Show Recap

A big thank you to everyone who made it out to my recent exhibition CONSTRUCT : Loud By Nature!
It was so meaningful to share my work in person with so many familiar and new faces.

Below are some images from the show, along with a writeup about the series providing further context into the work, my ethos and inspiration.

If you couldn't make it to the exhibition but would still like to see the collection in person, I'd love to host you for a studio visit. Please reach out to me at hello@micahclasper-torch.com

CONSTRUCT: Loud by Nature is the latest series of works by artist and designer Micah Clasper-Torch. Through her unique fusion of punch needle rug hooking and wearable art, Clasper-Torch presents an imaginative and unapologetic examination of art and fashion, challenging the preconceived notions that often separate the two.

At the heart of CONSTRUCT lies a dual meaning. As a noun, it reflects Clasper-Torch's firm rejection of assumptions and gatekeeping that dominate the art and fashion realms. She questions and breaks down the dogmatic constructs that define and confine these disciplines, and forging her own paradigm, she redraws the boundaries of creativity and self-expression. As a verb, CONSTRUCT embodies the meticulous process by which Clasper-Torch creates her pieces. Drawing on her formal backgrounds in tailoring, clothing construction, and punch needle rug hooking, she combines and arranges elements with painstaking precision, constructing a new artistic reality.

As part of the ongoing CONSTRUCT series, Loud by Nature serves as the imaginative opening chapter, weaving together diverse threads of inspiration and innovation in her work. Through vibrant colors, varied shapes, and a multitude of materials, Clasper-Torch embraces all sides of herself, from Avante-Garde to traditional, bright to subdued, and masculine to feminine. Drawing inspiration from flora, fauna, and geology as well as architecture, her forms celebrate the beauty of the natural and “artificial” worlds around us, reminding us that humans are part of nature, too. It is a celebration of womanhood and being unapologetically oneself, an embodied critique of the patriarchal norms that have silenced women for too long.

Through CONSTRUCT: Loud by Nature, Clasper-Torch invites us to question and challenge the norms and constructs we experience in our own lives and imagine the role creativity can play in forging new realities.

Upcoming Solo Exhibition

I'm thrilled to announce my upcoming exhibition CONSTRUCT: Loud By Nature will be on display next weekend in Downtown Los Angeles!

The show features a collection of wearable pieces integrating punch needle rug hooking into fashion & accessories, and a video installation providing a behind the scenes look at the creation process. Each piece has been crafted by hand, using a variety of techniques that combine traditional Punch Needle Rug Hooking, hand-sewn clothing construction, and modern design, all of which come together in new and unexpected ways to challenge existing constructs in the fashion industry, the art world, and beyond.

I'm very proud of this new collection. This series takes my work with punch needle to a new level, and I've finally brought to life pieces that I've been dreaming about for years! It has been an incredible amount of work and the past few months have been a whirlwind, but I'm excited about all the ways this process has challenged and pushed me as an artist, designer and creator. I'm more inspired than ever.

Details for the show and the opening reception are below.
If you live around the Los Angeles area, I hope to see you there!

Location:
715 S Los Angeles Street, Los Angeles CA 90014

Opening Reception:
Friday April 28th | 7pm-10pm
21+ / RSVP Required

Public Exhibition Dates:
Saturday April 29th | 11am - 5pm
Sunday April 30th | 11am - 5pm

A New Approach to a New Collection

This year I've been deep in creation mode, working on a new collection of fashion pieces that are challenging my skills in all sorts of exciting ways. After spending most of 2022 focused on product development for Punch Needle World, I was anxious to get back to my art, especially after some big revelations that pushed me to think about myself and my work in a new way.

I've always had big dreams, too many ideas to act on, and a to-do list a mile long that I can never seem to keep up with. I bite my fingernails, am always running late, talk a mile a minute when I’m excited about something and wave my hands while doing so like the Italian that I am. I'm obsessed with my work, have endless energy for the things I enjoy and very little for the things I don't. I always saw these as unique character traits, some that helped me on my path as an artist and entrepreneur, but many of these also hindered me in ways that felt nebulous and hard to explain.

Then last summer, I was diagnosed with ADHD.

To discover this in my mid-thirties was surprising and a little disorienting, and set me down a path of introspection, rethinking my early life and some of the stories I had been telling myself about certain experiences, and reframing how I view my successes and struggles.

Having ADHD was not something I had ever considered, and it took me some time to process the diagnosis and to understand what it meant to me, and what (if anything) I wanted to do with the knowledge. I wasn't ready to share more broadly than close friends and family in the beginning, but if you received my newsletters this past fall you might have picked up on some of the self-examination that I was doing and how it was shaping my approach to my life and schedule!

In the early days of my diagnosis, I did a deep dive into reading books and listening to podcasts to better understand what it meant and to hear the stories of others who had been living with ADHD, in particular, other women like me who were diagnosed later in life. Along with the relief I felt to understand this thing about myself that had always seemed just out of my grasp, I also felt a huge sense of connection and community with others who both struggle (and thrive!) in similar ways to me.

