Soft screams and wafting whispers
Storming static clouds
Black flames flit and flicker
Moonlight and midnight
The mind will not quiet
Inspired by the writings of Bang Yongguk
Sublimate:Totem and Lore-USA
Silence-Finland
One to Five-USA
Storming static clouds
Black flames flit and flicker
Moonlight and midnight
The mind will not quiet
Inspired by the writings of Bang Yongguk
Sublimate:Totem and Lore-USA
Silence-Finland
One to Five-USA
New York… LA… Chicago… London… Miami… Frankfurt… cities seduce me. I went to New York on my own at 17 and I’m surprised I ever returned. I would walk for hours around the city. I would wander to wherever looked interesting. This was 80s New York and everything about it was intoxicating. I was alone and had no one to tell me what to do or where to be. I had several appointments I would dutifully keep, otherwise I was free to be wild. I ate food I had never eaten, drank drinks I had never dreamed of, and slipped in and out of bars and clubs that were the stuff of dreams to dance the night away with men whose beauty I had never seen.
This series is my homage to the color and texture of beautiful city skylines I’ve even experienced with the hope of more to come.
The soundtrack playing in my head Depeche Mode for this extended concatenation where several sets represent memories of specific cities and my experience in them.
This series is my homage to the color and texture of beautiful city skylines I’ve even experienced with the hope of more to come.
The soundtrack playing in my head Depeche Mode for this extended concatenation where several sets represent memories of specific cities and my experience in them.
I’m comfortable in the shadow.
I’m energized by the light.
My inspiration ebbs and flows unobstructed as long as I don’t stand too long in the extreme.
I acknowledge my demons.
The depth of shadow is made more interesting by extreme lightness.
I’m energized by the light.
My inspiration ebbs and flows unobstructed as long as I don’t stand too long in the extreme.
I acknowledge my demons.
The depth of shadow is made more interesting by extreme lightness.
I cannot look at you, until I face myself
I cannot give to you, until I nourish my soul
I cannot teach you, until I learn for myself
I cannot be your half, until I am my whole
I cannot make life, until I have lived
I must be all of me, before I give to you
You are worthy, but I must first find my worth
Inspired by BTS-Serendipity
SUBLIMATE:Totem &Lore, Vargas Gallery, Miami, FL USA
Florida Biennale, Art & Culture Center, Hollywood, FL USA
I cannot give to you, until I nourish my soul
I cannot teach you, until I learn for myself
I cannot be your half, until I am my whole
I cannot make life, until I have lived
I must be all of me, before I give to you
You are worthy, but I must first find my worth
Inspired by BTS-Serendipity
SUBLIMATE:Totem &Lore, Vargas Gallery, Miami, FL USA
Florida Biennale, Art & Culture Center, Hollywood, FL USA
My Grandpa Lunce was one of the greatest men I’ve ever known. He had been the strongest man my child self had ever experienced. There wasn’t competition, he was a unicorn. He was present, firm, loving, and strong. He knew stuff, he wasn’t college-educated, his knowledge came from experience and curiosity. He made me value wisdom as equal to book smarts, a lesser god in my family.
When he got bone cancer and could no longer ignore it he went in hospital. No one had to tell me that this was the end, if he was there, it was over. When I visited, I was braced to see him in pain. He was not. In fact was ice-skating on a pond with what I guess was a childhood friend or at least that’s where his mind was. This was completely unfathomable to me. The doctor explained it to me and all I remember from that conversation was the word Dilaudid. This word equated escape and death to me after that.
Decades later when my love wheeled me into hospital, Dilaudid was not on my mind. I was ill and in a fair bit of pain but my mind was sharp. Many things happened once the curtain was drawn shut but all I can clearly remember was a nurse asking about last wishes and the look of shock on my love’s face...the push of the needle and faint word crawling into my ear…Dilaudid.
It was a time trapped in my mind, remembered experiences great and grotesque. I dreamed fantastical dreams. I longed for my love and my baby girl who was not allowed entrance into ICU. My love was actually there, then not. I had no concept of time or space. I had no grasp of reality in the physical world. My mind though was vivid. It was a playground of experiences and memories. Little caverns of which I could swim in and out. I could see the figure of my love in the physical and not interact, but in the mental visit all the reasons I loved him. I could visit each sweet moment with my girl over and over. It was a vast catacomb without a map and I was lost. One day my doctor shook my arm, she came in to focus for long enough for me to hear her say you need to fight! I had a panic. I left my body to do a job alone, for how long I did not know. I remember saying no more and pointing to the drip. The searing pain returned, it was welcome. I was home.
The shadow black fibers hiding beneath the Japanese, handmade and dyed mulberry paper feels like the catacomb of my mind at that time. Wooly fibers, fuzzy recollections, strings of thought, still not fully realized in my memory.
When he got bone cancer and could no longer ignore it he went in hospital. No one had to tell me that this was the end, if he was there, it was over. When I visited, I was braced to see him in pain. He was not. In fact was ice-skating on a pond with what I guess was a childhood friend or at least that’s where his mind was. This was completely unfathomable to me. The doctor explained it to me and all I remember from that conversation was the word Dilaudid. This word equated escape and death to me after that.
Decades later when my love wheeled me into hospital, Dilaudid was not on my mind. I was ill and in a fair bit of pain but my mind was sharp. Many things happened once the curtain was drawn shut but all I can clearly remember was a nurse asking about last wishes and the look of shock on my love’s face...the push of the needle and faint word crawling into my ear…Dilaudid.
It was a time trapped in my mind, remembered experiences great and grotesque. I dreamed fantastical dreams. I longed for my love and my baby girl who was not allowed entrance into ICU. My love was actually there, then not. I had no concept of time or space. I had no grasp of reality in the physical world. My mind though was vivid. It was a playground of experiences and memories. Little caverns of which I could swim in and out. I could see the figure of my love in the physical and not interact, but in the mental visit all the reasons I loved him. I could visit each sweet moment with my girl over and over. It was a vast catacomb without a map and I was lost. One day my doctor shook my arm, she came in to focus for long enough for me to hear her say you need to fight! I had a panic. I left my body to do a job alone, for how long I did not know. I remember saying no more and pointing to the drip. The searing pain returned, it was welcome. I was home.
The shadow black fibers hiding beneath the Japanese, handmade and dyed mulberry paper feels like the catacomb of my mind at that time. Wooly fibers, fuzzy recollections, strings of thought, still not fully realized in my memory.
