Artist Statement
I have loved art my entire life, being an artist is an integral part of my personality and it has led me to create my own business selling my fiber artwork. I did this largely in response to becoming a stay-at-home mom and feeling the urge to create art while also caring for my daughter. Because of this, being a mother and being an artist are wonderfully, chaotically intertwined for me. My daughter is a part of my creative process and sharing our mutual love for art is one of my greatest joys as a mother. As a writer, I have also found that motherhood does not need to be held aloft from professionalism, and I have found validation in allowing my voice as a mother to come through in my writing. I enjoy writing because it allows me time for research and reflection. I sometimes struggle to articulate myself well, and I have found that writing gives me a way to communicate with greater clarity. I believe that having a genuine voice is a critical asset in writing, especially with technological developments such as Large-Language model AIs. Authenticity in the age of technology is paramount, and my writing featured on this site aims to reflect that through the exploration of genuine human connections made between an artist and observer as well as a writer and reader.
Essay
Binding Fibers
The sun dips behind the western red cedars surrounding a small clearing where my mother’s yurt stands. This is where I first learned to make felt, with my mother at my side and my toddler running naked through the garden. She clutches Salal flowers in her little fists and her giggles inspire me as I create a felted tapestry reminiscent of the beach we played at this morning.
My mother explains: felting occurs when strands of wool are agitated, causing the barbs on each strand to catch and tighten together. This can be done with a needle or soap and water.
I pluck the wool fibers, pulling with my fingers clasped flat against my palm, and lay the extracted fibers flat on the table in front of me. I do this until I've formed a fluffy mat of wool. Lifting a garden sprayer, I saturate the mat with hot soapy water and massage it flat as the fibers begin to snare each other. I love the transformative property of the wool; the fibers are loose and singular in the beginning but with agitation they combine together, hooking and pulling until they've become so entwined it's turned them into something else. After I've flattened the mat, I roll it around a pool noodle to form a log. This log is then rolled back and forth repeatedly until the barbs of the wool fibers catch and tighten together, forming a seamless piece of felt fabric.
Roll, roll, roll. I count in my head 1, 2, 3... taking up the beat my mother taught me. This meditative, cathartic process is where I find the time for contemplation, sometimes profound, but not always. Right now I think about the beach, the ocean, the rocking of a boat out on a midnight bay. But the warm water soaking the fibers has turned cold and I feel the dip in temperature as evening settles in, grounding me to the process. I firmly press down on the log bundle as I roll it from wrist to elbow and back again… 58, 59, 60. Finally finished. I unroll the bundle and massage it flat, frothy globs of soap drip down from the table as I inspect the artwork in front of me. There is no doubt in my mind that the lush spray of ivory locks and dappled blue silk intertwined with aqua wool is a work of art.
The distinction between art and craft has been a point of contention throughout the 21st century and the discourse of traditional gender roles often burdens it. The Fiber Arts Revival of the 1960s and 70s sought to bring fiber art and textiles into the category of fine art. Artists such as Sheila Hicks, Claire Zeisler, Alice Adams, and Lenore Tawney challenged the status quo of male-dominated fine arts by exploring the possibilities within a medium largely ascribed as “women’s work.” In 1979, feminist art pioneer Judy Chicago created The Dinner Party with the goal of confronting the persistent omission of female contributions throughout history. The Dinner Party was one of the first pieces of modern fine art to incorporate fiber arts such as needlepoint and featured 39 table settings dedicated to influential women. Chicago’s art was met with severe criticism for its use of vulvar forms to represent each women’s place at the table, as well as its heavy-handed approach to feminist art. Although the movement was not as successful in liberating fine art from the burden of misogyny as many artists had hoped, it did open the door for fiber arts to be understood outside the context of crafting for home life and functionality.