Tracy Otsuka's podcast ADHD for Smart Ass Women was instrumental to this process, and a few weeks ago I had the honor of being a guest on her podcast. If you're interested to hear more about my story, some of the quirks that I now know were either symptoms or coping mechanisms, and how it's impacted my life and approach to entrepreneurship since, give a listen to the episode below!

These days I am practicing patience, being kind to myself, and learning to work with the unique ways that I get things done instead of fighting against it. Creating projects that have more structure (and deadlines) is a big part of that, and I am excited to announce that I will be launching a new collection of punch needle fashion pieces that will be displayed in Los Angeles in late April! It's been a monumental effort, but I'm thrilled about the way things are shaping up so far.

I can't wait to share more in the coming weeks... after a much needed vacation. More to come!

xx

A Subtle Transformation

Over the past few months, I have felt myself experiencing a subtle transformation.

It's as though I'm inside a cocoon. There is growth taking place that isn't always visible on the outside. I feel the discomfort of surrendering, the unsettling sensation of knowing that I am changing, but not knowing what I am changing into. I've felt a reawakening, a stirring somewhere outside, as though both the world and my mind have begun to reopen to all the possibilities for life and living.

***

I celebrated my 36th birthday last month, and it got me thinking about getting older and the (supposed) wisdom that comes with age and experience. The general narrative seems to be that sometime in your 30's, you stop caring what people think and become more confident in yourself and your abilities, presumably because you have lived life, grown wiser and let go of childish insecurities. But as I reflected on my creative journey over the past 16 years, I realized that with time I became more cautious, afraid to take chances, or allow people to see my work.

As we get older we learn all sorts of lessons about life, but we rarely pause to consider whether they actually mean anything. The things I learned as I got older that made me scared to put myself out there -- that things are hard for artists, the world isn't fair, good work gets overlooked, people will not understand you or what you do -- are not wholly untrue, but at the end of the day, do they matter?

In my early 20's, I was creatively fearless. I loved what I made and didn't care (or didn't notice) what other people thought. I didn't doubt myself, and had very little cynicism about my own work or the work of others. If I had an idea, I went for it, launching into projects with the energy and naïveté of someone who didn't know what they didn't know.

It's tempting to laugh at my innocence now that I'm "older and wiser", but the reality is, that naive fearlessness worked for me. I want to live from that place again.

***

I have wanted to take a creative writing course for years, and finally signed up for one in September. Last month towards the end of the 8 week program, I wrote the following poem inspired by the form of Dan Albergotti's "Things to Do in the Belly of the Whale" :

Things to Do in the Chrysalis

Enjoy the solitude. Let yourself dissolve into mush. Recall images of the blue sky, the feel of sun
on your face. Endure moments of fear in the slick darkness. Feel the pulse of your transformation.
Dream of the other side. Try to be very quiet, and listen for the sounds of rain. Count the days.
Embrace the unknowing. Remind yourself that change will come when conditions are right.
Give thanks for your protective cocoon. Visualize all the possible colors on your new wings.
Look for signs of light coming through the walls. Practice the unfolding. Allow yourself to imagine
what you will do when you can fly.

xx

Paris, a revelation

Have you ever experienced a seemingly small shift in perspective that brought about massive change in your life?

Over the past year, I've been feeling... stagnant. Aspects of my life and work were not flowing easily, and I didn't know why. I had this nagging feeling of being out of touch with myself, unsure of what I wanted from life creatively and personally.

Last week, I returned to Los Angeles from a series of travels that spanned Vermont, New York and Paris. The trip, a mix of work and pleasure, was not one that I expected to change me in the ways that it did.

My trip began with a week of study, furthering my punch needle training at The Oxford Rug Hooking School in Vermont, took me through New York City where I reconnected with old friends, and ended in Paris, where I fell in love with a new city and was inspired in unexpected ways. Over a series of small experiences, conversations and coincidences, this trip reawakened something within my heart, drew an arrow from where I have been to where I am going, and allowed me to dream bigger than I had ever allowed myself to before.

I recently began the practice of writing down my dreams, and while in Paris, I had a particularly vivid dream that I have not been able to forget.

I was in class, trying to fulfill an assignment to write about myself. I stared at the page, feeling like I had nothing to say. As I looked at the few lines I had written, I suddenly realized I had been trying to force an essay, but in fact what I was writing was a poem. The teacher pointed to a phrase about a river, going with the flow, and said "This is not correct. Try something else". I realized that this comparison had been okay for autumn, but I was now in springtime, and the appropriate metaphor for the season I was in now was not a slow flowing river, but a more powerful current, gushing water, a waterfall. I completed the poem easily and felt very proud.

Since my return to Los Angeles, it feels like a dam has broken.

Like the revelations themselves, the resulting changes to my life have been small, but powerful in combination. I am waking up earlier, writing daily, enjoying the pleasure of both food and movement, seeking out new conversations and connection with others, and rediscovering parts of myself that I didn't realize I had lost. I feel lighter, more in tune with myself. There is a surrender in my creative work, a willingness to receive and follow the inspiration that flows naturally rather than forcing things.

The dream was my lightbulb moment, distilling the individual lessons I was learning into simple understanding -- If creating the essay is too difficult, perhaps it is supposed to be a poem. If the old ways of thinking and moving through life aren't working, perhaps they were meant for a season I'm no longer in.

