Party as Form

Alberto Aguilar on the Practice of Partying

In 2011 Alberto Aguilar invited 1,000 strangers, using a popular social network site, into his home for a Personal Dinner Invitation. What resulted was a gathering that sat somewhere in between social experiment, party, and performance. Not everyone accepted the offer, Aguilar clarified, but a courageous number of people showed up—even though the invitation was mysterious and elusive—to this ordinary event with, as Aguilar described it, “a slightly eccentric” twist. After the event's successful happening, Aguilar was invited to stage several more renditions of similar events. The series culminated in 2015 in its most extreme form; titled Weddings Unknown, Aguilar facilitated a marriage between a couple in front of 200 strangers.

The epic scope of this project isn’t an isolated incident in Aguilar’s work. More recently, he was invited by the Chicago Humanities Festival to host a day-long party throughout the Pilsen neighborhood. The event was bookended by Museum Church in the morning and a music set in the evening. The all-day affair took place at a variety of locations, including the parking lot of the National Museum of Mexican Art, where Aguilar invited 21 artists to bring their cars, giving them the loose prompt to “use their cars as a site of performance, engagement, or to show their cars as an artwork.” When two of the artists Aguilar invited didn’t have a car, they rented a Uhaul and invited 18 more artists to join them in the truck nestled in the corner of the lot. “That corner of the parking lot was the most dynamic,” Aguilar said, and explained that it also embodied one of the most important aspects of facilitating parties: leaving room for the unexpected.

Like many individuals, especially parents, party planning has played a strong role in Aguilar’s personal life. It was at one of his children’s birthday parties that he developed his tried and true “Celebratory System,” a measured and systematic mode of installing streamers, which has since made its way into multiple exhibitions and events created by Aguilar. At first glance “Celebratory System” might sound oxymoronic, but there’s a savvy logic to it. Aguilar insists that rules play an essential function to his facilitations, a concept affirmed by Priya Parker, author of The Art of Gathering. “An artful rule is culture-creating,” Parker writes in one of her essays. For Aguilar’s upcoming session of a research studio class, his students are hosting a Halloween party in which they all come dressed as their alter ego. Here the rules are simple: come dressed in a costume, contribute to the party (ie. food, games, decor), and bring no more than one guest. The parameters create a shared culture in which students, with the alter ego prompt specifically emboldening them to “be more of themselves [in a way] that falls within their artistic sensibility. And then of course there's the element of surprise that follows.”

“The party is part of what happens when I go to Ox-Bow,” Aguilar explained. Every visit to campus has included a gathering instigated or furthered by Aguilar. On one occasion, Aguilar kept the location of the party a secret and instead told residents to look for flashing lights at exactly 8:55 p.m. At a dance party, he served up Coney Island turkey dogs topped with a 50-ingredient mole. And at our first ever summer concert, Aguilar kept things festive with conceptual face painting. Now in 2025, Aguilar will step in as one of the new co-faculty of Party as Form, in which he’ll bring years of personal, professional, and intuitive party expertise.

Enrollment for Party as Form opens March 31, 2025 at 10:00 a.m. ET.

Alberto Aguilar (he/his/they) is a Chicago-based artist that uses the party as form to create a shared public moment. In "A Personal Dinner Invitation” he invited strangers into his home to experience a normal dinner party with a slightly amplified program. In 2015 he organized “Wedding to Unknown" where a couple was married and celebrated before 200 unsuspecting guests. In 2024 he organized a block party in Pilsen by invitation of the Chicago Humanities Festival. This event happened throughout a single day in and around The National Museum of Mexican Art. The day began with “Museum Church", which was meant to give attendees a sense of grounding. For “Auto Portrait Spectacular,” 24 artists were invited to show their cars as vehicles of public engagement, installation or as artworks themselves in the museum parking lot. Along with the cars there were performances and live music that unfolded throughout the night as well as Aguilar’s signature 50 ingredient mole served to the public by a food truck. Alberto is the recipient of the 2024 Latinx Artist Fellowship. He has appeared in the Creative Independent as well as NYU’s Latinx Project.

This article was written by Shanley Poole, Engagement Liaison & Storyteller and was based on an interview conducted in 2024.

More Than a Stitch

Chris Edwards and Lauren Gregory bring quilting and community to Ox-Bow through their third rendition of “Soft Compositions.”

There’s something age old and deeply human about a sewing circle. It’s an ancient tradition that transcends time and cultures. Lauren Gregory and Chris Edwards have participated in this tradition these past two years at Ox-Bow, each time introducing a new body of students to the practice in their course “Soft Compositions.” After an introduction of the course and a morning session to acquaint students with initial techniques, Gregory and Edwards take their seats amidst the circle. For the rest of the session, they’ll sit level with the students and join them in communing around a shared goal. By the end of their two weeks on campus, each student will complete their own quilt. Likewise, Gregory and Edwards commit themselves to finishing one alongside the students. “Far from taking away from teaching the class” Gregory finds that how “deep into our [own] creative projects [we go] seems to really fuel the situation with other students.”

Chris Edwards quilts at a table. Photo by Dominique Muñoz.

For most, this is their first quilting endeavor. Gregory explained that many of them gravitate towards precision and perfection, but Edwards loves to dispel this tendency by playfully reminding them “it’s a f***ing blanket.” At the end of the session, if it functions as such, that’s a success. This approach comes naturally to Edwards who operates on profound instinct and spends no more than two weeks on a quilt. He holds that problem solving is intrinsic to quiltmaking and loves seeing students grapple with that aspect of the form. Each one manages to develop their own ways of navigating these problems as they arise.

“The direction that people are coming from and what they want their quilt to say and what kind of things they want from a quilt and what their relationship is… it's so unique, and it's so personal, ” says Edwards. He theorizes that part of this comes from the homey and nostalgic nature of quilts. He witnesses the intersection of these personal relationships and memories with the object, intersecting with each student’s own art practice. “We see a lot of that expression of cultural relationships to quilting, how that is expressed and how the craft is expressed from [each] person.” In representational projects, Edwards finds that the process of making the quilt ends up becoming a method of processing the representation, “the process of working through something while making,” as Edwards puts it.

A student lays out quilt pieces on the studio floor. Two other students work in the background. Photo by Dominique Muñoz.

Many students come with materials of their own such as hand printed fabric and naturally dyed fibers. Some arrive with a vision in mind, while others develop improvisationally. All return home with a quilt of their own: a capsule of their method and self preserved in the fibers. 