I am often inspired by individuals who exude creativity in everything they do. I am very into people who do not take themselves too seriously in a time where the most mundane people drip in their own self-importance.
My daughter is an ivory and golden specter of positivity and creative energy. She lives loud and laughs loudly. She is beautiful inside and out. She loves fiercely and loyally. She is bright, talented, and hardworking. She is a rhythmic singing and dancing force. She practices fine art in several media with passion and creativity. She’s got moxie and sass in several languages. She is my hero and muse, her pool of creativity is so deep that it sparks my creativity.
G Dragon’s One of a Kind was a heavy influence in this series. I discovered it as I was working out this series. It inspired the color and texture story. This album has a feeling of depth and creative spirit with contagious beats that is perfect for dozens of hours of handwork.
I was pleased that the mix of inspiration made such a festive series, but look a little deeper and see the hours of hand work required to spike fur and lay zipper.
My daughter is an ivory and golden specter of positivity and creative energy. She lives loud and laughs loudly. She is beautiful inside and out. She loves fiercely and loyally. She is bright, talented, and hardworking. She is a rhythmic singing and dancing force. She practices fine art in several media with passion and creativity. She’s got moxie and sass in several languages. She is my hero and muse, her pool of creativity is so deep that it sparks my creativity.
G Dragon’s One of a Kind was a heavy influence in this series. I discovered it as I was working out this series. It inspired the color and texture story. This album has a feeling of depth and creative spirit with contagious beats that is perfect for dozens of hours of handwork.
I was pleased that the mix of inspiration made such a festive series, but look a little deeper and see the hours of hand work required to spike fur and lay zipper.
When my daughter was old enough to grasp a pencil or marker, I’d let her sit at my table while I worked and draw alongside me. I wanted her to have the freedom to imagine and a positive foundation for her creative spirit and artistic eye.
I’ve been studying generational legacy in Japanese fine craft, transferring the divine teachings of elder to younger, for about five years. I came across a potter while I was researching who remarked that he wanted his son to take all of his knowledge. He felt that the student stealing the craft of the master should be encouraged, welcomed. This willingness to teach, to pass on one’s legacy, for student to surpass master, is precious to me. Often this potter would have the son stand and watch to soak it in. Then he would release his son to create and innovate. This is what I want as an artist, a teacher, a mother.
Recently I took in Frank Stella: Experiment & Change. It was one of the most influential exhibitions I’ve ever experienced. It allowed me to experience his journey from minimalism to maximalism in one fell swoop. His Working Archive made me feel as if I’d broken into his studio. I felt as if I was seeing behind his creative curtain. The archive is how I envision the best artistic journey; trying anything that sparks your imagination, writing down every creative burst, endless experimentation and innovation. That this is a living artist was even more mind boggling, he not done! I felt as if I was able to draw near and steal a bit of that creativity.
My series draws upon his minimalistic beginnings, paired with the lines, repetition, and use of metallics I saw in his exhibition. I was able to carry out my vision immediately after experiencing the exhibit. It was fulfilling to work in the minimalist palette and texture. “MOVE” by Taemin was the musical inspiration while spinning my series into completion.
SUBLIMATE:Totem &Lore, Vargas Gallery, Miami, FL USA
I’ve been studying generational legacy in Japanese fine craft, transferring the divine teachings of elder to younger, for about five years. I came across a potter while I was researching who remarked that he wanted his son to take all of his knowledge. He felt that the student stealing the craft of the master should be encouraged, welcomed. This willingness to teach, to pass on one’s legacy, for student to surpass master, is precious to me. Often this potter would have the son stand and watch to soak it in. Then he would release his son to create and innovate. This is what I want as an artist, a teacher, a mother.
Recently I took in Frank Stella: Experiment & Change. It was one of the most influential exhibitions I’ve ever experienced. It allowed me to experience his journey from minimalism to maximalism in one fell swoop. His Working Archive made me feel as if I’d broken into his studio. I felt as if I was seeing behind his creative curtain. The archive is how I envision the best artistic journey; trying anything that sparks your imagination, writing down every creative burst, endless experimentation and innovation. That this is a living artist was even more mind boggling, he not done! I felt as if I was able to draw near and steal a bit of that creativity.
My series draws upon his minimalistic beginnings, paired with the lines, repetition, and use of metallics I saw in his exhibition. I was able to carry out my vision immediately after experiencing the exhibit. It was fulfilling to work in the minimalist palette and texture. “MOVE” by Taemin was the musical inspiration while spinning my series into completion.
SUBLIMATE:Totem &Lore, Vargas Gallery, Miami, FL USA
Love is faith.
No reason.
No logic.
No question.
No answer.
The heart wants who it wants.
No reason.
No logic.
No question.
No answer.
The heart wants who it wants.
I was inspired by The Sibelius Monument by Eila Hiltunen to try a greater form of my clustered installation of totems. The scale of the monument was so overwhelming that my reaction was to go smaller then I had done in the past. While the idea was still floating around in my head I had my first listen through of the Agust D Mixtape. I had been feeling owed some new music for a while. Coming up in the wave of great eighties music genres, New Romantic through Industrial, I thought that music or the excitement I felt for it had come to an end. There was still some good music, catchy music, dance music, and so-so continuations of the previously mentioned genres. What I wanted was a musical slap in the face. Something musically beautiful, but disjointed, visceral, exhibiting raw emotion. I wanted something so creative that it caused a creative spark, something I hadn’t heard an iteration of before. Agust D’s mixtape gave me just that. As I worked through color texture, layer on layer of leather, as I wound in aluminum until my fingers begged for mercy I listened. Concerned the original intent would be muddied I listened to nothing else while working on this piece. As I completed KILLING TIME IN THE PAUSE, I felt satisfied and as if I was owed nothing.
I remember trying to do something that I had seen my dad do many times. I was frustrated, it was not working for me. He came alongside me and asked why I was doing it the way I was doing it. I said I was doing what I had seen him do. He commented that maybe I could think of a better way for my little hands to do the job. At four that sentiment was cemented into my intellectual curiosity and creativity. I simply did not have to do things the way others did and I did not even have to try.
This has not always served me well. I live in a reality where most people find comfort in sameness. I have learned to straddle that reality while doing what I want, how I want it, if I can.