And so I'm changing my perspective, letting the poetry flow, entering springtime, bursting forth, rushing and powerful, ready to go over the edge into the unknown.

xx

Regaining Momentum

Gosh, it's been a while! In my last post, I was embarking on a 2 month trip to Italy as I finalized my dual-citizenship. That was...over a year ago. Perhaps you wondered if I had ever returned! More likely, you completely forgot about me and this blog.

Momentum is a funny thing. I wrote consistently for almost 2 years before taking a two month break. When I returned from my trip, I had so much to share about that experience. I gained inspiration for my art and creativity, as well as inspiration for a new way of living life. So much had happened in two months, I didn't know where to begin. Writing about it felt daunting, so I didn't write. Then with each passing month there were new insights, new inspiration, new ideas, and it only became harder to know where to start...

Maybe you know the feeling.

There's still a lot to share, but instead of trying to fit a years worth of insight and updates in this one post, I want to take this opportunity to reintroduce myself, tell you that I've finally launched my online shop, and let you know what you can expect to see and hear from me moving forward.

So... hi. I'm Micah. I'm an artist, designer and entrepreneur who doesn't feel accurately represented by any of those words. I'm a Scorpio. I'm a big sister. I'm a Midwest born, New England raised, former New Yorker living and working in Los Angeles. I have lucid dreams, big ideas and never enough time. I'm on a journey to explore who I am as an creative being and to understand where I and my work fit in.

If you sign up for my newsletter, once a month you'll receive an intimate letter from me where I share a little about what I've been doing, exploring and thinking about over the past month. I'll also share things I've been inspired by, and any new updates about my work. The only other time you'll hear from me via email is when I launch a new collection.

The type of art and work I create will surely continue to evolve as I do, and my writing, and this blog is an invitation to join me along that journey. If you’re on my mailing list, I know you probably receive far too many emails in your inbox, and I'm honored that you signed up to hear from me at some point over the past two years. I'm excited to be back in your orbit.

xx

Time to Retreat

The past couple months have been filled with travel and joyful reconnection with friends and family after more than a year apart. While immensely fulfilling, I found that traveling for 3 weeks after spending more than a year rooted in one place threw me off in a way that it hasn't in the past. The transition back into life in Los Angeles has felt slow and clunky, as though my body has made it back but my mind is still elsewhere.

And in just over a week, I embark on another journey. This time, I'm heading to Italy, where I will live in the town of Fossalto, near Campobasso, in the region of Molise for two months. This long awaited trip is the final step in a 3 year process to obtaining my Italian dual-citizenship via jure sanguinis, and a moment I have envisioned for years. Italy has been a special place for me throughout my life, from visiting family in Pisciotta to studying abroad in Milan, and I am thrilled to be even more connected to my Italian heritage through citizenship.

Two months in Italy is a dream! It is also a long time to be in one place without much to do. While there will be a couple weeks of travel and visiting with family, I will have a solid 5 weeks living solo in a very small Italian village. I've been doing a lot of thinking about what I want this trip to be. Part of me sees this as the artist retreat that I've always dreamed of, sees opportunities for dedicated projects and scheduled time to practice new techniques. But I am also trying to resist the urge to plan too much, put pressure on what I need to accomplish during my time, or to only use it as a working vacation.

I want to make space for long walks, for practicing my Italian with the locals, for taking day trips into nearby towns and exploring. I want to wake up early, read for hours, drink wine with lunch and eat gelato. I want to leave room for this trip to surprise me, to let it evolve into whatever it is supposed to be.

Will you hear from me in the coming months? Who knows! I might be inspired to write regular updates about my travels and time abroad. Or perhaps I will be so focused on living in the moment that the thought of writing a newsletter will seem absurd. What I do know is that I'll be expanding my creativity in new ways and opening myself up to new inspiration while I'm there. And I can't wait.

xx

Ideas Don't Expire

The past couple months have been a whirlwind of intense work and unplugged relaxation, with very little in-between. The big project I've been working on this spring has been an online punch needle course for the company DOMESTIKA, a holdover from pre-Covid days, which was finally filmed in May. It's been a monumental effort but their team is incredible -- I'm excited for the launch and looking forward to sharing more on that front soon.

My recent work has largely been centered around this course, so I feel like I'm finally re-emerging and beginning to dive back into some ideas and projects that I began months ago. While I'm celebrating the accomplishment of this project coming to a close and excited to dive into what's next, I've also been feeling... behind. Like I'm losing time on other ideas and projects I've had to set on the backburner.

I am constantly consumed with various ideas for new work. This is wonderful, except that it is often coupled with a sense of urgency and a fear of being unable to bring all these ideas to life. Focusing on one idea or project feels like a rejection of all the rest.

“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked... I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”

- Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

This quote has stuck with me since the first day I read it, as it perfectly captures the agony of being able to envision endless possibilities, the resulting indecision on what to pursue, and the feeling of watching ideas eventually "wrinkle and go black", as though they have an expiration date.

Back in April I read an article from the NY Times titled How Long Can We Live?, about centenarians and the increasing human lifespan. It got me thinking about time and caused me to re-examine this sense of urgency that I have have about my life and my work.