Both Gregory and Edwards model the individuality present in quilts. Gregory, a third-generation, Southern painter, made the transition to quilts during the pandemic’s early stages. During this time, she found herself unable to paint. The women in her family had modeled the tradition of quilting, just as they had painting. She recalled an early memory in which her mother made Gregory a quilt for her bed and guided young Lauren as she made a matching miniature quilt for her doll. Similarly, the first quilt Edwards made was done in collaboration with his mother during undergrad. In the course, Edwards and Gregory highlight this generational history of quilts, introducing students to its Appalachian and Southern roots with historic figures and artists such as the Gee's Bend quilters.

Quilts suspended over the meadow on a clothesline. Photo by Dominique Muñoz.

As many quilters have professed in their own words, quilts offer up their own language. For Edwards and Gregory, this language seems to be one of love. At one point during our video call, Gregory showed me the full-sized quilt Chris had given her last Christmas. “I cried like a little baby when I opened this box… it’s one of the most amazing gifts anyone's ever given me,” said Gregory. Former classmates in the School of the Art Institute’s Painting MFA, Gregory and Edwards seem to have been brought even closer through their summers teaching at Ox-Bow. “He’s my best quilting buddy,” Gregory said. “And he’s just, he's amazing… He's such a prolific quilter and it has opened up this whole world of quilting and building a quilting community that has been really special to me.”

A student feeds a quilt through the machine. Photo by Dominique Muñoz.

Each year in the studio at Ox-Bow, a micro community of quilters also emerges. Edwards credits this partially to the sewing circle: the conversations that emerge over the hours and the silences that they also share. In the studio, Edwards has observed students teaching themselves and their peers new methods. “We had students that were teaching themselves new quilting techniques… and then we all learned as they were doing them.” Edwards made it clear that this form of exchange is core to the spirit of quilt making.

Of Ox-Bow and the course, Gregory shared, “It is my favorite place, my favorite two weeks out of the year, hands down…” As she showed me shelf after shelf of fabric in her studio, she pointed to a pile set aside for Ox-Bow, “I’m already thinking of what fabrics I’m going to bring next summer.” 

Interested in taking the course? Soft Compositions returns to Ox-Bow this summer. Registration opens March 31, 2025 at 10:00 a.m. ET.

This article was written by Shanley Poole, Engagement Liaison & Storyteller, based on interviews conducted with Chris Edwards and Lauren Gregory in 2024. The article was originally published in our 2024 Summer Course Catalog.

All photos by Dominique Muñoz (Summer Fellow 2024). Banner image features a student piecing together a quilt on a table.

Studio Insights: Rachel Brace

Getting to know Glass Studio Manager Rachel Brace

This will be your fifth season at Ox-Bow. What keeps you coming back?

​​RB: Ox-Bow is such a special and unique place. It is truly one of the hidden corners of the world. Being surrounded by an artist community has been such a joy, where everyone can truly be themselves and take care of each other while we make art.

When did you start working with glass and what entrances you about that medium in particular?

RB": I started blowing glass when I was fifteen, but I have always been fascinated by the medium. Glass has a quality unlike any other, and behaves as though it is alive. Working with a material such as this is so rewarding, and there’s always more to learn.

Vases by Rachel Brace. Photo by Dominique Muñoz (Summer Fellow, 2024).

Beyond the studio, what are the most important parts of campus life for you?

RB: The setting of Ox-Bow has always been one of the major things I love about this place. Being surrounded by the beautiful nature of southwest Michigan is breathtaking, from the forest to the lake.

What do you hope this next year in the glass studio holds for you and the other artists that will step into it?

RB: I hope to continue to work with talented artists and continue to refine my own art. The community that has been cultivated here continues to thrive and welcome new ideas and artists.

Brace assists faculty member Victoria Ahmadizadeh Melendez in the studio. Photo by Dominique Muñoz (Summer Fellow, 2024).

This interview was conducted by Shanley Poole, Engagement Liaison & Storyteller in 2024. Banner image: Brace guides a student in the glass studio. Photo by Dominique Muñoz (Summer Fellow, 2024).

The Ancient Future: Clay & Sound

A look into the ceramics course exploring ceramics, music, and the shared spirit of humanity

Creating the Course

Israel (Izzy) Davis and Douglas R. Ewart are two friends, artists, and intuitive musicians with a thirty year history together. Last summer, they returned to Ox-Bow to debut a new course that combined their history and strengths. What resulted was a course that fostered experimentation, kinship, and generous offerings that spilled past the walls of the studio, onto all of campus.

The course—titled “The Ancient Future: Clay & Sound”—derives its name from, in Ewarts word’s, the idea that “the Ancient ways and the people that live that way have left a much smaller footprint and live more in concert with the world's natural ecosystems by not destroying trees, waterways, animals and more. The idea that a sustainable and kind future is dependent on acknowledging and learning from ancient traditions.” The name is borrowed from a slogan of the Association for the Advancement of Creative Musicians (AACM), an organization of which Ewart is a longtime member. “We embarked on making drums and flutes and saucers,” Ewart said of the start of the session. From there Ewart and Davis watched where interest sparked in the students and improvisationally retooled the course’s direction from there. At the heart of both of their teaching practices is a desire to meet students where they are at. 

All of the students in the session were beginners in both ceramics and music. Each had bravely signed up for the course knowing that it would culminate in a public ensemble performance. Davis and Ewart worked intentionally to dispel any fears that naturally arose. From day one in the studio, Davis emphasized that simply clapping your hands or striking a drum is enough. When performing as an ensemble these elements can layer on top of another; “You develop a more what we perceive as a more complex rhythm,” Davis said.

Izzy Davis plays a tambourine while Douglas R. Ewart blows into an instrument. A student sits on either side of them. Photo by Ian Solomon (Summer Fellow, 2023).

Artists at Heart

Both Davis and Ewart treat teaching as a practice of its own, just as sacred and important as their artistic practice. Davis’s voice tightened on the other end of the line as he described how important it was to him. “To have an impact on students and share this path together… That's really, it’s a gift.” These words rang with a sincerity reinforced by Davis’s own path to the arts. He knew full well the liberation a classroom can provide. The son of a single mother who worked in a local factory in North Carolina, Davis credited that “art was the door for [him].” And as we dove further into conversation together, it became clear he doesn’t take his path or the power of the arts for granted. Davis credited that education is not rooted merely in acquisition of skills and degrees, it’s also an opportunity to participate in a shared exchange of humanity. I saw the traces of kinship in these words as Davis’s former professor Ewart shared that he “differentiate[d] schooling from education.”