This is a continuous journey in my creative process. I’m authoring my imagination. Creating without instruction means repurposing tools and renaming things for my needs. There is a fair bit of frustration, trial, error, and success. During this new process I discovered BAP. Lyrically interesting and infectious in that they experiment intelligently with musical genres. I am never bored when listening and often inspired.
When I decide to set things on fire, in measured bursts, because I think it may get me where I am trying to be in a piece, it is of overwhelming comfort that my man hands me a tool and says, “This should do it.” And it did, “Do it.” It has also given me an exciting new outlet with which to realize my imagination.
This has not always served me well. I live in a reality where most people find comfort in sameness. I have learned to straddle that reality while doing what I want, how I want it, if I can.
This is a continuous journey in my creative process. I’m authoring my imagination. Creating without instruction means repurposing tools and renaming things for my needs. There is a fair bit of frustration, trial, error, and success. During this new process I discovered BAP. Lyrically interesting and infectious in that they experiment intelligently with musical genres. I am never bored when listening and often inspired.
When I decide to set things on fire, in measured bursts, because I think it may get me where I am trying to be in a piece, it is of overwhelming comfort that my man hands me a tool and says, “This should do it.” And it did, “Do it.” It has also given me an exciting new outlet with which to realize my imagination.
A fiber sculpture Triptych inspired by her connections to the people and places across the Earth. It is her hope that her actions and choices preserve the Earth she loves.
Lore
We don’t have a gun problem in this country.
We don't have a mental illness problem in this country.
We don’t have a government problem in this country.
We don’t have a media problem in this country.
WE HAVE A LACK OF HUMAN EMPATHY PROBLEM IN THIS COUNTRY
We have an ignorant and uneducated keyboard warrior mentality with flat screen vision shouting into our confirmation-bias echo chambers instead of looking at the emotion in someone’s eyes, listening to their story, and FEELING the value in that human over your own selfish need to be right problem. Getting in the last word is more important than valuing conversation.
We have become incapable of listening to each other, wrapped up in the My Team vs. Your Team mentality. We’ve begun to love our perceived right to be right so much that we have devalued our fellow human.
We are devolving into a gross caricature of what others thought of us that we were once able to defend, but no more. We have self-manifested into the foul, ill-mannered, entitled, ignorant cartoons that we used to find insulting. Now we embrace it as “being real” and we are entertained. We like, we repost, and we love every minute. Then we sit alone and miserable and wonder why, yearning for the “good old days.” Which is code for wanting a more misogynistic and homogeneous society. We do it in the name of god and forefathers and we do it loud.
In what alternate reality would god or our forefathers approve of this devolution?
I do not want any part of this “WE” and have been called unpatriotic, bitch, and bad feminist to name a few because of it. I want to be more, a teacher, a lover, an example, a legacy....
WE CAN BE MORE.
Varies 72” Highest Point x 4” Triptych 2016 cotton, poly, wool, nylon-AVAILABLE
We don't have a mental illness problem in this country.
We don’t have a government problem in this country.
We don’t have a media problem in this country.
WE HAVE A LACK OF HUMAN EMPATHY PROBLEM IN THIS COUNTRY
We have an ignorant and uneducated keyboard warrior mentality with flat screen vision shouting into our confirmation-bias echo chambers instead of looking at the emotion in someone’s eyes, listening to their story, and FEELING the value in that human over your own selfish need to be right problem. Getting in the last word is more important than valuing conversation.
We have become incapable of listening to each other, wrapped up in the My Team vs. Your Team mentality. We’ve begun to love our perceived right to be right so much that we have devalued our fellow human.
We are devolving into a gross caricature of what others thought of us that we were once able to defend, but no more. We have self-manifested into the foul, ill-mannered, entitled, ignorant cartoons that we used to find insulting. Now we embrace it as “being real” and we are entertained. We like, we repost, and we love every minute. Then we sit alone and miserable and wonder why, yearning for the “good old days.” Which is code for wanting a more misogynistic and homogeneous society. We do it in the name of god and forefathers and we do it loud.
In what alternate reality would god or our forefathers approve of this devolution?
I do not want any part of this “WE” and have been called unpatriotic, bitch, and bad feminist to name a few because of it. I want to be more, a teacher, a lover, an example, a legacy....
WE CAN BE MORE.
Varies 72” Highest Point x 4” Triptych 2016 cotton, poly, wool, nylon-AVAILABLE
I was invited to do a piece for Miami Art Week in a venue lit only with ultraviolet light. I was intrigued by what could be accomplished visually.
I was studying femininity in the mid 20th century in Japanese art and listening to the B.A.P. catalog in heavy rotation. The aforementioned plus the existing thought niggling in my mind about the impermanence of everything inspired this piece.
I was studying femininity in the mid 20th century in Japanese art and listening to the B.A.P. catalog in heavy rotation. The aforementioned plus the existing thought niggling in my mind about the impermanence of everything inspired this piece.
I started studying Japanese art because their approach to fine art/craft and those who produce it is unique. While studying anything, I tend to immerse myself. Japan is rooted in a way I’ve never felt. I fell in love and longed to feel an art and culture that has stood for thousands of years. During this time I found The Morikami.
The Morikami is an oddity in The USA. A defunct Japanese colony that became a sanctuary of all things Japanese. It has become a peaceful sanctuary for me. My mind and spirit rest and restore in this beautiful place. A walk through the bamboo while the breeze softly blows is a sight and sound that is a special experience. The privilege of standing in the presence of woodblock prints by Shikō Munakata is breathtaking. During a festival we sat as the sun set. I was awestruck as the night sky bloomed into pinks and purples. My creative conduit overflows here, I do not take such a gift for granted.
The Morikami is an oddity in The USA. A defunct Japanese colony that became a sanctuary of all things Japanese. It has become a peaceful sanctuary for me. My mind and spirit rest and restore in this beautiful place. A walk through the bamboo while the breeze softly blows is a sight and sound that is a special experience. The privilege of standing in the presence of woodblock prints by Shikō Munakata is breathtaking. During a festival we sat as the sun set. I was awestruck as the night sky bloomed into pinks and purples. My creative conduit overflows here, I do not take such a gift for granted.
The coiled threads around fiber took my mind to ancient dwelling places carved out of the sides of mountains. Then further to temples and the treasures within. I was drawn to create modern artifacts, little treasures. Smaller in scale than I normally work, as I wanted to convey the delicateness of the pieces.