At one point, the article says "If we are one day born knowing that we can reasonably expect to live 200 years or longer, will our minds easily accommodate this unparalleled scope of life?... Scientists, philosophers and writers have long feared that a surfeit of time would exhaust all meaningful experience, culminating in debilitating levels of melancholy and listlessness."

I don't need 200 years to feel an "unparalleled scope of life" is waiting to be lived -- I simply consider there is a chance I could live into my 90's. But when I am able to grasp what it would mean to have another 60 years, I do not fear melancholy or listlessness. Instead, understanding that I have time releases me from my urgency and gives me patience. I see time to practice a skill for years, to dive deeply into a project, to study an area fully and completely, to get to know materials intimately.

As I enter June and begin to decide which ideas and projects to focus on next, I am reminding myself that ideas do not expire. There is time to choose more than one fig. I have a lifetime to taste, to explore, to evolve into the artist I am meant to be.

xx

So much can happen in a year

It's starting to feel like spring again. On my morning walks, I am transported back to the feelings I had in early quarantine, when it all felt new, sort of like an adventure, a temporary experience. The air feels fresh and alive, our plum tree is budding with the first curling green leaves and the jasmine down the street smells sweet and evokes nostalgia for a simpler time -- leisurely meals on the front porch, baking bread and Tiger King.

So much can happen in a year! March marked one year since our world shifted drastically, and here I am, vaccinated and just beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel. But what exactly is on the other side? I find myself thinking about all the changes this year has brought, both globally and personally. There was a time I would have been excited and ready to pick right back up where I left off, with my packed social schedule, lots of travel and big career goals. But as they say, "a (wo)man can not step in the same river twice" -- the world has changed, and so have I.

I recently looked back at my Google calendar from before the pandemic. How did I have time for all those meetings and events on the calendar every week? I was exhausted just looking at it. I love and miss travel, but I have also begun to feel more rooted in my neighborhood here in LA, more invested in creating positive change in my community and in the world. I'm exploring my art in new ways, beginning to free myself from some of the lofty expectations and pressure I have put on my work, and myself as an artist.

In last year's March recap, things had just begun to change. The year was reset, plans were shifted. Our days slowed. I shared a quote by Pema Chödrön, about things falling apart and coming back together again. Now, one year later, I want to share another quote of hers.

“When you open yourself to the continually changing, impermanent, dynamic nature of your own being and of reality, you increase your capacity to love and care about other people and your capacity to not be afraid. You're able to keep your eyes open, your heart open, and your mind open... And, you begin to think of your life as offering endless opportunities to start to do things differently.”
― Pema Chödrön

We have certainly experienced continual change and the impermanence of our reality this past year. But have we opened ourselves up to embrace it?

It is natural to want to return to "the way things were" or hope things stay the same. But why? Individually and as a society, we have been given an opportunity to start doing things differently, to not be afraid of change. We can let go of things that don't work, and to center things that do. This is a chance to build new routines, habits, selves. We don't need to recreate our pre-pandemic lives, to cling to who we were or who we thought we should be. We don't need to see the "before" as permanent -- or even as good. Will we allow ourselves to dream up a new life? A new world? A new way?

If we keep our eyes, hearts and minds open, this pandemic could change us. Will we be brave enough to let it?

xx

What's Old is New Again

I spent a lot of time last month reflecting, thinking about my art and why I create. In a recent post on Instagram I shared that I used to think that to be an artist, I had to have "something to say". As though the work itself wasn't statement enough, as though creating because I love it and have needed to make art my entire life, somehow wasn't enough. I have to admit, I was nervous to share this sentiment because I felt like it was exposing something that would make me appear less of an artist -- that being that I'm not always sure what I'm trying to say with my work. The flood of comments from other artists and creatives who resonated with that statement relieved my nerves and showed me that I am not alone, and left me convinced that most artists feel this way at some point throughout their life/career.

Since then, I've been sifting through a range of thoughts on this subject. I reject the idea that artists need to have a deep and profound statement behind each work of art, and I think art schools and the broader "art world" contribute to the bs idea that they do. This idea is particularly insidious when presented as a prerequisite for creating, the idea that you should know exactly who you are and what you're trying to say before you begin, before you are allowed to be an artist.

I feel deeply that creating and making art is a path to self discovery. Creating allows us to discover who we are, to know ourselves more fully and to understand the unique light within us that we are trying to share with the world. And indeed, the more I create, the more I begin to understand myself and what I am about, what my work is about. Sometimes I surprise myself -- the art I think I want to make is not always what I find myself drawn to actually creating. Each piece I create is turning over another stone, finding another piece of the puzzle.

But even when I think I understand something about my work, I am at a loss for how to "explain" it to others. It has always seemed ridiculous to me that I should need to convey the point of my work through words. Creating is it's own language, and the resulting work of art is the statement. If it could be said clearly and concisely with words, why bother saying it with art? Writing about the meaning of a piece of art seems to me, as ridiculous as asking a writer to paint a picture to explaining the meaning behind their book.