Another fiber art revival in the 2010s contributed to female empowerment through crafts, opening the conversation to activism and birthing a new moniker: the craftivist. The act of yarnbombing started by fiber artists Magda Sayeg and Lauren O'Farrell pushed to personalize and reclaim sterile public places. The Pussyhat movement of 2017 saw pink hats in all their glory as a reclamation of the word “pussy” and protest of Trump’s misogyny. Elaborate felt costumes created by Patti Barker carry messages of female empowerment and scorn, such as her Climate Sisters set, Sea Crone, and Dragon Skin. Barker uses textiles as a challenge to speak her truths as well as address social and political issues; her costume Ant Queen, inspired by past political climate, whispers “let women lead us to peace.” All of these fiber artists who have come before me left this legacy of reclaiming fiber as a way to convey and share their frustrations, fears, joys and talent. My goal as an artist is to claim that legacy and learn techniques to communicate through my craft.
Patti believes: an artist’s ability to grow resides within their desire to learn new things, techniques, and materials
When I surpassed my mothers ability to teach me, she introduced me to the artist Patti Barker. Patti recognized my talent as a fiber artist and has helped nurture my growth, teaching me various techniques for Felting and hand-dying wool. She showed me Nuno felting, which is a technique used to combine a fabric with wool. This creates a beautiful texture from the wool ensnaring the fabric as they merge into each other.
I was inspired by Patti’s dyeing technique that creates a fluid transition of colors within wool roving. With this technique, a single skein of wool can contain different concentrations of dye and therefore different tones within a hue. Additionally, it can be used to transition one hue to another, sometimes creating a different color altogether. This variation allows for me to create a painting effect with the fiber and enables me to achieve a wider range of colors to work with. Learning to dye my own wool fundamentally changed how I approach my art. I frequently source raw wool, known as fleece, from my hometown Lopez Island, Washington. After being cleaned and combed, I dye it based on current or future projects. I find satisfaction in completing a piece of art that I have worked with my own hands each step of the process.
Patti tells me: I believe life is all about finding your joy and sharing it. That’s why I teach.
In 2021, I spent the fall on my patio in California learning from Patti’s online class Felt Memory. I experiment with sculpting the wool by binding it during felting so that when released from its bounds, the shape is retained. In my hands, the vibrant yellow sheet of wool I’m working on is bound tightly around marbles. The hot pink of the mini rubber-bands binding them makes them easier to find and cut out, but at this moment the wet wool looks like some lumpy creature from the bottom of the ocean. When it’s finished, the cavities created by the marbles will form a honeycomb texture. This memory technique has become my favorite for making flowers and beehives.
My daughter frequently joins me when I felt and the continuation of passing this artform down to another generation is something I cherish. Her favorite part of this process is the unbinding, when she hears the clink clink clink of marbles dropping into a bowl, finally freed and ready to be played with. We both love the honeyed fragrance of the jacaranda trees in California, but when they start dropping their purple flowers into my felting it's time to take a break. I fling one of the sticky flowers at my daughter and she swings one of my tools, a pool noodle, at me. I’m left with no choice but to brandish a second one and challenge her to a duel.
I enjoy the ability to connect through felt, as it is a medium where I can express emotions and ideas that I find difficult to communicate otherwise. I'm grateful to Patti Barker and all the women who have come before me to open the conversation for fiber arts to be interpreted on a higher level than “busywork.” My first semester at ODU gave me the opportunity to work on a project outside the scope of anything I'd done before and I was overjoyed at the opportunity to speak in a language I'm fluent in: felt. I was tasked with a creative project that symbolically represented literature we explored over the course of the term; I chose Marita Bonner’s play The Purple Flower. Bonner’s play addresses the racial injustice in America and her purple flower represents the freedom and joys of a life unhindered by bigotry.
I have learned that the conscious decision to not participate in racism is not enough, that as a white individual it is necessary for me to actively relinquish and work against the structures of racism. I grew up in a community that has a “colorblind” policy, so I didn’t learn to talk about racism in a way that could challenge it. I still feel that I lack the vocabulary to articulate my feelings of outrage, compassion and hope, without fear that I am contributing to the overwhelming tide of microaggressions suffered by people of color. But I have found a voice with felting that allows me to make a connection beyond verbal expression. My project Relinquish the Purple Flower: a Tribute to Marita Bonner allows me to speak to these heavy emotional subjects without the burden of words.
