18 Questions With...
Darya Diamond

Somewhere between print and sculpture is my happy place. I think I feel most connected to printmaking, but moldmaking and casting come in a close second. Both physically and conceptually, these are reproductive practices - repetitive, laborious, and wonderful. Maybe a better way to answer that question is that the act of reproduction is my medium.

Primordial Workplace, to me, references the body as the OG workplace. The body is where reproductive and emotional labor emerge. It’s where labor power originates.

Sex work is such an integral form of labor in our society - it leaves no trace, operates in anonymity, and its value to humanity is largely overlooked, despite being one of the oldest professions in the world. I grew tired of the negative stigma that still exists around sex work and the gross misrepresentation of the kinds of people who buy or sell it. I felt there was an opportunity - a necessity, really - to humanize sex work and bring visibility and subjectivity to an otherwise invalidated and obscured labor sector. It is such a powerful form of labor, and I wanted more people to understand that it can also be transformative by nature. Authentic representation is the only way to subvert negative stigma, and I decided to use my own labor as source material. I wouldn’t feel comfortable using anyone else’s labor for a whole host of reasons - primarily because I knew if I were going to exploit anyone’s experience or image, it would have to be my own.

Oh, I love seeing this stuff on gallery walls. The lingerie, the bedsheets, the imagery - all of it saturated and then re-saturated with my time, my mark, my labor, over and over again. They are artifacts, yes, but I also spend months working on them in my studio, so they become my kids. Seeing them on the gallery wall is what I imagine it feels like to see your kids graduate from high school.

I didn’t grow up very religious, but I found spirituality later in life. I actually found it around the time I started doing sex work, 14 years ago. I don’t think it was the only spiritual catalyst in my life at the time, but sex work definitely opened my eyes to the inextricable link between the sacred and the profane. Sex workers create real intimacy; they single-handedly provide emotional sanctuary, physical trust, and usually an orgasm to someone who is essentially an anonymous stranger. If that isn’t a spiritual experience, I don’t know what is.

Nan Goldin, Robert Gober, Audre Lorde, Eva Hesse, Sophie Calle, Valie Export, Clarice Lispector, Robert Rauschenberg, Silvia Federici.

There is so much misrepresentation of this field of labor, and it only feeds the archaic stigma surrounding sex work. People shy away from it because they don’t understand it, or it makes them uncomfortable. Frankly, it’s a little boring how readily people judge it. That’s what keeps us in the dark ages, associating all sex work with criminality. For me, the courage to put it all out there comes easily because I’m passionate about it. I believe in it. I believe that, in some capacities, the exchange between a prostitute and her client should be considered a site of mutual care. I believe the transactional intimacy of sex work carries the possibility of both pleasure and sanctuary.

Honestly, the personal exposure doesn’t throw off my emotional balance. I’m a very open person, and I don’t carry shame. I trust my intuition, protect my energy, and take things one day at a time.

I work in the studio from about 10 a.m. to 7 p.m. most days. I take breaks to walk my dog in the woods or in the park. Lots of coffee, always music, and sometimes old movies playing in the background.

softcore crude authenticity

I wish more people understood that some pay for sex because they want intimacy. Maybe they’re deeply, existentially lonely. Maybe they’re socially awkward or autistic and want a safe space to be intimate with someone physically and emotionally. Maybe they carry trauma and are lonely. The biggest misconception about sex work I’ve encountered usually concerns who the clients are. People are far too quick to judge anyone who pays for sex, and it’s disappointing in an age when the sexual economy of capitalism is so prominent. Often invisible, sex work is in demand among healthy, ordinary people who require diverse forms of support and care.

Chantal Akerman. I’d love to know what she thought of my show, Sugartown, at Sebastian Gladstone in Los Angeles.

I read books. I watch The Sopranos. I play mediocre guitar. I go wild camping with my dog.

What a fabulous question, and such a great example of the potency of sculpture. The piece was called £1950 because, ultimately, that’s how much I was paid while wearing the lingerie - the literal monetary value of that embodied labor. In its original form, the lingerie set is flimsy and delicate; once worn, it can even start to look a little cheap. But in bronze, the contrast between the fragile material and its permanent cast mirrors the tension between undervalued labor and its real weight in people’s lives. The work reclaims something dismissed as frivolous and transforms it into a form that demands recognition and permanence, more accurately reflecting its true weight. Bronze gave it the weight and endurance it deserves. The challenge for me is always about transforming these artifacts of eroticism or pleasure into a new context of intimacy, value, and care.

Before an opening, I usually go for a long run and take a hot bath. I’m a big believer in baths.

My friends were incredibly supportive. I’m an only child raised by a single mom, so my mother’s impression mattered most. She was an AIDS doctor in San Francisco in the early ’90s, so her exposure to sex work was probably more significant than any of my friends. I think it was tough for her to adjust to the level of vulnerability in my work. Now, after about four or five years, she is incredibly supportive, and I’m so grateful.

Do everything you can to hold on to your authentic self, and maintain integrity no matter what you do. Also, you’ll need thick skin, because people can be assholes.

I have a solo exhibition opening at Piloto Pardo in London on October 30, where I’ll be showing new work from this year. I’m also looking forward to exhibiting with Sebastian Gladstone again in spring 2026.