Last month, I began attending a series of weekly seminars hosted by Slow Factory Foundation that have made a major impact on me. Centered around fashion, these seminars cover topics such as Fashion & Colonialism, Fashion & Waste, Fashion & Spirituality. The seminar on Fashion & Waste has completely changed the way I think about my work. I began to notice themes that have emerged in my practice, especially throughout this past year in regards to utilizing waste materials like old clothing and leftover fabric into quilts, coats and stitched work on paper. I began to connect the dots to my passion for the history of punch needle, a craft of poverty that began when women would dye and repurpose strips of old clothing and rags, hooking them through a backing fabric to create beautiful and functional rugs and floor coverings. I was reminded of my childhood, creating collages from magazines, sifting through piles of used clothing at goodwill, learning to make beauty from the materials I had on hand.

What's old is new again. This theme has been resonating with me throughout the past month as I learn and unlearn, explore new work and new themes, and slowly uncover who I am.

xx

Holding On & Letting Go

January felt... long. There was no shortage of momentous events and there's been a lot to process both politically and personally.

The month kicked off with a disturbing display of entitlement and violence at the US capitol building, but that same day also marked a huge win in Georgia with the runoff elections flipping the Senate to a Democratic majority. It's worth taking a moment to recognize that this was not luck -- it was the result of hard work, organization and swift action. One group chose to get hung up on the past, fighting to try to stop the inevitable, while the other immediately turned their attention to preparing for the future. To me, it was a powerful example of the impact of small steps, focused action and looking ahead. As Amanda Gorman said in her inaugural poem,

We will not march back to what was
but move to what shall be.

I'm ready to look ahead with hope.

After wrapping a bunch of projects in December I finally had some space to explore new ideas in January, but I've been finding it hard to gain momentum. The ideas are still there simmering, but the motivation to act on them has been lacking. I've realized that the routines and habits that served me well in the beginning of quarantine and kept me on track me throughout 2020 have begun to feel stifling.

"Know when to hold'em, know when to fold'em"

In early January, this phrase appeared to me three times in 24 hours. The first time it was mentioned in a phone call, and I didn't think much of it. A few hours later it was said in a television show, and I thought "what a funny coincidence". The next morning, I opened a book at random to to find it written in bold letters, the title of a chapter. Now it really had my attention.

A quote above the title read "Doing more of what doesn't work won't make it work any better" and it sparked a time of introspection and larger questions as I entered the new year. What am I doing that is no longer working for me? What am I holding on to that it's time to let go of?

I've spent a lot of time this past month examining my habits, routines and creative beliefs. The non-stop work and strict schedules that kept me on track throughout last year aren't sparking the motivation I need to move forward into 2021. As such, I'm trying to disrupt my routine and build more time for exploration into my creative practice, for getting inspired and making things that don't necessarily feel cohesive or have a "purpose".

Time for me to say goodbye to the past -- to 2020, to the former administration, to old habits and beliefs -- and "move to what shall be"...

xx

What a year

Well, I wrote this post yesterday and since then here in the US we've experienced an attempted coup, as well as a historic win in our Georgia Senate runoffs. This 2020 hangover looks like it's going to last at least a couple more weeks. Since I don't have the energy to completely re-write this (and as it's meant to be a December recap) please bear with me. I'll need some time to process everything that's just taken place and get back to you in my January newsletter later this month...

This email marks an entire year of consistent writing, and it could be the first New Years resolution I've managed to keep going for a full 12 months. Last January when I sent my first newsletter, the world looked very different in so many ways, and I closed that newsletter by saying, "If January is any indication, 2020 is going to be filled with new work and big ideas, and I can't wait to share it all with you." As it turns out, January was an extremely poor indication of anything that I would experience in 2020 except for new work and big ideas, which I have indeed continued to share with you, despite everything.

December began in a complete whirlwind, trying to wrap up the year so I could take my first real break from work in 12 months, and ended in complete sloth, trying to gear myself up for going back to work. This was my first time spending the holidays in Los Angeles, or anywhere away from my family and our annual traditions on the East Coast for that matter. It was certainly a different experience trying to get into the Christmas spirit in 70 degree weather surrounded by palm trees, but a tiny fir tree, Christmas music and a visit from my sister eventually did the trick.

I love the beginning of a new year, and the opportunity it brings to reflect on the past 12 months and to dream around all the possibilities for what's to come. It's a chance to take a step back and look at the bigger picture.

Here are a few of the biggest lessons I learned in 2020:

