a studio in transition
I just finished up a micro series. On the surface, each piece is kind of a study on using different techniques and materials within the same form, an ear cuff. But as I've been making them, I've realized I am also documenting something else. I am in a creative transition
I have been collecting single-use plastics for almost 10 years now. What began as a year-long project back in 2017 quickly grew into shelves and bins full of plastic packaging I couldn't bring myself to throw away. At first, the collection felt full of possibility. Every piece seemed like it might become something beautiful. As the collection grew though, I realized I couldn't keep everything. I slowly learned to let go of the materials that didn't inspire me and keep the ones that did.
Even after that first round of editing, I still found myself holding onto certain materials almost protectively, usually to the materials that felt too rare to use. This looked like, plastic packaging relating to a particular memory, in an unusual color, or having a pattern Ive never come across.
I kept thinking I should save them until I had the perfect idea or enough of the material to make a whole series. This has meant that I have had some of these things since the early days and have chosen to keep them through several rounds of culling and yet I didn’t follow the inspiration that kept them there.
the work
This first mushroom ear cuff was made from a few of those long saved material. It’s about 3 pieces of bubblewrap in and a bag that was a similar color. It felt surprisingly freeing to finally use it. Instead of worrying whether I was using it on the "right" idea, I found myself enjoying the simple act of making something with a material I'd been saving for so long. It is inspired by the gills of a mushroom.
The second piece was completely different. It was the first finished work using a new technique I've been developing with fused grocery bags and floral wire. It didn't become the piece I imagined. The material wanted to behave differently than I expected, and I'm still deciding how I feel about the result. Sometimes a piece feels wrong simply because it's unfamiliar. I've learned that those are often the works that need a little time before I understand what they're trying to teach me. It's inspired by mycelium.
The third ear cuff brought me back to one of the first plastics I ever fell in love with: clear salad containers. Working with them again felt like speaking my mother tongue after spending months learning another language. The movements were familiar. The material responded the way I remembered, and there was a comfort in that. Its inspired my an oyster mushroom and made with salad containers, acrylic ink and colored pencils.
Recently I designed a class centered around this material, and teaching it has reminded me of something I seem to learn over and over again. Preparing to teach forces me to slow down. I record myself making, break each decision into individual steps, and ask why I do things the way I do. In the process, I often rediscover ideas I'd forgotten or find simpler ways of approaching techniques I've been using for years. Teaching doesn't happen after learning is finished. For me, it's become one of the ways I continue learning.
transition
So back to the whole, in transition thing. As I've been making these pieces, I've realized that they all share something in common. They feel like the last conversations I've been meaning to have with this collection of materials. I don't think I'm done working with plastic. In fact, the new work quietly taking shape in my studio right now still revolves around it. But my relationship to the material is changing.
For years, collecting and discovering new plastics was a central part of my practice. Somewhere along the way though, I stopped adding to the collection. At the time, I thought maybe I was just in a creative dry spell. Looking back, I think something else was happening. My curiosity had already started moving in a different direction. I just hadn't recognized it yet. Now, instead of asking what else I can collect, I'm asking what still wants to be made. I'm using the materials I've been saving. I'm following through on ideas that have been waiting patiently for me. I'm letting myself finish conversations instead of keeping them open forever.
Meanwhile, another body of work is quietly taking shape. Right now it mostly looks like stacks of library books, pages of notes, photographs, documentaries, and ideas that haven't quite found their final form. It may be years before those seeds become finished pieces, and you as a viewer may not even see much of a change. Transitions are strange like that. Sometimes they feel big and earth shaking and sometimes your work has already begun to change long before your mind catches up with it.
I think that's where I am now.