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Johnny Randoll | Sculptor

London-based artist Johnny Randoll grew up immersed in making, from early experiments with papier-mâché and clay to painting imagined seaside scenes and later creating bold abstract murals. Largely self-taught, his practice draws on a lifelong fascination with antiques, curiosities, natural forms and symbolism. Influenced by his time spent studying collections at the British Museum, Randoll's work explores the emotional resonance of objects through atmospheric, intuitive forms.

How did you begin? 

I come from an artistic family, so making has always been part of the tapestry of my life. At a young age I was painting abstract scenes inspired by seaside life and imagined beach creatures, while also sculpting faces and figures. I was introduced to papier-mâché and clay around the age of four or five, and having the space and encouragement to experiment freely allowed my instinct to thrive.

As a child, I spent time copying characters and reworking them into my own forms. Alongside this, I began collecting antiques, curiosities, jewellery, dried seed pods, and naturally formed objects. And as a teenager, I created bold, atmospheric abstract murals, which is where I first felt a real sense of connection and direction in what I was doing.

Institutions have informed me. I still regularly visit the British Museum; I made vases, pots and candle sticks for a private event in the Egyptian gallery. This experience reinforced my interest in history, symbolism, and the emotional weight objects can carry.

How did you learn? 

Through making. I was recognised as a creative early on, placed into specialised programmes at school and later accepted into a sought-after art college. That early structure gave me a foundation, but more importantly, permission to take my instincts seriously. Beyond that, I’m largely self-taught. However, for many years I worked closely with varying teams at [London members club] 5 Hertford Street. I learned a lot, and have designed many special items for RB Holdings in recent years.

I tend to approach each project as its own world, something to explore rather than solve. I’ve always been an observer, a little introverted, comfortable in my own mind, following ideas as they gradually unfold. I’ve never really seen uncertainty as a problem, more as something generative, even magical. That mindset has allowed me to move freely between intuition and structure. In more recent years, I’ve refined that instinct through formal learning again: courses, mentors, and professional environments, but always as a form of support, rather than overriding my natural process.

How do you plan, prepare, and create your works?

My work begins with research—history, archaeology, nature—and spending time with those references until the process starts to feel clear. I tend to approach all work in a similar way, whether it’s a personal piece or a commission, thinking about how it sits within a space, not just as an object on its own.

I’m not really led by individual artists or whole collections. It’s more about fragments—things I notice across art, design, interiors, or even places. Over time I’ve developed a strong sense of what I’m drawn to, and I trust that. It might be a person, a home, or a certain atmosphere, something that’s hard to define but easy to recognise when it’s right. Instinct again, I suppose. When I’m collaborating with clients, I try to understand their taste in a similar way. Often there are patterns in what they’re drawn to, even if they haven’t articulated it themselves.

Who or what most influences your work? 

My work is influenced by a mix of ritual, symbolism, and material memory. I’m particularly drawn to the visual language of textiles, especially carpet traditions, where pattern, repetition, and touch carry both cultural and emotional meaning. I don’t reference nature directly, but it’s embedded in how I construct colour and form — in rhythm, contrast, and atmosphere. I’m drawn to shifting light, organic shapes, and the way colors exist in the natural world, how they clash, soften, or vibrate against each other.

I'm also pulled towards spiritual and mystical systems, and the idea that objects can hold energy, act as guardians, or function as quiet relics. I interpret the body as both a physical and symbolic space, something sensual, coded, and at times sacred. This often overlaps with my experience of queer identity, which brings a kind of softness, duality, and tension into the work. 

What does a typical day look like?

I don’t follow a strict structure. Some parts can feel repetitive — especially when I’m producing things onsite and painting decoratively. When I’m making paintings or sculptures, it’s much more fluid. It comes and goes: shifts, and pauses. There is a natural methodology, but there are no rules to my work. 

A place that most inspires you, anywhere in the world?

It would be difficult to choose one. The Victoria and Albert museum and British Museum are very high on my list, but so is any Woodland. It depends on whether I want to be inspired visually or imaginatively.

An object you’ll never part with? 

I am a collector of Jewelry, mostly brooches, I have over 100 and they are sacred to me. 

Interview by Sophie Goodwin

Images from Johnny Randoll