People are extremely resilient. Despite the ups and downs of 2020 and the overall fog of uncertainty, sadness and stress we've all felt, people all across the world continued on, made music, created art, supported one another, and accomplished some amazing things. The way that (the majority of) adults and children have adapted gracefully to mask wearing, canceled plans, stay at home orders with ever-changing rules, new ways of working, going to school, ordering food, supporting local businesses, connecting with others, etc... is truly incredible. Though we're still in the thick of it, I think we should take a moment to acknowledge our collective resilience and adaptability.
Everyone handles stress and grief differently. This year was difficult for everyone, and it showed me (on a national and global scale) how different people react to stress and grief. I found that I channeled my stress about things outside my control, into my work -- the routine and clear "to dos" was comforting. As a result, a got a ton accomplished, but I also experienced burnout, and didn't do a great job at building balance and self-care into my life. This is something I'd like to do better in the new year.
When you remove the distractions, things become clear (sometimes painfully so). This past year, thanks to Covid, there were significantly fewer ways to numb and distract ourselves from the reality of our lives. It shone an uncomfortable spotlight on all sorts of areas that we don't always like to engage with. Whether that is our past choices, our current relationships, our work, our habits, our society or government -- there were no distractions from the reality of ourselves and our world. It allowed me to examine the habits I've gotten into, examine the ways I have yet to grow, and take a harsh look at the country that I live in. It also taught me to look at my own ambitions and dreams for my creative pursuits in a new light. The exploration of what this means for my work is something I will be continuing into the new year.
We experience the beauty and the horror of life at the same time. If there's anything this year has taught me it's just how complex, messy, beautiful, ugly, sad and joyful life is -- all at once. It makes me think of Neils Bohr's quote about quantum mechanics that "The opposite of a profound truth may very well be another profound truth", and while I'm not sure he meant it in this same way, I find this to sum up 2020 for me. This year was awful. This year was also wonderful. Both are profoundly true, which makes it very hard to know how to feel at any given time. This year was like a sandwich, comprised of layers of experience -- anxiety, anguish, grief, hard work, joy, delight and beauty. Not in phases, just all of these things, all at once, every day, in every bite. How do we engage with these conflicting truths at the same time? How do we hold space for all of it? It's something I'm thinking about.

Thank you for reading along this past year! With all the content we're bombarded with, I truly appreciate you taking the time to check in with this blog. I'm looking forward to sharing new work, inspiration, thoughts and dreams with you in 2021.

To a better year ahead…

xx

The Independence of Solitude

This past month, I felt like I could momentarily breathe again. The first days after the election were a blur, there was a feeling of being suspended in limbo until the results from PA were announced. It offered enough of a relief to take a breath and finally begin to think ahead to 2021. But the relief I feel is precarious. It feels like a derailed train skidding towards a cliff has just finally came to a halt, hanging over the precipice. I can let out a breath that it has not careened into a canyon, but how the heck do we back it up and get it running again in a new direction?

Either way, things are beginning to feel a little more expansive. I am beginning to dream again, thinking beyond December.

November is also my birthday month, and this always has the effect of an early "new year" where I inevitably end up doing a lot of reflecting on the past 12 months. Needless to say, this year has been... unique. I am grateful that it offered so much focused time to work, to challenge myself, and to grow Punch Needle World. But after a long season of predictable routines and head-down hard work, I'm yearning for a new season of discovery. I'm ready to be inspired again, to explore, to be thrilled and delighted by people and places, conversations, things that I see, hear, read and watch.

There is this pattern in my life, where every 5 years or so I end up realizing that I've changed, but I'm not quite sure how. I feel the need to take stock of certain habits, likes/dislikes, perspectives and interests, and ask myself whether I'm still doing these things because I truly enjoy them or because it's just leftover habits from who I once was. I love change, I love the process of growing, self-discovery and seasons of life. But this has been a weird year, and right now I'm feeling the need to check in with myself.

I re-read Emerson's essay Self-Reliance recently, and a passage stood out to me:

What I must do is all that concerns me, not what the people think... It is easy in the world to live after the world's opinion; it is easy in solitude to live after our own; but the great (wo)man is (s)he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude.

I think I've fallen into a bit of a trap of "living after the world's opinion" recently, though I can't quite put my finger on how. I do know that I put a lot of unnecessary pressure on myself to define what I "do" and "who I am". But I'm an artist, a designer, an entrepreneur, a writer... and the constant creative struggle of my life has been how to feel like I can present all these selves as one, when the world seems to want me to pick one. In the year ahead, I will be striving to continue living after my own opinion, keeping the independence of my solitude.

xx

The Peace of Wild Things

A few days ago in the leadup to the election I was asked to describe how I'm doing by stating which National Park I feel most like. I've been feeling anything but expansive and powerful these days, words I usually associate with these places, but I've been thinking about it and I think I've come up with my answer. As we await results of the Presidential Election I've decided I'm feeling like Angel's Landing in Zion -- nervous, in a precarious situation, holding on, trying to keep my eyes focused on the beautiful view in the distance, not looking back, not looking down.

I spent the majority of October in Alpine Texas, working distraction free and gearing up for the launch of Punch Needle Academy, punctuated by stays in Big Bend National Park and the Glass Mountains north of Marathon TX. On our way to Texas we drove through Arizona and New Mexico, and we spent a few nights in Tonto National Forest. We camped in landscapes that look like early paintings of America and took our breath away.

West Texas was quiet between small town life and Covid closures, but it allowed for work, introspection and really meaningful time spent with friends, forging new connections. After months of seclusion at home in Los Angeles, I was not prepared for the level of immense joy I felt connecting with friends and strangers in person, creating new memories and experiences.

We spent a weekend camping in Big Bend over the new moon, and we could see the milky way and all the stars spread out above us. In this year of camping and west coast road trips, I have marveled at the beauty of this country, while also being horrified at the ugliness we humans can bring to it with our politics, hate and divisiveness. Outside, away from civilization, sitting by a fire and looking up at the sky, I am just a tiny speck in the atmosphere. I feel the vastness of our universe, and it calms me.

