Today we’d like to introduce you to Sophie Bonet.
Hi Sophie, so excited to have you on the platform. So before we get into questions about your work-life, maybe you can bring our readers up to speed on your story and how you got to where you are today?
I’ve always been fascinated by what makes us human, by the small, often overlooked ways we communicate who we are, what we value, and what we remember. That curiosity led me to study anthropology early on, where I became immersed in questions around culture and memory. I wasn’t just interested in academic theory—I was interested in the emotional and embodied aspects of human experience. How do objects carry meaning across generations? How do spaces hold memory? How does the act of making—and preserving—become a form of resistance or care?
As I continued my life journey, I found myself increasingly drawn to contemporary art—not only as a form of expression, but as a field of inquiry. Art felt like a space where the questions I had been asking could be lived out and theory could take form through material, image, sound, and gesture. I began working with museums and cultural institutions in the US and abroad, which were willing to challenge traditional exhibition formats and engage with more experimental, research-based, and socially conscious practices.
Curating became a way for me to merge all my interests: intellectual, aesthetic, political, and emotional. I approach it as a deeply relational practice, one that requires listening, collaboration, and trust. For me, exhibitions aren’t just about presenting artwork; they’re about creating conditions for connection and dialogue. I am drawn to work that is honest and tactile. I appreciate complexity and vulnerability, and I value the quiet strength of a gesture that doesn’t shout but stays with you.
In my current role as Chief Curator at The Frank in Pembroke Pines, FL, I’ve been able to build a space where these values are not only present but actively practiced. I design exhibitions and programs that meet people where they are, while also inviting them to stretch, to feel, and to perceive differently. I’m always asking: How does this work speak to the present? What conversations does it open up? How can we hold space for nuance and multiple truths?
Education continues to be at the center of everything I do. I see it not just in formal terms, but as a way of being in the world—curious, open, always learning. One day, I know I’ll return more fully to academic research, maybe through writing or teaching. But for now, curating allows me to explore the questions I care most about—how we remember, how we imagine, how we connect—and to do so in community.
I’m sure it wasn’t obstacle-free, but would you say the journey has been fairly smooth so far?
It hasn’t always been a smooth road, but I don’t think it’s supposed to be. The path I’ve chosen is one that requires constant negotiation: between creative autonomy and institutional structure, between personal values and public responsibility, between vision and reality. Working in the arts—especially in publicly funded spaces—means you’re often advocating for things that aren’t always easy to quantify: cultural memory, emotional resonance, the long-term impact of access and representation.
There have been moments where I’ve had to fight for the kind of programming I believe in, or explain why something that feels intangible is still necessary. And as a woman, an immigrant, single mother, and someone who didn’t come from institutional privilege, I’ve had to carve out space for my voice without waiting for permission. That’s shaped the way I lead—with empathy, with clarity, and with a sense of responsibility to those who come after me.
I’ve also learned that slowness is not failure. Some of the most meaningful shifts in my career didn’t happen through big, visible leaps, but through deep, quiet work: listening, reflecting, trusting relationships, and making decisions that were aligned with my values, even if they weren’t the easiest ones.
The road hasn’t been smooth, but it’s been honest, and it’s brought me to a place where I can do work that feels grounded and intentional, and in service of something bigger than myself.
Thanks – so what else should our readers know about your work and what you’re currently focused on?
I curate contemporary art exhibitions and programs that explore memory, material, and our relationship to place. Working within public institutions, I approach curating as a collaborative and thoughtful practice, one that invites connection and dialogue that extends beyond the gallery.
I’m especially proud of the conversations that emerge between exhibitions and collaborators—how each show becomes part of a larger, evolving dialogue. In Lexicon de Plantas by Alejandra Abad and LineScape Deconstruction by Nathalie Alfonso (2023), we explored gesture, ecological perception, and embodied memory through immersive installation, drawing, and video. That exploration of space and presence continued in The Crossings (2024), a global participatory project by Damaris Ferrer that redefined the boundaries between performer, audience, and site through acts of collective movement and witnessing.
In Ebb & Flow (2024–2025), co-curated with Pamela Zee Lopez, we examined the continuum of womanhood through works rooted in ritual, domestic labor, resilience, and ancestral memory. That was followed by Adventum Floridana (2025) by Andrés Cabrera-García, which investigated Florida’s disappearing ecosystems and layered histories through oil painting and found-object installations. Most recently, I collaborated with curator Liliam Dominguez and Deering Estate, facilitating Of Seeing and Being: Giannina Dwin and Tony Fernandez, an exhibition that explored perception, site, and relational material practices through the lens of artist residencies.
What I’m most proud of isn’t just the exhibitions—it’s the approach. I lead with trust and a willingness to hold space for multiple ways of thinking and making. I value collaboration over ego, and I see each project as a shared process that allows artists and audiences alike to feel seen, heard, and challenged. I’m proud of the relationships that have grown through this work, the risks we’ve taken together, and the inclusive, artist-centered space we’re building at The Frank. I believe we’re contributing something meaningful to the larger story of contemporary art in South Florida—one that reflects care, experimentation, and a deep investment in community and cultural memory.
Is there something surprising that you feel even people who know you might not know about?
Something most people don’t know about me is that I’m low-key obsessed with survival scenarios, especially anything involving the zombie apocalypse. I’ve watched more post-apocalyptic movies and series than I’d care to admit, and I absolutely have opinions about escape routes, fire-starting methods, and what qualifies as a solid bug-out bag. I can name edible plants I’ll never touch and explain how to purify water with a plastic bottle and sheer hope. There’s something oddly soothing about watching people navigate total collapse with nothing but twine and determination. I live a pretty peaceful life, but deep down, I’m always just a little bit ready for the end of the world.
Contact Info:
- Website: https://sophbonet.wixsite.com/curatorial
- Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/bonet.hekit/
- LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/sophbonet/
Image Credits
Sophie Bonet