I want to be an Earther
who can cross
not only political borders
but cultural frontiers
without any prejudice
who can cross
not only political borders
but cultural frontiers
without any prejudice
This series draws on what I find most resonant about the Dada movement. The experimental and experiential aspect of Dada energizes me with the freedom to use the conventional in unconventional ways. I'm inspired to create beyond boundaries without the worry of breaking rules. We are only limited by imagination.
I incorporated a chance poem as an homage to Tristan Tzara. I used the early writings of Robert Smith for my cuttings; his work sparked my exploration into avant-garde forms separate from my parent's hippie and beat influence.
My further exploration into Dada was through Japanese craft culture. Jun Tsuji's teachings of simple experiential living, impulse to wander, and a free spirit challenge me to live unburdened by consumerism, negativity, and fearful societal influence.
100 Years of Dada Art Exhibition
Ontological Museum, PermanentCollection
Dada by Cecil Touchon
I incorporated a chance poem as an homage to Tristan Tzara. I used the early writings of Robert Smith for my cuttings; his work sparked my exploration into avant-garde forms separate from my parent's hippie and beat influence.
My further exploration into Dada was through Japanese craft culture. Jun Tsuji's teachings of simple experiential living, impulse to wander, and a free spirit challenge me to live unburdened by consumerism, negativity, and fearful societal influence.
100 Years of Dada Art Exhibition
Ontological Museum, PermanentCollection
Dada by Cecil Touchon
I had met a few characters in the course of the evening. In a comedy of errors, they were the headliners and were trapped on the wrong side of “the door.” I had been involved with a man who’d worked there and was aquatinted with staff. So through jokes with my new mates, I got them backstage. This was one of a million odd situations that crop up like that in my life. Things get interesting when I least expect it. I went on to enjoy a raucous evening of high energy performances and danced the night away.
It wasn’t until the curtain had come down and the lights up that one of my new friends was waving at me from stage. I went over to say hello and he asked if I wanted a drink and to hang. I asked where and he responded that I knew my way backstage. Smart ass! So back I went. He introduced me to one of his mates and went off for said drinks. We had almost no time to make small talk when that guy, the one I’d been involved with, who was long gone, but somehow back, was inches from my face yelling at me for being there. My mind was reeling, I was working on a plan to get out of the way of this rage, a rage that I knew could be dangerous, when it was completely shutdown. It was quick with surgical precision and clear as a bell. It’s hard to describe how I felt in the moment. I went from being terrified to having the mental and physical margin I needed for protection and contemplation. This man, a man I’d met minutes before, literally stepped between me and a threat. My back was snug against the wall and my front inches from this tattooed knight. His girth completely obscured me from my molester. I processed the situation while studying his massive back piece and I listened to the low tones and slow cadence of his voice. He was admonishing the brute for confronting me, emasculating him for his inappropriate behavior, and leveling a clear threat if he didn’t move along there would be a problem. He never raised his voice during this monologue on how to treat a woman, not once. He never touched the offender, though the threat was clear. This was wholly unfamiliar to me. I panicked at the thought that I may be meant to repay him in some fashion. I clearly had issues on what is healthy between man and woman. Jerk moved on and my new friend turned around and gave a smile and an apology. I explained that he didn’t need to apologize that I was the one who was sorry. His response was a lot to take in. He said that I shouldn’t ever have to apologize for someone else’s behavior. I was utterly swept away and my eye towards future relationships was completely altered.
This series is an homage to every great man that I have had in my life, with a few specific ones in mind. A celebration of all the weird and wacky, smart and intuitive, hard and soft. You are my heroes.
It wasn’t until the curtain had come down and the lights up that one of my new friends was waving at me from stage. I went over to say hello and he asked if I wanted a drink and to hang. I asked where and he responded that I knew my way backstage. Smart ass! So back I went. He introduced me to one of his mates and went off for said drinks. We had almost no time to make small talk when that guy, the one I’d been involved with, who was long gone, but somehow back, was inches from my face yelling at me for being there. My mind was reeling, I was working on a plan to get out of the way of this rage, a rage that I knew could be dangerous, when it was completely shutdown. It was quick with surgical precision and clear as a bell. It’s hard to describe how I felt in the moment. I went from being terrified to having the mental and physical margin I needed for protection and contemplation. This man, a man I’d met minutes before, literally stepped between me and a threat. My back was snug against the wall and my front inches from this tattooed knight. His girth completely obscured me from my molester. I processed the situation while studying his massive back piece and I listened to the low tones and slow cadence of his voice. He was admonishing the brute for confronting me, emasculating him for his inappropriate behavior, and leveling a clear threat if he didn’t move along there would be a problem. He never raised his voice during this monologue on how to treat a woman, not once. He never touched the offender, though the threat was clear. This was wholly unfamiliar to me. I panicked at the thought that I may be meant to repay him in some fashion. I clearly had issues on what is healthy between man and woman. Jerk moved on and my new friend turned around and gave a smile and an apology. I explained that he didn’t need to apologize that I was the one who was sorry. His response was a lot to take in. He said that I shouldn’t ever have to apologize for someone else’s behavior. I was utterly swept away and my eye towards future relationships was completely altered.
This series is an homage to every great man that I have had in my life, with a few specific ones in mind. A celebration of all the weird and wacky, smart and intuitive, hard and soft. You are my heroes.
My gran had the most amazing sewing room. In a time when you couldn’t just go online and order things, she had all the machines. Beautiful textiles, every color of thread imaginable. I really learned to love color in that room. She taught us all to sew. Unimaginable creativity took place there... but also unimaginable violence.
I’ve always been creative, it has fed me and satisfied me in a way that nothing else could. That my creative eye was opened in a place of violence was just the way it was. Violence and creativity with time and materials on hand, alter the way I think and behave. When the creative lights turn on my thoughts buzz. Ideas come. Expectation and frustration build. Can I manage to build what my mind is constructing? Can I fulfill that vision? I never made a decision to create things. It’s the flow in my mind. When I haven’t been able to carry through on it, there’s a fair bit of stress and self-doubt. If I chose to never create again, I’d quite possibly go mad. The person that did the violence was not going to steal anything more from me, especially the things that made me. So I create.