Ewart’s first exposure to ceramics came at an early age. Across the street from his childhood home in Kingston, Jamaica was a pottery workshop that was commissioned by the government to make clay pipes for sewage and irrigation. He chuckled as he recounted disguising their clay in fudge bar wrappers and offering it as a treat to friends. While this remained his only relationship to ceramics for a time, music played a central role in Ewart’s upbringing. “Because of the drive for independence, which we got in 1962, the music was changing [in Jamaica],” said Ewart.

In particular, Ewart reflected on the impact of Count Ossie and the Mystic Revelation of Rastafari, recounting that he knew a number of the group’s players. “The place where you would hear a lot of the original music… was at the dancehall because they weren't playing this music on the radio,” Ewart said, adding that this repression of music was done intentionally by authorities. “You're supposed to look to the Metropolitan colonizers as the vanguard of intellect,” Ewart elaborated, connecting this theme to what he sees happening in institutions in America, where binaries are drawn between functional and abstract or intelligent design and implications of unintelligent design. “It’s an oxymoron,” Ewart said, “all design is intelligent!” Such passionate and insistent affirmations not only drove my conversation with Ewart, but Ewart’s teaching philosophy too. Ewart believes that learning is reciprocal between teacher and student, rather than a one-way transit. With such a perspective, it’s no wonder why his relationship with former student Israel Davis has grown into one of both peers and friends.

Izzy Davis chats with a student while working a piece of clay. Photo by Ian Solomon (Summer Fellow, 2023).

A Shared Spirit

When the instructors began to brainstorm the framework for the course, they launched from Davis’s background in ceramics, Ewart’s expertise in music and music history, and both of their interests in non-mainstream pedagogy. “We boiled it down to these ancient art forms [creating] new pathways to social and cultural connection through shared human spirit,” Davis specified. When faced with those words, I was struck by the ambitious scope they tried to offer, a scope which they successfully managed to host. I intentionally say host because of their commitment to an equal exchange of knowledge within the student-professor dichotomy. The suspension of traditional hierarchies was essential to their goal to engage in shared spirit.

Two students taught Davis the Chinese words for certain ceramic terms, while Davis taught the students how to accomplish the methods that matched the vocab. Towards the end of the two week session, one student shared with Davis that “she’d never felt as recognized in a class” as she had in “The Ancient Future.” Like many courses at Ox-Bow, the connection lasted beyond the time in the studio. When Ewart performed in Chicago a few weeks later, two students assured him they’d be there. Hearing this news, Ewart packed the flute one of these students had made for him and played it at the concert as a nod of solidarity. “What the class has done is created a platform for enduring connections,” he shared in reflection of that moment playing the flute on stage.

Douglas R. Ewart giving a performance with a rainstick on a meadow. Photo by Natia Ser (Summer Fellow, 2023).

The Final Offering

These enduring connections were also a gift that impacted those beyond the students in Ewart and Davis’s course. When Davis proposed “The Ancient Future,” he reached out to his friend and former student Joey Quiñones. He asked if they’d have interest in proposing a course that would harmonize with his. Quiñones in turn proposed a wearable dyes course that employed use of natural materials to create Kanga* inspired textiles. Both courses visited each other’s studios, learned from the practices of one another, and created cross-disciplinary works.

The two courses also collaborated to create what Ewart called a Final Offering—“like a musical meal,” he elaborated—to campus. Students of Sound and Clay donned textiles made by Wearable Dyes and offered a song to all on campus, a song created from the instruments they’d made over the two week session. When they concluded, everyone gathered around a table to enjoy Ewart’s homebrewed ginger beer in ceramic vessels made by Davis and Teaching Assistant, Melissa Navarre. Serendipitously, the event took place mid-summer, when energy from staff was low. Davis shared that more than one individual thanked him, Ewart, and the students for providing something to gather around as a community: an enriching, satisfying meal indeed.

If “The Ancient Future” caught your interest, you’ll be happy to hear that it’s coming back to campus in 2025. Registration for the course opens March 31, 2025.

*What are Kangas?

The kanga is a type of garment commonly worn in the African Great Lakes Region. These versatile pieces can be used as skirts, headwraps, aprons, and more. Early versions of the textile featured spotted patterns that looked similar to the plumage of a guinea fowl. The Swahili word for the species being “kanga,” the garment took its name from the bird.

Students chat in front of a line of Kangas fixed to the volleyball net. Photo by Natia Ser (Summer Fellow, 2023).

About the Artists

Israel “Izzy” Davis is an artist whose work plays between the boundaries of object and image. He has taught numerous workshops and exhibited nationally and internationally. Izzy’s work ranges in content from personal narratives, observations, particulars, and fun. He is a professor and head of ceramics at Central Michigan University.

Douglas R. Ewart (he/him) Professor Emeritus at The School of the Art Institute of Chicago, was born in Kingston, Jamaica, in 1946. His life and his wide-ranging work have always been inextricably associated with Jamaican culture, history, politics, and the land itself. Professor Ewart immigrated to Chicago in 1963, where he studied music theory at VanderCook College of Music, electronic music at Governors State University, and composition at the School of the Association for the Advancement of Creative Musicians. Professor Ewart’s varied and interdisciplinary work encompasses music composition, painting and kinetic sound sculpture, and multi-instrumental performance on a full range of instruments of his own design and construction for which he is known worldwide. His visual art and kinetic works have been shown at Museum of Contemporary Art Chicago, the Ojai Festival, Art Institute of Chicago, Institute for Contemporary Art (Philadelphia), Contemporary Arts Museum Houston, and Chicago’s Museum of Science and Industry.

Joey Quiñones is a mixed-media artist who primarily uses fiber and ceramics to explore Afro-Latine identity in a global context. In their fiber work, they use natural dyes, silkscreening, and fiber manipulation to create their figurative sculptures. They have an MFA in Studio Art from Indiana University, Bloomington, and a Ph.D. in English from the University of Iowa. Their work has been shown at venues such as the Akron Art Museum, the Contemporary Art Center in Cincinnati and the Crocker Art Museum in Sacramento, and they have had residences at Vermont Studio Center and Kohler Arts/Industry Program. They currently are the Artist-in-Residence and Head of the Fiber Department at Cranbrook Academy of Art.

Headshots courtesy of the artists. Banner image by Natia Ser (Summer Fellow, 2023) features a close up shot of two staff members playing with a kalimba.

This article was written by Shanley Poole, Engagement Liaison & Storyteller, based on interviews conducted with Israel (Izzy) Davis and Douglas R. Ewart, in 2024. The article was originally published in our 2024 Summer Course Catalog.

Field Illustration

Straddling the realms of science and art, Josh Dihle brings two worlds together in his course Field Illustration.