Bonner’s play is a stark criticism of racism; in the play, people of color must sacrifice and fight to climb the metaphorical hill in order to possess the Purple Flower. My literature professor Dr. Alison Reed encouraged me to look beyond the symbolism of the play and envision a world where we are not constrained within a system that allows for only one flower to be hoarded or granted on the whim of those who possess it. I thought it would be significant to depict that transformational space where purple flowers are bountiful for all. For this project, while felting I think about The Color Purple. I think about JMW Turner’s painting Slavers Throwing Overboard the Dead and Dying. I think about Toni Morrison and Maya Angelou, and about why the caged bird sings. I think about all the women’s voices silenced by prejudice, like Marita Bonner. And I translate all those thoughts to the project in my hands.
I roll, roll, roll my drum carder, which is a manual crank machine used to comb wool and combine colors. Although I can accomplish a variety of skin colors with dyeing, I mix colors on the drum carder to achieve as many tones as I can. Using the Nuno felting technique, I combine a rainbow piece of fabric with the purple wool to represent each fully lived life. The fabric is shimmery and draws the eye, but that is not why I chose it. I wanted the rainbow to represent the unique intricacies of each individual life and the freedom we are all entitled to as human beings. I use the memory technique to give the flowers the “memory” of being a closed flower bud, so that when freed from their bounds they can bloom while retaining the structure of a life coming into its own.
A myriad of purple flowers bloom from open hands.
I explain: This piece represents Bonner’s vision, a space without hierarchy, where there is no need for people of color to climb the hill to possess the flower of privilege. The purple flowers, the flower-of-life-at-its-fullest, are for all to possess freely.
Book Review
Finding The Mother Tree, by Suzanne Simard
By now, the discovery of the vast network of mycelium within the forest floor has been shared on a global scale. Although the way the fungal network supports the ecological health of the forest hasn’t quite become common knowledge, scientists like Suzanne Simard make it more likely for that to be possible. In her biography Finding the Mother Tree, Simard shares her personal journey into the science beneath the “wood-wide web.” She compares the day-to-day care of a mother to the day-to-day care of a mother tree for the forest, and how they create a network of support to nurture the life around them. Her wholesome approach to teaching shows us why scientific communicators are necessary. She breaks down scientific cycles such as photosynthesis and mycorrhizal symbiosis into easily understandable concepts in a way that is neither long-winded or patronizing. By interspersing scientific observations within the larger narrative, Simard’s story gives the reader a nostalgic feeling, like we’re students on a field trip observing the forest floor with a magnifying glass. A fresh breath in scientific writing, to be sure.
I was pleased to find that this book is not just about forests and fungi, but it is a fascinating look into humanity. Simard weaves her tale about families with the intricacies of forest ecology. I was inspired by the strength she finds within the forest during times of hardship. Her metaphor of how the older established trees, mother and grandmother trees, work to support the health of the forest and share resources even as they die is profound from the perspective of a mother. She shows the reader that just as our families are complex and work in their own unique way to endure hardship, so does the family within a forest. The narrative navigates significant family events, such as motherhood, terminal illness, and loss, with an understanding of how the network created by family is meant to support during these times and how that network benefits the whole. By converging the two distinct paths of ecology and family, the significance of Simard’s research becomes clear.
Her anthropomorphization of the forest makes the science behind these trees and their fungi relatable and inspirational. Through the use of simple everyday stories to explain complex ideas about the synergistic nature of the forest, Simard shows us a forest tapestry that is not just trees, but also the soil, insects, fungi, and flowers working in harmony to create a healthy whole. Ultimately, we begin to see that without these intricacies the whole is not possible, just as the interwovenness of a family is not possible without all its members.
The richness and diversity of the region is captured by Simard’s visceral descriptions of the forest habitats she works within. It is unfortunate that the root of this woodland love story is logging. Suzanne Simard grew up in a family that practiced regenerative logging techniques in Canada. When she first starts working in forestry as a young undergrad, Simard finds her love of the woods at odds with the modern logging industry and its goals. Standard industry policy and practices don't focus on the health and sustainability of the forest, but on the productivity of the most valuable timber. Frequently faced with the choice of advocating for the trees or risking her job, Simard grapples with the distinction between deforestation and logging.
