conventional sense, because no one truly fails—but in terms of growth and honesty. I need my work to be open-ended, a reflection of my own openness. If I made work with a definitive message, I’d be prioritizing clarity over truth, and I’d miss the point of what I’m trying to explore.
My goal is to break through the limitations of language and description to get to something more real. Letting words dictate reality isn’t an authentic approach for me—I want to engage with things as they truly are, not as we define or limit them with language.
This year you had your first solo exhibition, which is a feat as you were the youngest artist at Boston College Arts Council to have a solo exhibition in 3 years. How do you feel this milestone has shaped you as an artist?
My art has grown and changed a lot since that experience. There are people who work harder and longer, but I tend to produce a lot of work very quickly, at various levels of perfection. For where I was at the time, I did the best I could, and clearing that first hurdle was crucial. It gave me a stronger sense of what I’m capable of and made me confident that I can handle even bigger challenges. No show will have that same level of pressure again, and no matter how I feel about the work I present, I now know I can make it happen—and that I can do so much more.
I’ve had the chance to work alongside many talented people, and I’m so grateful for the opportunities I’ve had— thanks to Brooke (laughs) , who made that possible. For a while, I felt disheartened, and I had no one to blame but myself. But that experience became the most important learning experience I’ve ever had. I thought I was stuck for months, but within three months, I was back on track, pushing myself further, addressing things I had neglected, and growing stronger as an artist.
Most importantly, I learned that I had underestimated how much effort and work it takes to create a cohesive body of work. I now understand the demands of this path—not just as an artist but as someone committed to growing professionally. It’s about discipline, focus, and a commitment to showing up, no matter what challenges arise.
One of your most recent works, 0025, consisted of about 1,000 pounds of sand and was recently shown in Gallery 203’s most recent show Emergence. Can you tell us about your draw to earth materials such as sand?
I couldn’t have shown that work without having the opportunity to exhibit in that specific gallery and understanding how it normally functions. Lately, something my work has focused on exploring is the difference in how we treat inside and outside spaces. It’s about blurring these boundaries and examining what that means for us as people.
While that point hasn’t always been evident, a lot of my work is sculptural, and I focus on the tension between permanence and impermanence. I’m also interested in the idea of inequality and where we choose to spend our lives. We might see rooms as just insides of insides, layers within layers.
I wanted to highlight a space in the gallery that typically goes unused but had been divided in a way that felt significant. The sand shows where it rests. Each windowsill is meant to be a floor, and what fascinates me about modern architecture is how its simplicity as a vessel has been complicated by necessity— heating, windows, carpeting, all these elements that modern life requires.
The process of creating 0025 didn’t happen instantly. I drew on ideas from Robert Smithson, particularly his concepts of non-site and site, but I don’t believe in divisions. A divisionless world is full of differences—walls are temporary distinctions, outfittings are shaped by different needs, and everything is a reflection of that multiplicity. My work just points to these realities.
As for sand—it initially became a material I gravitated towards because I was on a long journey to figure out my artistic constants. I cannot pinpoint a steady point of reference, a lightbulb moment that made everything clear. Sand has become a symbol of form’s impermanence and an exploration of continuity.
The touch of sand is one of my favorite things. It’s as peaceful as it is violent. Another professor said upon seeing my work “One day we’ll all become sand,” and while some see that as a metaphor for decay, I don’t dwell on that perspective. Sand connects to zen gardens, Tibetan monks, and a historical continuum of impermanence. It’s not about doing something new but about connecting to something deeply ingrained in time, death, and fluidity.
I think about art not just philosophically but also as a natural, continuous process. A quote from Ray Manzarek of The Doors is the best articulation of how I feel about the matter; “it is impossible to put a label on it because of where we are in the music, being on the inside, you’re only of the music, and all categories have to come from the outside, so someone else will have to say what our music is”. I agree wholeheartedly but am self-aware enough to know I just contradicted that to a T (laughs).
In the current art world, technology is reshaping how artists create and share their work. How do you see technology influencing your art or the art community in general?
To be honest, I don’t have strong opinions about it yet, but I see it shaping my work in some specific ways. For instance, I’m interested in exploring simple mechanics, like learning about motors and incorporating them into my installations so things can move autonomously. That kind of interaction—where the work moves on its own—could open up new possibilities for my practice.
In general, I’m open to AI. While I’m aware there are potential pitfalls, I think it can be a useful tool if approached thoughtfully. The art community is still figuring out how technology affects us—it can bring people together by breaking down technical barriers, but other aspects can drive us apart. I’m not entirely sure what forces are doing what yet.
Energy, for example, is often seen as limitless, but it’s not. In art, it ultimately comes down to individual choices about what technologies are integrated and how.
I think we’re at a crucial moment where opinions about technology in art haven’t fully solidified. This is the time to experiment, before major institutions like museums and galleries take a strong stance. Those institutions set the tone, even if most artists don’t show there. Reading interviews with people who are shaping these technological approaches in real-time constantly influences my work. It’s exciting to see how people are using technology in creative and evolving ways right now.
Art education is often debated. Do you believe formal training is essential for artists, or is self-taught experience just as valuable?
(Sigh) My answer is a resounding no. Art, like enlightenment, is a personal journey—everyone has their own path to reach those moments of clarity or breakthrough. We each have different routes and different timing to get there.
Formal training may be the path for some artists, but I believe that framing art-making as a singular, one-size-fits-all process limits the possibilities of creativity. I’m glad I chose a liberal arts school because it exposed me to a broader world of ideas—Jack Kerouac’s writings, zen poetry, and so much more I probably would have never explored on my own but now serve as the basis of my work. This kind of exposure made me realize that creativity thrives on diverse influences and experiences.
To suggest that one approach is definitely better than another as it worked for you shows a narrow mindset and a lack of maturity. Art is about embracing different perspectives, breaking boundaries, and understanding that everyone’s creative journey is valid in its own way.
Nick Vye’s creative journey is defined by his ability to push boundaries and blend disciplines seamlessly. His work transcends aesthetics—it challenges viewers to look deeper, question their assumptions, and forge connections. Whether working with sand, exploring sculptural forms, or engaging with the community, Nick’s art delves into space, form, and the unseen forces that shape our experience of reality. It’s a unique fusion of art, science, and philosophy, driven by a deep personal curiosity about what lies beneath the surface.
Having worked with Nick for over a year, I’m continually impressed by his creativity and adaptability in an ever-changing environment. His ability to evolve and innovate is truly remarkable, and his upcoming work is something to keep an eye on.
Article by Brooke Olson
Photographs by Brooke Olson and Nick Vye
We extend our heartfelt thanks to Nick for collaborating with the Arts Council and organizing shows with us during the 2024 season. Support Nick by following him on Instagram @nicxelass and attending his exhibitions!