During Josh Dihle’s undergraduate studies at Middlebury College, his days were filled with lab work and science textbooks. As a biology major, he eventually landed a job that took him out of the classroom and into the riverbeds of Pennsylvania. “During the summers, I had a job for the federal government, weirdly, where I was part of a team that was counting endangered freshwater mussels,” Dihle explained. In order to land the gig, Dihle had to prove himself fluent in mussel identification. For his studies, he began sketching the different species to cement their individuality in his mind. This marked the beginning of Dihle’s slow marriage between the sciences and arts.

Dihle’s studio is now filled with sketches of feathers and caterpillars, alongside paintings that blend the natural and the surreal, and sculptures that embed the organic alongside the synthetic. His practice shows the experimental courage and intellect of a creative who has moved beyond being a mere observer of their environment. Dihle’s work reveals the spirit of an individual who is in connection and communication with the natural world. Perhaps it’s this inclination that led to his affinity for Ox-Bow.

Students of Field Illustration at work on the edge of the meadow. Photo by Dominique Muñoz.

Dihle first stepped foot on the interdunal campus as an Artist-in-Residence in 2015. At the time, he was already teaching at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago. He recalled “finding [his] stride in a really meaningful way in the studio space.” At Ox-Bow he regained an awareness for the intrinsic relationship nature had with his practice. “I was always a nature kid and somebody who loved to draw and make things and imagine. But often those get parsed into two separate camps.” At Ox-Bow, those worlds couldn't help but collide. “Being at Ox-Bow that first time, I was just out here drawing and there were bugs walking on me… There was just a union of multiple passions. A lot really clicked,” Dihle said. 
Most of the memories Dihle reminisced upon were rooted in encounters with animals. Whenever he took phone calls in the parking lot he was joined by owls that swooped and hooted in the canopy of hemlock and pines. After wading into the lagoon to render a painting en plein air, he emerged with a tagalong friend… a tightly secured leach. “There was always this other kind of natural force asserting itself into the situation, which I really have come to appreciate,” shared Dihle. These anecdotes and optimism offer a clear window into an artist who can love the many faces of nature, even its blood thirsty aquatic parasites.

An artists observers work in the studio. Photo by Dominique Muñoz.

In 2021, the artist returned to teach at Ox-Bow. In line with his residency habits, he led an en plein air course. The offering was a classic on campus, allowing Dihle to join the rich legacy that sits central to the organization, which was once known as the Summer School of Painting. After a stint as the professor of this quintessential class, he started scheming up his own course. In 2024, Field Illustration made its debut. The new offering was rooted in much of the same tradition as his first course. “They're both classes that seem important in that they are a wedding of a kind of tradition of being in the environment and working from observation and just slowing yourself down and really trying to notice and see things in a different way,” said Dihle.

Student Nico Weems described the course as a beautiful chance to “be in nature up to the armpits.” The environment facilitated space both for rigorous work and play. Mornings might begin with quick improvisational sketches of the fast-footed Ox Flock. Challenging the students to keep up with the free range chickens woke up both the mind and body of the artists. “They’re not going to pose for you,” Dihle jested about the birds. While the exercise summons a loose and active spirit, Dihle insists that the practice of Field Illustration is also rooted in slowing down. Afternoons were spent in contemplation of poets such as Mary Oliver and Sharon Olds. “At Ox-Bow you can really allow yourself a different level of peace and quiet,” Dihle said, and the poets selected paired well with this philosophy. As the course progressed, Dihle’s students were encouraged to find their own aspects of nature to meditate on and capture on paper and canvas. By the end of the session, students had learned not only how to render what they saw, but to collage their renderings together into imagined scenes and landscapes.

In 2025, Field Illustration will once again be offered. Students interested in learning this niche and deeply immersive art form, can enroll starting March 31, 2025.

With a hand for detail and an eye on the natural world, Josh Dihle blends painting, carving, and drawing to open visionary portals into the heart. He is the cofounder of experimental art platforms Color Club and Barely Fair and teaches at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago. He also created The Sugar Hole, an ice cream shop staffed by puppets. Solo exhibitions include M+B (Los Angeles), Andrew Rafacz (Chicago), 4th Ward Project Space (Chicago), McAninch Arts Center (Chicago) and Valerie Carberry Gallery (Chicago). Dihle's work has been exhibited in group shows nationally and internationally, including Gaa Gallery (New York), MASSIMODECARLO Vspace (Milan, Italy), University of Maine Museum of Art (Bangor, ME), Hyde Park Art Center (Chicago), Elmhurst Art Museum (Elmhurst, Illinois), Essex Flowers Gallery (New York), Ruschman (Mexico City) and Annarumma Gallery (Naples, Italy). His work and curatorial projects have been written about in The New York Times, Chicago Tribune, New City, Artspace, The Washington Post, and The Art Newspaper, among others. Dihle lives and works in Chicago.

This article was written by Shanley Poole, Engagement Liaison & Storyteller based on an interview conducted with Josh Dihle in 2024. The article was originally published in our 2025 Summer Course Catalog. Banner images features a close up of student work from Field Illustration in 2024. Photo by Dominique Muñoz.

Artist Profile: Yashu Reddy

From Michigan to Murano to Maui, glass artist Yashu Reddy continues to invest in the craft (and indulge in his love for travel).

What started as a college elective for Yashu Reddy quickly grew into a career and lifestyle as a glass artist. With over a decade in the craft, he has studied under and worked alongside artists of international renown, and developed a highly skilled reputation for himself as well. And still, Reddy is hungry to learn more and dive deeper into glasswork.

As Reddy catches me up to speed on his latest endeavors, he sips a beer and drags on a cigarette, a post-work ritual I’m familiar with from our shared summers at Ox-Bow. It’s 4:00 p.m. where he’s calling me from. Two weeks ago he was at a studio in Maui, but now he’s in Murano, Italy. To understand how he got here, we have to journey back to the start of Reddy’s studio experience. Back to that first class at community college.

At age twenty, Yashu Reddy enrolled in an introductory glass class in central Pennsylvania. He was goaded into taking it by a friend who recommended it as an elective. “Realistically, I owe it to him for getting me into glass,” Reddy credits. Over the years, Reddy would experience countless other occurrences and fateful directions from others in the community that would drive him deeper into his career. 

Vessels by Yashu Reddy.

The same friend who introduced him to glass found the Banana Factory Arts Center, which housed a glass studio in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. After undergoing what Reddy referred to as “tryouts” in the studio, Reddy received an invitation to intern there for the summer. The situation wasn’t what you’d call glorious. In return for the opportunity to work in the studio, Reddy was allowed to crash on the couch of the studio manager. During those long days at the Banana Factory, the glassblowers would watch videos on VHS of a Muranese glass master performing demos. A decade later, Reddy now works in that maestro’s studio. “If you would have told me ten years ago, I would have never thought in a million years that I would be the guy to work with the [maestro] in the video,” Reddy reflected.