META celebrates my creative process, burst for burst. At the risk of sounding selfish: a simple celebration of my creative mind. I also drew inspiration from The Tears For Fears Catalog. I used it on this journey as it has been with me most of my creative life.
Spectrum, Miami, FL USA
ArtTour International Magazine
SUBLIMATE:Totem &Lore, Vargas Gallery, Miami, FL USA
Sublimate: Totem and Lore Book
I’ve always been creative, it has fed me and satisfied me in a way that nothing else could. That my creative eye was opened in a place of violence was just the way it was. Violence and creativity with time and materials on hand, alter the way I think and behave. When the creative lights turn on my thoughts buzz. Ideas come. Expectation and frustration build. Can I manage to build what my mind is constructing? Can I fulfill that vision? I never made a decision to create things. It’s the flow in my mind. When I haven’t been able to carry through on it, there’s a fair bit of stress and self-doubt. If I chose to never create again, I’d quite possibly go mad. The person that did the violence was not going to steal anything more from me, especially the things that made me. So I create.
META celebrates my creative process, burst for burst. At the risk of sounding selfish: a simple celebration of my creative mind. I also drew inspiration from The Tears For Fears Catalog. I used it on this journey as it has been with me most of my creative life.
Spectrum, Miami, FL USA
ArtTour International Magazine
SUBLIMATE:Totem &Lore, Vargas Gallery, Miami, FL USA
Sublimate: Totem and Lore Book
For five thousand years the hungry children of Mother Earth
have sought out materials from her ground, from the practical
to the precious. Mother Earth tells the story of our ancient
cycle of community, a journey through a deep mineshaft to
find treasure. The silk and cotton trade that led us to know
new lands and each other. The copper invites you to trace
the patina with your fingertips, imagining shores of
continents separated by waters, the silk and cotton coil
the piece spun by my fingertips, connecting us. I dwell on
thoughts of industry and progress and connection.
Do we possess treasured gifts from Mother Earth
or do they possess each of us?
Soundtrack-Fleetwood Mac ‘Rumors’
have sought out materials from her ground, from the practical
to the precious. Mother Earth tells the story of our ancient
cycle of community, a journey through a deep mineshaft to
find treasure. The silk and cotton trade that led us to know
new lands and each other. The copper invites you to trace
the patina with your fingertips, imagining shores of
continents separated by waters, the silk and cotton coil
the piece spun by my fingertips, connecting us. I dwell on
thoughts of industry and progress and connection.
Do we possess treasured gifts from Mother Earth
or do they possess each of us?
Soundtrack-Fleetwood Mac ‘Rumors’
Lore
I am in a constant state of change. I am deeply rooted in belief, in family, but not to any physical location. I’m fortunate that because I root in air my journey continues to be vast and varied, providing experience and richness that I would otherwise never have had affixed to a place. My wish is to grow, to unapologetically try and fail, to seek knowledge, and be amazed. I will adventure. I will discover. I will change for no other reason than to do so. I will not grow toward dying but toward fulfilling. I wish to gain wisdom. I will become myself many times over.
This series was the most time-consuming to date. The hand sewing hours needed to bring this piece to fruition were monotonous, at times. The many wings sharp. The prey of the Elytra Beetle cannot ingest the wings because of their sharpness. They are left on the forest floor to be gathered and repurposed. The diaphanous silks required a gentle touch. I relied heavily on music for this piece. The Cure’s Head On The Door reminding me of my past and Wagakki Band to situate me in my present. The Japanese silks and Japanese Elytra Beetle Wings inspired the feeling of myself as a Tillandsia blowing through a forest of life’s mystery and experiences.
Spectrum Miami
ArtTour International Magazine
Sublimate: Totem and Lore Exhibition
Sublimate: Totem and Lore Book
Spotlight Magazine
This series was the most time-consuming to date. The hand sewing hours needed to bring this piece to fruition were monotonous, at times. The many wings sharp. The prey of the Elytra Beetle cannot ingest the wings because of their sharpness. They are left on the forest floor to be gathered and repurposed. The diaphanous silks required a gentle touch. I relied heavily on music for this piece. The Cure’s Head On The Door reminding me of my past and Wagakki Band to situate me in my present. The Japanese silks and Japanese Elytra Beetle Wings inspired the feeling of myself as a Tillandsia blowing through a forest of life’s mystery and experiences.
Spectrum Miami
ArtTour International Magazine
Sublimate: Totem and Lore Exhibition
Sublimate: Totem and Lore Book
Spotlight Magazine
I’m slow. I like the minutiae. I want to touch the veins of the leaf. I want to marvel at the moss and go home and make my own. My pace exasperates many but if you slow down you may see something you’ve never seen. Curiosity
I FIG have a need to explore, probably due to my nomadic upbringing and that my inspiration is almost always experiential. As a result, I have a need to to travel. Because of this constant need to move I don't have deep physical roots anywhere. I do not have a childhood home, a school I could walk through blindfolded, a landmark that lets me know that I've almost returned to where I belong. As long as I have my husband and my daughter, I'm "home." A very close friend once described us as an island unto ourselves.
The closest thing I have to physical familial tradition is the fiber arts; my mother loved antiques and macramed, my father macramed , I had grandmothers that sewed, knitted, weaved and crocheted. In a very deep sense, my hands need the fiber of my work. My lack of physical roots drives my interest in the deeply rooted things: ancient Japanese silk techniques, Nordic craft, South American precontact paper techniques, European architecture. I like to use these ancient inspirations and blend them with my modern aesthetic on my signature cylindrical canvas.
Recently, because of illness, I have been unable to travel and cancelled a trip to Barcelona. It was already planned and booked, so in the slightest way, I had already begun my journey there. I had desired it, researched it, dreamed it, etc. The loss after the fire of inspiration had already started to burn was disappointing and painful. The places, people, and landmarks I researched were the foundation of this piece. I've accepted that it is less pure because the journey is not yet complete, but I find comfort in that lack of perfection. Using the South American fig bark amate paper to realize the inspiration of Gaudi's hive-like windows on my piece and adding the Japanese silk took the piece on its own journey.
The closest thing I have to physical familial tradition is the fiber arts; my mother loved antiques and macramed, my father macramed , I had grandmothers that sewed, knitted, weaved and crocheted. In a very deep sense, my hands need the fiber of my work. My lack of physical roots drives my interest in the deeply rooted things: ancient Japanese silk techniques, Nordic craft, South American precontact paper techniques, European architecture. I like to use these ancient inspirations and blend them with my modern aesthetic on my signature cylindrical canvas.