This feeling is best captured in the Wendell Berry poem, The Peace of Wild Things:

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

I have memorized this poem, and I whisper it when I wake in the night, when my heart and mind races and I can't sleep. I channel the peace of wild things, the day-blind stars just waiting with their light, and for a moment I too am free.

xx

A Breath of Fresh Air

I've been gearing up for an extended trip to West Texas, and after a month of nonstop work, I'm looking forward to a few days completely unplugged. I'll be camping through Arizona and Texas before settling in Alpine TX for a couple weeks to work, get inspired in a new environment, and do some camping in Big Bend. I haven't been in that part of the country since I moved from NYC to Los Angeles back in 2016, and am really looking forward to a change in scenery.

In early September, I experienced my first earthquake. Then, the fires kept us stuck indoors for about a week, surrounded by a sepia haze. Due to the air quality we stopped taking the daily walks that I've grown to rely on, and getting back to the simple pleasure of that daily routine was (literally) a breath of fresh air. It was a reminder how grateful I am for my neighborhood and for the outdoors, as well as a reminder to enjoy living in California, enjoying the beauty and sunshine as long as I'm able to.

The first half of September was also focused on completing a new coat. As part of a collaboration with the Italian Dyeing House Gallery, I used a Merino Wool yarn, much softer and more loosely spun than the sturdy rug yarn I typically work with. It presented all sorts of new challenges, and also created a beautiful, delicate textile. I'm proud of this piece. This is also the first new coat that I've completed since December, and it renewed my excitement for all the possibilities of this form.

There's this idea from Art & Fear, that "Working within the self-imposed discipline of a particular form eases the prospect of having to reinvent yourself with each new piece", and I've been thinking about that recently. The coat has become a meaningful, consistent canvas where I can explore punch needle, and by keeping it's shape uniform, the focus stays on the textile itself, celebrating the history, beauty and possibilities of this craft. The form of a coat is also very personal to me, and represents my love of design and background in fashion, as well as my disillusionment with the fashion industry and the way it traditionally operates. I feel that I have been trying to say something through these pieces that I can't quite articulate, but it is important to me that making one of a kind coats slowly, by hand, over a period of many weeks is in direct contrast to the way that the fashion industry works, which values speed, quantity over quality, and fast moving trends.

I'm entering the early stages of a new commissioned coat that I'm particularly excited about, and I've been feeling really grateful for the opportunity to keep making work, to keep pushing myself through this form!

xx

Familiar Uncertainty

Throwing myself into work has kept my mind focused and calm this month, and helped to quell some of the rising anxiety produced by the uncertainty of Covid and the upcoming elections here in the United States. Staying focused on the things in my personal and creative life that I can control, and the local actions I can take to help the community here in Los Angeles has been helpful, when the vastness of the world's problems can feel overwhelming.

Artists are no stranger to uncertainty. There is so little we can actually control about the outcome of our work. We can dream up a vision, try to make a plan, we can choose our materials and apply our effort and skills towards that vision, but a good artist must be flexible, must allow for deviations from the plan, be prepared for outside forces to affect the work and for it to take on a life of its own. An artist must learn to be open-minded, accepting that the outcome may result in either pleasant surprise or disappointment.

"Uncertainty is the essential, inevitable and all-pervasive companion to your desire to make art. And tolerance for uncertainty is the pre-requisite to succeeding."
- Art & Fear

Interestingly enough, with the amount of uncertainty in nearly every other facet of life these days, art has felt oddly safe and "certain" by comparison. Being able to throw myself into the familiar uncertainty of creating art has kept me grounded, and the physical process of making has helped me to literally "work through" some of the emotions of this month.

There is a Langston Hughes poem called Let America Be America Again that has been on my mind for months, and it has inspired a new series of small works on paper. I find this poem incredibly moving, and it's continued relevance is only further indication of how little has changed in our country since 1935 when it was written.

A short excerpt, below:

"O, yes,
I say it plain,
America never was America to me,
And yet I swear this oath—
America will be!

Out of the rack and ruin of our gangster death,
The rape and rot of graft, and stealth, and lies,
We, the people, must redeem
The land, the mines, the plants, the rivers.
The mountains and the endless plain—
All, all the stretch of these great green states—
And make America again!"

There is something haunting about the similar phrasing of Langston Hughes' words "make America again" and Donald Trump's MAGA slogan. Yet simply removing one word reclaims the phrase, transforming it into something more positive, powerful and unifying.

Hughes' is the original message.

It is a call for America to fulfill it's original promise — not to return to something it ever actually was — but to finally become something it has always had the potential to be. Like Hughes in 1935, I am still hanging on to hope that one day, for all of us, "America will be".

xx

Right brain / Left brain

These days of quarantine have been fantastically productive for focusing on business and checking tasks off my to-do list, but less conducive to new inspiration and creative breakthroughs. For me, the best kind of creative energy stems from new experiences, conversation and connections -- all of which I am feeling the lack of these days.

My biggest focus has been preparing to film an online punch needle course that I've been working on for the past 6 months. (You heard it here first!) The deep dive into writing the content, preparing an outline, script writing and pre-production has left little time to focus on my art, but this is a project I've been working on since January and I'm eager to put it out into the world. This foundation course is an expanded version of what I teach in my live classes, and I'm excited for the opportunity to reach a broader audience, and continue teaching this art form in a way that works with our current Covid restrictions.