It was in 2019 that Reddy and the maestro, Davide Fuin, first crossed paths. Though I suppose that makes it sound a bit too serendipitous. In reality, Reddy set out with intention to take the maestro’s workshop. After seeing openings for the workshop, which would take place in the studio in Murano, Reddy thought, “Wow, what a freaking cool opportunity it would be to go to Italy, but also to take a workshop from this guy who was one of the best in the world.” Reddy described the week-long experience as one of the most challenging and expansive times for his practice. “It was incredibly humbling. I remember that, but then I also remember how much content I felt like I absorbed within five days.” The firehose nature of the workshop was so impactful that when the maestro offered a course a couple years later in California, Reddy didn’t hesitate to join.

Yashu Reddy leading a glass blowing demo. Photo by Natia Ser (SF23).

Shortly before he attended that second workshop, the maestro extended an invitation for Reddy to join his team in Murano. After wrapping up a second season at Ox-Bow, that’s exactly where Reddy went. The experience still feels surreal to the artist. Not only does he work alongside a glassblower that he spent years admiring, he’s also surrounded by countless other talented glass artists in what has historically and still contemporarily been known as a haven of glassmaking. “You go out to casually get a drink at the bar, and you don't even know it, but you're surrounded by people who not only do the same thing as you, but have been doing it for probably longer than you've been alive,” Reddy said. While there’s an inherent respect for the glassmakers and the traditions they’ve upheld, you won’t hear people reveling about it at the bars. “Because everybody does that for work here as a career, no one really talks about it. You'll never hear people casually talking about work outside in town,” Reddy explained. 

The maestro’s team is intimate: just Reddy and a young, local glassblower named Carlo. Reddy swears that Carlo will be the next great Muranese glass artist, one who could carry on the maestro’s legacy. The two young artists often end the work day together, spending extra time practicing in the studio after the maestro calls it a day. Then they head to a local restaurant for dinner and a drink, where Reddy manages to choke back the questions his inner “glass nerd self” wishes he could ask the experts. 

Vessels by Yashu Reddy. Photo by Clare Britt.

While Murano is paradise, it’s not the only one Reddy knows. Most recently, he spends the majority of his year at a studio in Maui, Hawaii. For the immediate future, Reddy plans to continue spending time in both the maestro’s studio and in Maui at Makai Glass. Amidst all the travel, Reddy admits, “A place to call home would be really nice.” And as the months pass, he suspects Maui could become that. “I feel like this spot that I've found in Maui feels very much like a home base. I really like the idea of going back to there,” Reddy said. 

Beyond the studio in Maui, he’s found things to wax nostalgic about while he’s away from Hawaii. He misses his outrigger canoe team, the sound of roosters, and the lush environment. But the travel bug keeps him going: “I still love traveling and meeting people, and I'm not really ready to stop, you know. I'm not really ready to settle down,” he shared. Over ten years in, Yashu Reddy is still chasing fervently after glass. He shows no signs of slowing down in the hot shop, saying yes to new adventures, or finding yet another studio located on an idyllic island. 

Yashu Reddy is an Indian-American glass artist from Central Pennsylvania. His work focuses on the traditional aspects of glass craft and design from a functional viewpoint. Refining form and technique through the study of tableware, lighting fixtures, and abstract sculpture. He draws inspiration from the aesthetics of historical glass objects, with the intention of rendering his works with more relevant and personal styles.

His education began at Harrisburg Area Community College where he was introduced to the medium and from there continued to travel the world to study with prestigious glass artists such as Raven Skyriver, Kelly O’Dell, Darin Denison, and Davide Fuin. He has a diverse working experience ranging from design studios such as Niche Modern and AO Glassworks to educational organizations such as the prestigious Corning Museum of Glass, where he has been on the team of many reputable artists such as Swedish maker, Fredrik Nielsen and Head of Glass at SIU, Jiyong Lee. He was previously working at the Ox-Bow School of Art and Artist’s Residency as Glass Studio Manager. 

Since his time away from Ox-Bow he is continuing his education, working as an apprentice glassmaker in Venice, Italy for one of the last few living Masters in Murano, Italy, a small island located in the Venetian lagoon that is well renowned for its centuries long artistic glass making history. 

This article was written by Shanley Poole, Engagement Liaison & Storyteller and was based on an interview conducted in September of 2024. Header photo by Clare Britt.

Artist Profile: Gabrielle Constantine

On taking risks and expanding a community-based practice by entering into the practices of others.

Gabrielle Constantine first joined Ox-Bow as a fellow during the summer of 2023 where she was matched with the culinary department. There she spent twenty hours a week in the kitchen alongside the rest of the culinary team. The pairing dovetailed neatly with her practice, which in the past had included supper clubs and other hospitality-based initiatives. These drew experience from Constantine’s years-long work in the restaurant industry. 

While at Ox-Bow, Constantine began to dream of ways she could continue to mix her culinary background into her practice. She schemed about a studio speakeasy and a collaborative mini-fridge gallery. She took special inspiration from her time in John Preus’s course “The World is One. The Human is Two: Deconstructing and Reconstructing Objects” for which she worked as a teaching assistant. During the course, Constantine made new conceptual breakthroughs in her work. “I don't know if that could have been worked out anywhere else besides Ox-Bow. I think it was the dynamic of me working through my tendencies of being a host and being a community person, but also the labor that goes with that, and [considering] how do we transfer those things into objects.” These curiosities ultimately manifested in an upholstered sculpture that explored the purpose of objects and their autonomy. As summer came to a close, Constantine had produced a number of physical sculptures, while many of her community-based projects were still taking up residence in her imagination.

If the summer of 2023 was Constantine’s incubator for socially engaged work, summer 2024 was the catalyst. While at a residency in Skowhegan, Constantine took action on several culinary projects rooted in hospitality. Fellow artist-in-residence Dylan Hausthor gave Constantine the push she needed, encouraging her to lean into spontaneity. As a team, the two artists assembled an impromptu bar in the bed of Hausthor’s decades-old Toyota truck. Constantine reflected, “It was nice to do the truck thing with Dylan, because they work very different than I do. They had a freedom in a space that I have a tendency to overthink because of my restaurant background. Working with Dylan felt really easy.” Via the truck bar, Constantine served up grilled cheese and Hausthor dolled out martinis. Throughout her nine weeks on campus, Constantine facilitated several other initiatives. A pop-up bar in her studio featured home brewed amaro and snacks. On a trip to the beach, Constantine and Hausther shucked oysters for the crowd. In tandem with a screening of Moonstruck, she produced a thematic pairing of homemade bread and olive oil.