Recently, because of illness, I have been unable to travel and cancelled a trip to Barcelona. It was already planned and booked, so in the slightest way, I had already begun my journey there. I had desired it, researched it, dreamed it, etc. The loss after the fire of inspiration had already started to burn was disappointing and painful. The places, people, and landmarks I researched were the foundation of this piece. I've accepted that it is less pure because the journey is not yet complete, but I find comfort in that lack of perfection. Using the South American fig bark amate paper to realize the inspiration of Gaudi's hive-like windows on my piece and adding the Japanese silk took the piece on its own journey.
From chaos she rises
born of strength and star
She is energy and empathy
Alabaster
Emerald
Spun copper
born of strength and star
She is energy and empathy
Alabaster
Emerald
Spun copper
I draw on the idea of forests a fair bit in my creative process. One of my favorite pieces of music is “A Forest” by The Cure I have used found objects from Japanese forests in my work. When I am lost in dark thoughts, I feel lost in a mental forest.
I spent part of my childhood living in a forest. We slept in a camper and lived off the land. I think my act of slow observation bloomed there; seeing the big picture while experiencing the minutiae. Living this way informed many of my beliefs about living with a small footprint, enjoying experiences over things, recycling, and the act of being present. It taught me to really appreciate plumbing and electricity. I also learned, quite by accident, that a mama bear does not find a child smaller than its own cub a threat if they are playing quietly together. Thank goodness.
This was my first foray into copper and gold. My husband was quick to dig in his tools for things I may need. My friend Matt lent advice. It was challenging but I was so pleased with the result.
I spent part of my childhood living in a forest. We slept in a camper and lived off the land. I think my act of slow observation bloomed there; seeing the big picture while experiencing the minutiae. Living this way informed many of my beliefs about living with a small footprint, enjoying experiences over things, recycling, and the act of being present. It taught me to really appreciate plumbing and electricity. I also learned, quite by accident, that a mama bear does not find a child smaller than its own cub a threat if they are playing quietly together. Thank goodness.
This was my first foray into copper and gold. My husband was quick to dig in his tools for things I may need. My friend Matt lent advice. It was challenging but I was so pleased with the result.
Lore
Lore
Sari silk ribbon is made by Nepalese and Indian women chosen for their skill and offers them appropriate means to support their families that not only allows them to survive, but to thrive. The thought that there are many women contained in this piece, those who wore the saris and those who shredding them, is very fitting considering my muse.
This piece was inspired by the only other product of hippies in my high school. Before we were friends, someone asked if I knew that other hippie chick. She and I eventually became friends. I appreciate her vivaciousness. She is a strong, unapologetic, badass, feminist. She’s a teacher, a mother, a spouse, a friend. She is colorful. A shade completely unique from the rest of the box of Crayons.
This piece was inspired by the only other product of hippies in my high school. Before we were friends, someone asked if I knew that other hippie chick. She and I eventually became friends. I appreciate her vivaciousness. She is a strong, unapologetic, badass, feminist. She’s a teacher, a mother, a spouse, a friend. She is colorful. A shade completely unique from the rest of the box of Crayons.
The world has become too loud. In The United States many people go for the biggest, loudest, and flashiest. I’m drawn to places and ideas of a quiet nature. Subtlety captures my attention. There is no mystery in loud bluster.
My journey through these hand formed pleats and hand pulled silks were the gestures of thoughtful whispers. I want to be seen and to see, to hear and be heard, and to take the time to feel without the piercing sounds of ignorance and ugliness. I want to be in the most beautiful way possible.
My journey through these hand formed pleats and hand pulled silks were the gestures of thoughtful whispers. I want to be seen and to see, to hear and be heard, and to take the time to feel without the piercing sounds of ignorance and ugliness. I want to be in the most beautiful way possible.
I bought my daughter a beautiful pair of embroidered satin Chinese slippers that she immediately fell in love with. She wore them until all that was left was one tattered slipper found under the bed on moving day.
Beautiful as they were when I gave them to her, that single worn out slipper was ever more beautiful after she had loved them to death.
Should our treasures be too precious to use? In the practice of interior design I was so turned off by extra rooms, unused furnishings, and precious items wrapped and forgotten. I was my own creation assassin by redesigning spaces I’d already created. Is it possible to treasure something priceless and still love it to death.
Beautiful as they were when I gave them to her, that single worn out slipper was ever more beautiful after she had loved them to death.
Should our treasures be too precious to use? In the practice of interior design I was so turned off by extra rooms, unused furnishings, and precious items wrapped and forgotten. I was my own creation assassin by redesigning spaces I’d already created. Is it possible to treasure something priceless and still love it to death.
My rock
Fierce lover
Heavy lifter
Risk taker
Fast mover
Leader
Rule stomper
Clever trickster
Iconclast
Fierce lover
Heavy lifter
Risk taker
Fast mover
Leader
Rule stomper
Clever trickster
Iconclast
When the mind is dark I’m at my most creative. I’ve stopped wondering about it’s darkness or light. The day turns to nightI’d say my disposition is a sunny shade of black. It’s a bit of a contradiction, yes. Let’s just say that I can see clearly to find my way around in the dark.
Inspired by the gorgeous sunrises and sunsets in Miami, Florida.
Knowing my love of art and architecture, my husband surprised me with a trip to Miami Beach at an uncertain time in our lives. I was completely entranced by the Art Deco color palette and architectural details. We spent four days walking around soaking up every bit.
Miami became our favorite spot for travel, often visiting twice a year and eventually falling in love with the city enough to make the Magic City our home. This piece is my love letter to our inaugural trip to South Beach. Specifically, the architecture of The Colony Hotel and music of Nouvelle Vague which we discovered while there.
Playing with precious satin fiber and cellophane seemed an apt contradiction for a piece dedicated to a place I can both love and despise in the same breath.
Exhibition History
Solo, Life is Art, Miami Beach, Florida USA
Miami became our favorite spot for travel, often visiting twice a year and eventually falling in love with the city enough to make the Magic City our home. This piece is my love letter to our inaugural trip to South Beach. Specifically, the architecture of The Colony Hotel and music of Nouvelle Vague which we discovered while there.
Playing with precious satin fiber and cellophane seemed an apt contradiction for a piece dedicated to a place I can both love and despise in the same breath.