Reading, picnics in a nearby park, and morning walks are keeping me grounded. I am finding the balance between the left brain and right brain aspects of making my art and running a business. Punch Needle World has been growing rapidly, and I've enjoyed the connection with the community and the way it has kept me learning, growing, and continuing to seek information. I am just about to begin working on my next punch needle coat, using a new type of yarn, and after a busy month I am looking forward to getting lost in the next creative challenge.

xx

An Awakening

I've spent the past 9 days off the grid on a camping road trip up through Northern California. My partner and I traveled through the Sequoia, Stanislaus and Mendocino National Forests, Sonoma, Marin and Big Sur, taking in all the beauty that California has to offer, from cool forests and lakes to vast sunny meadows, sweeping mountain views and curving coastlines. Nature is where I recenter. It brings everything back into focus, allows me to breathe, and reminds me what is really important.

More than any other time in my life, I am conscious of the feeling of living through history. June was an uncomfortable month. An awakening of sorts. Between the ongoing Covid-19 pandemic affecting the global population and the current fight for racial justice here in the United States, a massive spotlight has been turned on the flaws in our country -- our police force, our unchecked capitalism, the racism built into the systems that are the foundation of this nation, the human and natural resources that we have been exploiting without regard -- and we must not look away.

The energy and momentum that we're experiencing is due to a unique set of events that have all converged, and we have the distinct opportunity to make change right now. We are not only living through history, but we are all actively participating in its creation with our actions -- or lack of action. We have a chance to create real change, to ensure a better world for future generations, not only for people all across the globe, but for the very survival of the planet itself. We cannot go back to "the way things were". There is no going backwards. The world has already changed, and it is up to us whether we force it to drag us along with it kicking and screaming, or whether we embrace the change as an opportunity to re-imagine the very world that we are living in, and be a part of its evolution.

xx

A short reflection

The words aren't coming easily this month.

I am deeply saddened and angered by many of the events that have taken place recently in the United States. I am simultaneously heartened by the solidarity and coming together that I have witnessed in my neighborhood, and across the world.

The things we say during this time matter. The things we don't say matter just as much. We are living through an important moment. This is our opportunity to step up, to be better and to do better, as individuals, as a country and as a world. As Dr. King wrote, "Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere." I will support the fight for justice, wherever it may be.

I'm going to keep this short. Thankful to be able to share my work with you.

xx

Adjusting to a new normal

April was a busy month. Despite all the changes and uncertainty, the weeks have flown by, and daily routines have been keeping me grounded.

A big focus of mine this past month was launching Punch Needle World, an online community and informational resource for Punch Needle Rug Hooking. Punch needle has become a central part of my work as an artist and I am passionate about its history, and invested in keeping the traditional technique alive even as I work to push it in new directions as an art form. Punch Needle World is my way to give back, elevate the community of artists around me, and support new creatives interested in learning more about this craft. (If you're interested in learning more, check out the website and feel free to join the Instagram community or mailing list to keep up with that endeavor!)

On a more personal note, this month has been centered around adjusting to and creating a "new normal". Morning routines and evening routines have been key to keeping me on track. Coffee and morning walks, delicious dinners and weekly conversations with friends have been good for the soul.

A couple weeks ago, I broke the lease on my new art studio that I just moved into this past December. I only had a few months to work from the space before COVID-19 made getting downtown and safely working within a large creative office building impossible. Moving into that space was a big step for me, and while it was hard to say goodbye so quickly, I know this is one of the best ways I can prepare myself as an artist and solo entrepreneur to ride things out for the months to come.

Some things I have been thinking about these days:

Adaptability. In the midst of so much uncertainty, I have been thinking a lot about the importance (now more than ever) of being flexible and being able to adapt to new situations. Humans are incredibly resilient, but many people have a natural aversion to change when faced with it head on. While it might seem scary, I think there is value in leaning into the change - even being malleable enough to let it guide our course - rather than resisting and insisting on the quickest return to "the way things were". Rather than asking "how can we regain what we have lost", maybe we should ask "what new opportunities might this open up"? The current situation will shape our world for years to come, in ways that we can not yet imagine. As an artist, a creative and an entrepreneur, I believe it is prudent that we begin thinking today about how we can best position ourselves to adapt and stay flexible over the next 2-3 years -- and beyond.

How current events, necessity, influences art. In a similar vein, I have been thinking a lot about how current events influence art, and how restriction and necessity often lead to incredible things. This is very exciting to me as an artist! Sometimes being required to work with restrictions leads to creativity that would have been impossible otherwise. Traditional Rug Hooking, Korean Jogakbo and the quilts of Gees Bend are all art forms that evolved out of necessity and restriction (ie. poverty). The women who pioneered these craft movements began simply, by using what they had at their disposal to create functional personal items that were popular during their time -- floor coverings, traditional wrapping cloth, and quilts. I am finding myself increasingly drawn to this type of work, and wondering what shape my own work might take out of necessity in the coming years.

Looking forward,
xx