The richness and diversity of the region is captured by Simard’s visceral descriptions of the forest habitats she works within. It is unfortunate that the root of this woodland love story is logging. Suzanne Simard grew up in a family that practiced regenerative logging techniques in Canada. When she first starts working in forestry as a young undergrad, Simard finds her love of the woods at odds with the modern logging industry and its goals. Standard industry policy and practices don't focus on the health and sustainability of the forest, but on the productivity of the most valuable timber. Frequently faced with the choice of advocating for the trees or risking her job, Simard grapples with the distinction between deforestation and logging.
When she gazes out over clear-cut valleys edged with emerald cathedrals of ancient trees marked for logging, she feels not only her family’s claim to care for the land, but also the trees’ rightful claim. It takes some time for Simard to be a successful advocate for policy change, but she takes the reader on that journey with her. Simard turns her gaze to experiments done in an effort to promote regenerative forestry practices, specifically rallying against the use of herbicides and clear-cutting. The “Free to Grow” policy in Canada demands that plantations be clear-cut and void of native species to allow for valuable timber to grow without competition. Simard discovers that the policy’s practices are hurting the trees more than helping them by ultimately killing the fungi and other flora that help the trees survive times of drought and disease. Despite these discoveries, Simard struggles to affect change in an industry that is only geared towards bottom-line profits.
It was a visceral experience to read Simard’s description of the devastation wrought by clearcutting. I remember as a child riding in the car down the same stretch of Interstate 5 she takes in her book, south of Seattle going into Oregon. I remember resting my head against the window of the car, doodling in the condensation left by my breath, when suddenly the verdant background outside my window dropped away to reveal a deep scar across the forest. The trees had been massacred, their stumps lay ripped up and discarded in jagged broken heaps on the forest floor. The rich soil was exposed: dark with the humus created from hundreds of years of healthy forest, teaming with a world of microscopic life that would be unable to survive in the wake of the destruction. It made my heart squeeze as a child, and Simard elicits the same response with her prose.
This book is compelling and enlightening in equal measure and Simard constructs one of the most exhilarating chapters on forestry history I have ever encountered. A ski trip where she turns prey to wolves is rich with metaphor for her fight against destructive logging practices. The parallels drawn between a pregnant mother skiing with wolves and her battle against the forestry policymakers is an unmistakable labeling of the predators she is up against. Troubling facts about the consequences of deforestation are served in tandem with her story about escaping the woods while being hunted creates a disturbing, almost panicky feeling about these facts.
On the crisp beautiful afternoon, she laments “There should be a special word for the type of morning that is to come,” followed by the shocking: “In a decade, 18 million hectares of this mature pine forest would be dead.” Simard expertly manufactures the emotional reaction we should all have about the state of the forest and humanity’s role in it. Readers who hail from the Pacific Northwest in particular will appreciate the historical background on logging and the subsequent consequences. Having grown up with the plight of the western red cedar and raging wildfires myself, I appreciated the cause and effect provided by the author.
This book is ideally listened to as an audiobook, which the author narrates herself. Her voice brings a mother’s warmth to the story, which is rich with Canadian colloquialisms like “cats on linoleum” and “scarce as hen's teeth”. Simard reading through her experiments also makes it easier to deal with the minutiae of scientific writing. The particulars of her experiments can be tedious sometimes, although it later becomes apparent why she goes to such lengths to explain them. Simard’s research faced intense scrutiny for her findings, and the criticism that challenged her science had a profound effect on her confidence. Part of her fight for validity was against the misogynistic nature inherent in the industry at the time. Although this is a point she would have been justified to dwell on, she simply weaves the injustices into the overall narrative, making it less of a focus and more of an underlying theme that many readers can identify with.