Exhibition History
Solo, Life is Art, Miami Beach, Florida USA
Virginia Key sustained severe damage after Hurricane Wilma struck. The park was closed and much of the plant life that was not indigenous was removed, as this is what caused so much of damage. It was also decided that the seagrass would be allowed to grow back. Environmentally responsible yet unpopular with those who prefer a beach of pristine sand only. The grass protects the sand from storms and plays home to the most amazing sea life. In just a few feet of water one can find urchins, sea stars, seahorses, and of course, fish. The park is awash in the most amazing and interesting shades of blue and green. It is a serene place for my husband to have a rest after bicycling. It is the place my daughter found her first seahorse. I have taken many naps on the beach while listening to the ocean ebb and flow. Using its color pallet and creating fibers with extraordinary softness, I twisted and wound my triptych inspired by Virginia Key beach. I dedicated it to my husband because of the peace it brings him.
I listened to Def Lepard’s Greatest Hits while thinking on my muse and my series.
Exhibition History
Solo, Life is Art, Miami Beach, Florida, USA
Culture!, Coconut Creek Art &Culture Center, FL USA
I listened to Def Lepard’s Greatest Hits while thinking on my muse and my series.
Exhibition History
Solo, Life is Art, Miami Beach, Florida, USA
Culture!, Coconut Creek Art &Culture Center, FL USA
The words had been used on me before; precocious, gifted, old soul, wise, mature. All they really meant to me was that I had been exposed to more than average experiences and loads of weird people. It’s moved my timeline at a speed unlike most my age. So I began to act within the scope of my timeline. The woman speaking from a girls mouth. Dark thoughts meant for the mature buzzing round my head-it Just was.
It was the only me I knew how to be at the time. When I learned to be other mes, that was for more dangerous and experimental and continues.
The incomparable Siouxsie and the Banshees Juju was my ear worm for this series.
Exhibition History
Solo, Life is Art, Miami Beach, Florida USA
Miami Beach Botanical Garden, Florida USA
It was the only me I knew how to be at the time. When I learned to be other mes, that was for more dangerous and experimental and continues.
The incomparable Siouxsie and the Banshees Juju was my ear worm for this series.
Exhibition History
Solo, Life is Art, Miami Beach, Florida USA
Miami Beach Botanical Garden, Florida USA
My mom was fascinated by my art. She watched my experimentation and the first pieces birthed. She was one of the first to ask questions and make observations about what I was doing and what was happening. She would never describe herself as a creative or as an intellectual though in many ways she was both of these things. I valued the intellectual curiosity she was showing toward my new journey. I wanted to create a piece for her. She loved to touch the raw fibers and chose the base of her triptych. Then she got sick. When they were finished I snuck them into her cancer suite for her to see and touch. They hung in her memory but never in her home.
Fleetwood Mac’s Fleetwood Mac was my musical inspiration for these bittersweet pieces.
Exhibition History
Solo, Life is Art, Miami Beach, Florida USA
Solo, Vargas Gallery, Pembroke Pines, Florida USA
Fleetwood Mac’s Fleetwood Mac was my musical inspiration for these bittersweet pieces.
Exhibition History
Solo, Life is Art, Miami Beach, Florida USA
Solo, Vargas Gallery, Pembroke Pines, Florida USA
When women work together they can change the world. With sustainability in mind, old saris are repurposed, and make them into yarns and threads. I used them to adorn like the sari adorns the queen that wears it.
Ofra Gaza’s Im Nin Àlu was my musical inspiration.
Exhibition History
Fiber Artists at Art in Libraries, Orlando, Florida, USA
Solo, Life is Art, Miami Beach, Florida USA
Ofra Gaza’s Im Nin Àlu was my musical inspiration.
Exhibition History
Fiber Artists at Art in Libraries, Orlando, Florida, USA
Solo, Life is Art, Miami Beach, Florida USA
My elementary years were spent in poverty, the latter half raised by a single mother. My father sent support for us through his mother, thinking she’d send it along. She did not. Her support usually came in the form of religion. She was concerned for our general lack of Catholic flavor, thinking hellfire was in our future.
In her care there were interesting adventures in Catholicism. She tried to baptize us without the knowledge of our parents. This was the seventies church where given names meant something and my name ensured I would not be baptized that day. The priest just couldn’t believe THAT was my name. In a time when my grandmother’s checks could seemingly buy anything my naive child’s mind could fathom, today they were useless.
For a time we were also required to attend Catholic school. There were so many reasons I did not belong there, beyond the obvious not being Catholic thing. It is in my nature to question things, especially when asked if I have any questions. I’m left-handed which caused more than one lashing. I have a general disdain for being judged for actions that are not my own. As such, I was required to meet after school with a counselor because my parents were divorced. The poor woman tried everything in her power to get me to out with my feelings. I finally decided to tell her that I was glad they divorced because them together was horrible, she was so distraught that I didn’t have to go back.
But the worst part was that I was dropped into a heap of midwestern, perceived, white privilege. The people were at best middle class but they had somehow been led to believe they were the upper crust of society, something I still find rather funny.
In this type of situation there is bound to be bullying and I was; for having long hair, for being an early bloomer and wearing a bra as one could tell as the standard uniform shirt afforded no privacy(were they designed by pedophiles?), and for one of the few bits of individuality allowed-SOCKS. My mom was thrifting and last season shopping before it was THE thing and I had the best designer socks in fabulous colors and I had the gym socks in the cool colors, not the traditional red or blue stripes. There were a few girls who would kick at them out of jealousy. See their moms shopped the retail-priced mall and there these labels were too much.
This was my first deep dive into dealing with people who would try to tell me who I was and what I deserved. It was a challenge to say the least.
Years later at a club three of them approached as one offered to buy me a drink. It was an absolute riot to sit by and listened to the bartender explain how I didn’t pay for drinks and suggesting a different approach. I Saved them the trouble and introduced myself as I wanted the pleasure of seeing their reactions on my terms. Their looks were priceless.
This piece was inspired by my gym socks in all of their radiant beauty. It is also in honor of my mom who would make sure we looked nice on next to nothing, I honestly do not know how she swung it. The fiber is wool. Pulling wool makes my hands sweat much like they did every morning as I descended the steps from my bus ride and walked to school wondering what type of ignorance or abuse would be on the menu that day. Music was Duran Duran, my first record that I used my own money to purchase and my own two feet to walk 1.5 uphill to purchase. A three mile trip that was worth every moment.