Constantine also spent her nine weeks at Skowhegan indulging in her curiosity for others’ practices. “At a certain point, I stopped worrying about making enough… I just wanted to be around the people there.” This emphasis on immersion allowed Constantine to participate in a performance piece, join a filmmaker’s project, participate in photo shoots, and more. She described this decision as a conscious effort to “put herself in other people’s practices.” 

After such a robust and active summer, Constantine has much to process. “I really have to sit with all these things and all these people that I’ve met and learned from. How do I take all of these things and put it into a place that I root in?” Constantine said. She hopes that her fall residency at Bemis will be a place to begin answering these questions. In a similar spirit, she intends to spend her residency making quilts, a fittingly reflective practice. “It feels like it’ll heal me a bit,” Constantine confessed, admitting that the traveling artist lifestyle has left a bit of wear. “It’s so fun, but it’s also really hard, this life. We have a crazy life,” Constantine said. In both her quilts and Constantine’s more ephemeral experiences, a similar spirit is conjured. At the heart of her practice is a commitment to hospitality, conversation, gathering, belonging and care.

Giving fake Tiffany, bought from the trunk of a Cadillac, to Rachel Cohen for her Bat Mitzvah. Microwaving lavash and string cheese for an after-school snack. Tending to a mustache and beard since 5th grade. Going to the AC Tropicana for weekend “getaways”. Watching Cher in Moonstruck every night before bed. Drinking milk from a martini glass. This is Constantine’s DNA. Gabrielle Constantine (1994) was born and raised in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, where she received her double BFA in Sculpture and Fibers and Material studies at the Tyler School of Art (2017) and holds an MFA at The University of Texas of Austin (2023). Growing up in an Armenian Community and the restaurant industry has inexplicably informed her material, linguistic, and performative decisions surrounding her sculptures, installations, and gatherings. Alongside her more sculptural practice, Constantine has shared in cooking dinners and hosting gatherings with communities all over the country and internationally. She is consistently innovating new ways of gathering community through art and food.

This article was written by Shanley Poole, Engagement Liaison & Storyteller and was based on interviews conducted in June 2023 and August 2024.

Image List:

“Whether Sauce or Blood,” a sculpture created by Constantine at Ox-Bow.

Hausthor’s truck transformed into a bar.

Constantine and friends serving oysters.

Headshot of Constantine.

All images courtesy of the artist.

Storyteller to Storyteller

Ania Freer, former Artist-in-Residence, opens up about her storytelling practice with Ox-Bow’s own Storyteller, Shanley Poole.

SP: I’m really excited to talk to you about storytelling in particular. As someone who really cares about that, it’s cool to be able to interview someone who shares that same mentality. I wanted to start by going way back and asking what role stories played in your childhood.

AF: Mmmm… My mum has a good friend, Chardi, who’s a storyteller. I was actually just reminded of her the other day because I was talking to mum about this friend because she’s not in great health at the moment. I just remember vividly spending time with her. She’s a professional storyteller and artist. She makes these mandalas and runs these workshops that help people tap into their own personal stories. 

I’m a visual person and I see everything as pictures in my mind. I wasn’t interested in reading as a child. It was just a solitary experience. For me, the biggest joy was listening to stories, hearing stories, and having them be read to me. There was a personal connection in hearing someone else’s voice. The way that they speak informed the pictures that were built in my mind. It wasn’t as exciting to hear my own voice in my head. I’m actually just making that connection now as I’m saying that to you. I hadn’t really related the fact that I hated reading as a kid, but I loved hearing stories. 

I noticed more and more how if I needed to talk about something, or if I’m having a conversation with someone, I see the narrative in pictures. It’s kind of how I make sense of the world. It’s how I communicate. It’s how I comprehend and how information stays. Often I think I don’t have a very good memory, but if I’ve made a story that’s how I recall the interaction.

Ania Freer kneels behind a camera while a woman gathers berries in a basket.

SP: That makes sense too with you so often telling your stories through film. Because if you're seeing these stories in a visual way, then that's the most intimate way you could portray that and share with others.

AF: Absolutely. Because that’s a way of bringing people into an experience, which is ultimately what I’m trying to do. I’m trying to recreate these moments: sitting down on a riverbank and hearing a particular story; staring down at the water and noticing a leaf floating on the surface. Film is a way to sort of recreate that experience and bring someone into that world that’s happening in my mind.

SP: That reminds me of one of your films “Working with Water” where there’s a man’s voice and you don’t see his face. You just see the river. 

AF: Exactly. It’s also the meditative moments like when you’re listening to someone, but you’re looking off at the environment and letting your mind wander. It’s almost like watching clouds or watching shapes in nature. Things change and shift, and you’re kind of filling in the gaps.

SP: Yeah, those associative jumps.

AF: Yeah, so there’s the reeds, which are moving and flowing, and they’re just underneath the water surface. He’s talking about these spirits that live in the water, and at moments the reeds are sucked down and pop back up again. It just felt like a presence. My mind is taking from what’s around and creating these types of pictures and images.

Jamaica’s Roaring River.

SP: I liked what you said earlier too about your mom’s friend who is a storyteller. That idea of reminding people of their own stories.

AF: Mmm that’s an interesting one. Often when I say to someone, “I want to record some stories with you,” people might be like, “Well, I don’t really have any stories.” 

SP: (laughs) The number of times I’ve heard that!

AF: Even if I’ve already identified “Okay, this is a really incredible story.” They’ll still say, “I don’t have any stories!” It’s definitely a very empowering experience to be guided to talk and think about your life and your history and start forming a story that you don’t even realize was a story. It’s a sort of accessing, or being guided into accessing, that information.

Ania sets up a camera in front of a storyteller.

SP: When did you start to think of yourself as a storyteller? And from there, when did you start to formulate what type of stories you wanted to be telling and collecting and sharing?

AF: The label of storyteller came to me and at first it made me a little uncomfortable. With my mum’s friend Chardi, she allowed people to access stories, but she also tells a lot of stories. I’m doing more of allowing that access. I work very hard to make my presence feel very invisible, so that it’s their voice. 

The films that I’m making feel very much like you’re in the world of this person. But of course, it’s shot and edited and highly crafted by me. I’m really chiseling away and making it exactly how I see that story coming together. It took a minute to feel comfortable inserting myself and recognizing that part of the craft. I approached it with this need of empowering someone else and allowing them the space to share part of their history. Initially I was trying to give them as much space as possible. Overtime, I’m reflecting that really I’m making big decisions about which parts of the story are being kept and what isn’t. That shaping and editing is the storytelling, the crafting, the molding. 