To offset her dry but specific descriptions of her experiments, Simard tends to bookend these sections with “slice of life” moments, reminding readers that this is a story about family and forests. She includes her family members on many experiments and that narrative interwoven with the ecology of trees is an enlightening look at the cycles of nature that affect us all. Simard’s sister acted as an aid for many of her experiments and supported her in moments of vulnerability when Simard questioned her involvement in the logging industry. Simard’s brother constructed a fortress-like fence to protect one of her experiments from cows and when her father visits the fortified project, as readers we are gifted the tender moment of a father admiring the skilled craftsmanship of his son. Moments of quiet appreciation are what this novel is built on and Simard’s skill in capturing the subtleties of human emotion are what make the scientific and technical contents less cumbersome to sort through.
In her investigation into the concept of mother trees –old trees that support the health of younger trees via the mitochondrial network– Simard also explores the complexities of motherhood and family. Just as Simard uses her family to get through difficult times, so does the forest weather hardships by supporting each other. The principles of reciprocity don’t just apply to these ecosystems, they apply to ourselves. The decades-long work that Simard does is for the sake of the forest, not academic hubris, and that intention follows her through her career. Included in the story is a network of professors, grad students, and forestry professionals that worked together to accomplish the goal of sustainable forestry practices. Although this fight has not yet been won, Simard does see the cumulation of her efforts and continues her crusade even in the face of deep personal loss.
Additionally, Simard makes an important point: that we have a responsibility to the land. She freely admits “I come from a family of loggers, and I am not unmindful that we need trees for our livelihoods, but…with taking something comes the obligation to give back.” Simard’s book is a significant gift, both to the reader and the forest. The way Simard’s knowledgeable eye takes in the forest and its vast network is fascinating. The distinct differences between types of woodlands are not something the average person has the knowledge to appreciate, but Simard gives the reader the ability to recognize these differences and why the diversity of the forest is paramount.
Art Review
ODU Juried Student Art Exhibition 2023
The ODU 2023 Juried Student Art Exhibition at the Gordon Gallery is a wonderful collection of work that seems at a cursory glance to be a gathering of concepts and not a collection of related artwork. However, upon closer inspection these works are indeed in conversation with each other and create a network of unspoken dialogue between them through related themes and motifs.This was the intention of the exhibition; to embody the concept of “entangled precarity” and to analyze the interconnectedness of our inner complexities and exterior problems. The artwork covers a wide variety of topics such as identity, insecurities, climate change and vulnerable populations.
Anna Lowenhaupt Tsing, the anthropologist attributed with first coining the phrase “entangled precarity” explains this concept as "open-ended assemblages of entangled ways of life". The artworks are not placed within the exhibition space by any discernible order, except works by the same artist are found in the same general area. Different mediums and techniques are presented together and that contributes to the overall intention of the exhibition. Even if each piece of art does not directly relate to the ones surrounding it, each is in conversation with several others within the space, and those in turn share themes with different art in the exhibition.
The juror of the exhibition, Chelsea Pierce, explains the intention behind this is that “These works spin thread lines that tie to one another, engaging ideas of the self, environment, memories, commodities, shared anxieties, and longings”. Each piece is created by an aspiring art student, and the concept of a student stretching into oneself as an artist is an additional layer of complexity for this exhibition. By design it is a very introspective collection and in that vulnerability we find self-assertion. This can be seen in the glass and metal artwork by Debra Dowden-Crockett Broken, But Not Forsaken, and A Tale of Tribulation and Resilience.
Despite the complex tone of the exhibition, it is not without humor. Kris Pitzer created the sculpture Return to Sender out of reclaimed pine and glass. This wooden box is presented as a shipping box labeled “HANDLE WITH CARE” and contains a small illuminated glass heart. The exterior of the box also features a QR code the viewer is encouraged to scan which links to the youtube video for Rick Astley’s “Never Gonna Give You Up”. This nod to the early social media “rick-rolling” elicited a chuckle from me and the humor incorporated into such a poignant piece was well done.