In her care there were interesting adventures in Catholicism. She tried to baptize us without the knowledge of our parents. This was the seventies church where given names meant something and my name ensured I would not be baptized that day. The priest just couldn’t believe THAT was my name. In a time when my grandmother’s checks could seemingly buy anything my naive child’s mind could fathom, today they were useless.
For a time we were also required to attend Catholic school. There were so many reasons I did not belong there, beyond the obvious not being Catholic thing. It is in my nature to question things, especially when asked if I have any questions. I’m left-handed which caused more than one lashing. I have a general disdain for being judged for actions that are not my own. As such, I was required to meet after school with a counselor because my parents were divorced. The poor woman tried everything in her power to get me to out with my feelings. I finally decided to tell her that I was glad they divorced because them together was horrible, she was so distraught that I didn’t have to go back.
But the worst part was that I was dropped into a heap of midwestern, perceived, white privilege. The people were at best middle class but they had somehow been led to believe they were the upper crust of society, something I still find rather funny.
In this type of situation there is bound to be bullying and I was; for having long hair, for being an early bloomer and wearing a bra as one could tell as the standard uniform shirt afforded no privacy(were they designed by pedophiles?), and for one of the few bits of individuality allowed-SOCKS. My mom was thrifting and last season shopping before it was THE thing and I had the best designer socks in fabulous colors and I had the gym socks in the cool colors, not the traditional red or blue stripes. There were a few girls who would kick at them out of jealousy. See their moms shopped the retail-priced mall and there these labels were too much.
This was my first deep dive into dealing with people who would try to tell me who I was and what I deserved. It was a challenge to say the least.
Years later at a club three of them approached as one offered to buy me a drink. It was an absolute riot to sit by and listened to the bartender explain how I didn’t pay for drinks and suggesting a different approach. I Saved them the trouble and introduced myself as I wanted the pleasure of seeing their reactions on my terms. Their looks were priceless.
This piece was inspired by my gym socks in all of their radiant beauty. It is also in honor of my mom who would make sure we looked nice on next to nothing, I honestly do not know how she swung it. The fiber is wool. Pulling wool makes my hands sweat much like they did every morning as I descended the steps from my bus ride and walked to school wondering what type of ignorance or abuse would be on the menu that day. Music was Duran Duran, my first record that I used my own money to purchase and my own two feet to walk 1.5 uphill to purchase. A three mile trip that was worth every moment.
Inspired by a vivacious young lady and her rich tastes in color and texture.
This vibrant little lady was discovered Cyndi Lauper’s, ‘Girls Just Want to Have Fun,’ during construction. This took me back to that time of lightness, youth, and idealism.
This vibrant little lady was discovered Cyndi Lauper’s, ‘Girls Just Want to Have Fun,’ during construction. This took me back to that time of lightness, youth, and idealism.
Beacon Hill was the plant blossoming, so to speak. I was looking for a piece for my own home, for this super skinny wall. My color story came from the drapery which was custom designed and fabricated by me. I really had fun with this piece, experimenting with using fabric scraps from that drapery, trims, cotton, silk, bamboo, polyester "wire," and colored wire. It still may be my favorite collection and looking at it still fills me with the initial joy of the experiences I had with it. Upon completion I asked my husband to help me hang it. He remarked that it was far too special to hang in a random corner of our lounge. It needed a place of honor. Precious and priceless words of praise from my absolute favorite person. Soon after, we had a party for my daughter's birthday. One of the moms, a fellow artist, was looking at them and reached out to touch them. I didn't realize it until that moment, but it was the exact response that I wanted.
The Style Council catalogue was my inspiration while finding my way here. I often listen to them when digging a new path.
Exhibition History
Art Serve, Fort Lauderdale, Florida USA
Erdie Gallery, North Miami, Florida USA
The Style Council catalogue was my inspiration while finding my way here. I often listen to them when digging a new path.
Exhibition History
Art Serve, Fort Lauderdale, Florida USA
Erdie Gallery, North Miami, Florida USA
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Labor of Inspiration was my first foray into the hand-turned, fiber wrapped, cylindrical sculpture that I have named, Totem. I was searching for a different type of art. I had tapestry, photography, paintings, ceramics, and blown glass. As an interior designer, I was always searching for art for clients. Often I would not find exactly what I wanted. I wanted something original that I could present to the client, something that could turn an awkward space into a special moment, something new to me. I also needed the pieces to be uncomplicated in their installation. I designed them to hang right against the wall, on a nail, just like a traditional piece of art. I started here, and to me, it was perfect. The Cure’s Head on the door was my soundtrack for this series. |
“Every Encounter Is Unique & Unrepeatable”
I spent my childhood in a free-spirited nomadic culture of diverse characters. My parents were travelers and life was an adventure. Our family crossed The United States by rail four times in those years. This is why the steampunk ethos resonates with me, it is a style that fuses fantasy and history with timeless technology.
Reflecting on steampunk and inclusiveness outside AngloSaxon cultures, I took a trip to Asia by way of my collections when curating and creating my triptych. I hand hammered Japanese copper, soft pulled fringes from Turkey, hard pulled cotton from South Korea, wrapped punched “leather,” and incorporated bits and bobs from China.
My series celebrates the Asian steampunk aesthetic as it relates to mystery, machinery, and innovation with a nod to celebrating deep tradition. Listening to Talking Heads and Laurie Anderson.
STEAMCOLORS
Kroma Gallery, Florida USA
I spent my childhood in a free-spirited nomadic culture of diverse characters. My parents were travelers and life was an adventure. Our family crossed The United States by rail four times in those years. This is why the steampunk ethos resonates with me, it is a style that fuses fantasy and history with timeless technology.
Reflecting on steampunk and inclusiveness outside AngloSaxon cultures, I took a trip to Asia by way of my collections when curating and creating my triptych. I hand hammered Japanese copper, soft pulled fringes from Turkey, hard pulled cotton from South Korea, wrapped punched “leather,” and incorporated bits and bobs from China.
My series celebrates the Asian steampunk aesthetic as it relates to mystery, machinery, and innovation with a nod to celebrating deep tradition. Listening to Talking Heads and Laurie Anderson.
STEAMCOLORS
Kroma Gallery, Florida USA