You know, I come from a background of editing. I was drawn to editing, specifically documentary editing, because that is really where a story takes shape. In the cutting room. More so than in fiction films where you have a script that you’re following, things are happening in the raw footage. The pacing and what you’re choosing to keep in and keep out is really informing the audience’s journey. When I discovered editing I was so excited because it felt very powerful. It was like, “Wow, you can really shift and change and play and create moods and tension.” But again, I resisted taking that title storyteller because I felt like I was representing storytellers. I was giving space to storytellers and was a conduit or providing the platform for the storytellers. And then accepting that by doing the work that I’m doing, I am a storyteller. 

SP: Yeah, there’s multiple storytellers at play.

AF: And that was an interesting shift that happened.

SP: Would you say you now feel comfortable with that term storyteller?

AF: Absolutely. It was probably just a moment in time and in my journey where I was wanting to be quite invisible and having a lot of very incredible experiences and wanting to share those without me. Share them so an audience can experience them themselves. I’m not making it about myself at all. Especially because I’d come into a new culture: my father is British Jamaican, my grandparents immigrated to the UK in the 50s and I didn’t grow up with my father or any of that side of the family. 

I grew up with my mother in Australia, so when I went to Jamaica I had this cultural connection and heritage, but I don’t have any sort of lived experience of that. I felt very self conscious of that. I felt wary about how to negotiate making that personal connection. I felt more comfortable representing the sort of experiences I’m having through recreating the images that felt of the environment that spoke to the experience that I was having. But without it being about me because it was the people, the landscape, the culture, the food, the smells. All of these things was what I wanted to show and represent and allow an audience to experience. 

Cecil “Bingy” Smith weaves a basket.

SP: I feel that sensitivity really shows in your work. I think where that aspect could’ve turned into a sense of distance, in your hands it creates this closeness. We step right into where you were standing and are able to have that same face-to-face interaction.

AF: Good. Thank you! That’s what I want.

SP: When did you start telling the stories of what has become Goat Curry Gallery?

AF: From the moment I arrived in Jamaica. I think it was the 30th of October, 2016. I landed in Jamaica, in Montego Bay, and went straight up to a community called Shrewsbury Logwood, which is right next to Roaring River. I had started a new Instagram account and the first post I made on it was me at a transfer in the Texas airport just before I got on the plane. First I had this intention of documenting stories around food and culture. And then I arrived in Jamaica only to realize its called curried goat. And I was like, “Goat Curry is going to have to stay because that’s a part of my story.” Because in Australia it is called goat curry. It’s the upside-down, other-side-of-the-world experience of a disconnected, diasporic woman who’s trying to connect.

SP: I love that you honored that and didn’t try to cover it up.

AF: Well, yeah, (laughs) I was like “Oh, okay that’s what it’s called.” I also started so quickly. I realized it wasn’t about food. It was about people, and very quickly there were stories. I made my first one, which was the one on the cotton tree, in the first week or two of being there. But then as I started sharing stories and people started following my journey, I couldn’t change the name. Once you have a nickname, people know you and associate you with it.

To begin with, my intention was to spend a month or two [in Jamaica] and I was just going to travel the island and recce characters for this series about food and culture. Instead, I spent two full months in Roaring River. I got there and I didn’t leave. My ticket was coming up and I was like, “No, I can’t go anywhere. I’m here and the work has just begun.” I just canceled my ticket and went to Kingston to apply for my citizenship. And then I didn’t leave. I was there for almost seven years. 

SP: When you went to apply for your citizenship, did you have any idea you were going to stay that long?

AF: Yeah. I decided very quickly that this was where I need to be. 

When I came through New York to get to Jamaica, I also had this very strong sensation that I was going to live in New York. So when I first got to Jamaica, I thought, “I’m going to spend a little here, go back to New York, figure out a way of getting a VISA to be able to live in New York, but when I got to Jamaica I was like, “No, no, no. I’m living here for the rest of my life. This is it.” 

It’s just so interesting, all of these moments. I don’t discredit any kind of strong sensation I get. Even if it changes, I know that it happened for a reason. I knew that being in New York was going to be a part of my journey, I just didn’t know when. I also know that Jamaica is now a huge part of my life and I’m not sure if I’m ever going to live there again full time, but I now live three and a half hours away. I am continuously going back and continuing the work that I’m doing. Maybe there will be another period of time when I’m on the ground and I live there… But I love when that happens, when there’s very strong impulses and knowings.

SP: When you can just feel it in your bones.

AF: When you feel it in your bones and you just know. I love when that happens. I find it very scary when I can’t access that. 

Another view of Roaring River.

SP: When was it that you started to feel the pull to New York again?

AF: It was when I started to feel that I wasn’t able to give as much as I once was. When I started to feel depleted and I always said to myself I’m in such a privileged position to have a choice of where I want to be. I have Australian, British, and Jamaican citizenship. I’m very privileged to be able to move around. Instead of feeling guilty about that, I thought, “Well, there’s a reason.” With the storytelling that I’m doing, I’m in a position to build bridges and allow stories to access the diaspora in a much more powerful way. 

I was also very clear that if I started to feel tired and depleted and frustrated, that I would do what I needed to feed myself, so that when I am in Jamaica, when I am on the ground I am there with good energy. I saw ex-pats who didn’t need to be there and were complaining about bureaucracy and how things weren’t moving how they wanted. They didn’t have to be here and by perpetuating this frustration, you’re generating or contributing to a vibration that isn’t needed. 

The majority of the population don’t have the choice, so it felt like a responsibility. I felt a responsibility to be in a place to have positive conversations, be in a good mental space, and be looking after myself spiritually and emotionally. You know, there is a lot of violence in Jamaica and a lot of crime. You end up having to move and operate in a way where there’s a heightened sense of vigilance. That can be exhausting. I was definitely at a place where I was feeling very depleted and wasn’t in a good mental space. I had arrived in an open place, and I had to learn how to build my own protection. And then you can go too far with that and completely box yourself in. I definitely had long stretches of time when I shut myself off from getting support and community that I needed. 

I had a strong pull in 2019 that something had to change. I had an impulse and thought I needed to go back to Australia. So I packed my stuff, book a ticket, and I go back to Australia. I had just finished a Curatural Art Writing Fellowship at New Local Space (NLS) Kingston and put on an exhibition. Things were really happening in an exciting way, but I just felt I had to go.