The exhibition features a wide variety of works, many allowing for the viewer to apply their own observations and understandings. The piece I am Going to set Myself on Fire on Your Front Lawn by Carson Crooks features two individuals in an embrace. Due to the title and date of this work, it could be a reference to the self-immolation of Wynn Bruce that happened in 2022, the year the sketch was completed. Wynn Bruce, a climate activist, set himself on fire in the plaza of the United States Supreme Court Building, allegedly as “a deeply fearless act of compassion to bring attention to the climate crisis”. David Buckel also self-immolated in protest of climate change in 2018. This piece could be in solidarity and remembrance of these acts of protest. Due to an underlying theme of climate change within the exhibition, it is possible this was the intended reference. However it could simply portray two people in the kind of love that makes you say crazy things. The complexity of the title but simplicity of the sketch leaves much to the interpretation of the viewer and that is what makes this piece intriguing.
A fair portion of the works are variations of self portraits or self reflection, many of which confront the invasion of technology into our perception of self. Technophobia by Harper Imm features a monochromatic faceless individual in a frame that mimics a recording device. The faceless individual is reaching toward the viewer as if to grab the screen, and the only color used in this chalk pastel drawing is the red of the “rec” symbol and the aqua glow from the perceived camera that the figure is reaching for. The lack of features on the individual allows for those who have a fear of technology to relate to the artwork.
Kim Rentz Hardy also addresses the negative aspects of technology in #nofilterneeded, a screen printed selfie where the person has been altered to feature binary computer code instead of a body, with the person’s image appearing in pink Dura-lar that arches off the surface of the print. This pop-out effect creates an interaction and reaction from the viewer that would not be elicited from a simple selfie.
Self - Portrait by Tamia Anderson is a scene many college students and professionals can relate to. The artist rendered herself in charcoal gazing out from a Zoom screen, indicated by the framing as well as “live” and “chat” features. The face in the drawing is of a person struggling to be engaged, the expression is not quite bored, not quite confused, but not entirely present either. I think this is a feeling that anyone who had to go through the Covid lockdown while maintaining a professional or academic life would empathize with.
There is a set of two nudes by Avery Keys in graphite and charcoal named Self Delusion and Self Deception. The choice of title shows the similarity and the difference in the content, but the poses of each nude reflect the nuances between Deception and Delusion. With the titles and subject matter so similar, the different body language of these two pieces is what speaks the loudest when viewing them together. The Self Deception nude is in a position common for social media selfies, with the arms raised in a manner that would bring a camera above the forehead, creating a better angle for photographing the face and amplifying cleavage. The Self Delusion nude is in a hunched position, with legs tucked under the body and arms presented in a forward, protective position. The body language is one of shyness, protection, shame or defeat, all aspects of self delusion.
The last piece I would like to discuss is the best in show: The Braided Majesty by Bria Tyler. This work is an oil painting reminiscent of a royal portrait, featuring a female figure in an Elizabethan style dress. The face is obscured with rows and rows of black braids. This piece calls out the traditional exclusion of people of color from these types of portraits. By obscuring the face with braids, the artist allows the viewer an internal dialogue of recognition and reimagining.
Considering this exhibition is a collection of different students’ work, I think the challenge of this particular collection was in choosing which artwork to include. Such a complex theme allowed quite a bit of room for different concepts and techniques to be included. However, some of these seem to fall short of the Entangled Precarity concept, such as Gold Metal Ribbon by Haley Johnston and the koala characters by Tim Delrosario Pondering, Forager and Sleepyhead. The works by Tim Delrosario were possibly included due to Koalas being placed on the Endangered Species list in 2022. However, the figures bear a striking resemblance to “Kellen the Koala” from KiwiCo Koala crates and that causes the artist's voice to lose its authenticity.
Outliers aside, I believe this exhibition was successful in achieving its goal of creating a room-wide conversation that takes place over different modes and mediums. The artwork discussed in this essay is just a small sampling of what is available.
Although every piece does not converse with every single other piece, the invisible strings connecting them to each other form a web. It is within this network of artistic discourse that we see a true representation of Entangled Precarity, the term aptly labels the perceived conversations happening between these works of art.