The week before I got on the plane, someone reached out with this really exciting job opportunity. They were doing a feasibility report across the Caribbean and they needed help collecting stories from different countries for this funding program through the arts. And as soon as they approached me I was like, “Absolutely! Yes!” So I went to Australia for Christmas and then came straight back again. And then, of course, the pandemic hit and the job didn’t happen. It’s like, you never really know what’s right or wrong. I just had to make a movement, and by making that movement something else came and pulled me back. That something was like, “Okay, good you made a movement. That’s not the right movement. You actually want to be here, but you’re not doing what you think.” 

So I was back in Kingston and I was there for the whole pandemic. It was actually a really generative time. I built an incredible community and it was a really important transformational time for me in Jamaica. I love that not-always-knowing, in terms of the way life works. You just have to get up and do something. The wind pulls you. The universe. God. Whatever it is. The universe redirects you and you are exactly where you need to be.

SP: There’s a poet that I really like that has a line, “be like the fox who makes many tracks, some in the wrong direction.”*

AF: Absolutely. Wrong direction as in, that’s not the direction you end up.

SP: Yeah, wrong is relative.

AF: It’s like a detour. But I really believe you cannot go in the wrong direction. You’re always on the path you need to be on. As long as you are being an active participant. As long as you are getting up and making decisions, and you’re sort of responding to the environment. Being active to what’s coming in and coming out. Then you absolutely cannot make the wrong decision.

The silk cotton tree.

SP: I’m curious about being in New York now, how has that ended up affecting your practice? Has that created space for that rejuvenation and bringing a better energy when you do visit Jamaica?

AF: Absolutely it has. I feel like my energy levels are up. It’s also been good for me to have space to sit with the material that I have. I’m so inspired when I’m in Jamaica, to the point where I could keep on making, making, making. What’s interesting now is because I’m not particularly inspired by making films in New York, but it means I’m now going back through my archives and looking at interviews and films and sitting with them.

There’s an interview that I went back to that I recorded with a woman in the first week or so of arriving in Jamaica. Her patois is so strong. I had no idea of half the things she was saying at the time. It’s so nice now to revisit. There’s layers of the story that are now coming through. It’s a big part of knowing that I needed to take my time. You know, things come to you as they are meant to. And I didn’t want to be extractive in any of the ways that I’m working. So even the fact that with certain stories there’s an opacity or they’re not completely clear until years later, I love that. And I love that what I’m doing right now, how I’m sharing my work, and how I’m being invited to talk about my work. This is work that I made between 2016 and 2022. It’s work that people haven’t really seen and I haven’t shared. It’s old, but it’s not old. 

SP: Yeah, it hasn’t gone stale.

AF: No, that was the moment to be making it, and this is the moment now to be sharing it and contextualizing it. Being in New York now has given me time to do more research in different archives about these water mythologies, and now I’ve started to look more at revivalism, which is an Afro-Jamaican folk religion that has allowed these stories to continue and has provided a space for them to be passed down. So even though I was in such close proximity to a lot of these things that were happening on the ground, I’m also receiving and learning and making it in a way that can only go as fast as I can. 

The way that I conduct research is to be a participant on the ground and to be receiving in a natural way. It’s qualitative research. It’s through conversations. Instead of informing myself by reading a lot of history or researching in different ways, I’m enjoying learning in a day-to-day way as a child would learn as they are living and being somewhere. I think it’s really good for me now to begin contextualizing some of these stories and these histories. That’s really exciting because I’m now looking at ways to expand that research. 

As I go back to Jamaica and record more and unearth and collect and build that archive of stories, I’m informed in ways, but it’s still important to me to operate in a way that feels… I don’t know… I just don’t want to fill my head with too much and come in with certain projections. 

I’m learning on the ground, and I just much prefer that way of learning because I make different types of associations and connections. They’re informed more by people’s own lived experiences.  Both inform each other and both are good. Both are helpful and both are interesting. But I had a moment where I was having a conversation about a cotton tree, and I had read some things about this particular tree. As we were talking, as this man was telling me about the tree, I also joined in. I said a few things I had read about this tree and he shut down very quickly. He was telling me about how the tree looked like a woman selling fruit at the market and was describing it in this very poetic way that was really exciting. When I regurgitated some facts about these trees that I’d read in a book, it just changed the dynamic. It made me very aware of different knowledge systems.

SP: It sounds like the difference between trying to make meaning of something or letting that meaning arrive to you.

AF: Yeah, it’s that patience of letting something arrive. For me there’s no rush. I have so far allowed very long periods of time for these short moments and vignettes to come to life. It’s in those long stretches where I’m not physically making a film, but I’m sitting in rivers or spending time in different parts of the country. I’m learning to move very slowly and operate in different ways and learning the codes of life. That feels like a very important but invisible part of the work. 

Ania perches on a rock to take a photo.

AF: Even coming here to New York, I’m negotiating this resistance to be sucked into the speed of things. There’s so many things going on, but I know that I can only do so much. And it is what it is. I’m just trying to remind myself of my pace because I know what it is now. When I was younger I struggled because I was working in production and I wasn’t owning my pace. I was comparing myself to peers or the industry. I would get so stressed. And the difference is now, I’m working on my own as opposed to other people’s projects. 

It’s so lovely now to know that some of my days don’t really start until 3:00 p.m. Because I’m not ready until about then! It also may involve, you know, I have to go lay in a park for a little bit of time. And that can still be a long big day, they just look different. And obviously, there’s times where it is what it is and you have to get through. But it always has to be a balance. Knowing that, appreciating that, leaning into that and prioritizing is something that this time in Jamaica has informed and has allowed me to really feel comfortable.

SP: It’s hard to carve out those margin spaces. Especially in a place like New York, where culturally that can feel so contrary. I empathize strongly with the walks in the park. When I’m stuck on a piece, I hop in the shower to create that space for generative thoughts. But in the moment, it can feel like the last logical thing to do.

AF: Exactly. Taking breaks and having different conditions… and movement! I’ve just started running in the mornings. It gives me so much energy. And that’s something I really missed when living in Jamaica, especially in Kingston. Where I lived, there’s no pavements. It just ends up feeling vulnerable and it doesn’t feel as easy to do. But actually, during the pandemic there was this mountain that a friend and I would run up. There was this area, I guess it was a golf course, but it was full of mango trees. We would walk it in the morning and pick and eat them as we were walking. It was very special. 

SP: You’re bringing back so many memories for me. I haven’t been back since 2019.

AF: Oh wow, you’re due a visit! Have you ever been to Portland or do you mostly go to Montego Bay?

SP: Mostly Montego Bay. I’ve been up to Knockpatrick and Mandeville in the mountains. It’s totally different than where I spent most of my time. The coolness of the mountains and the mist in the mornings… even just a totally different smell from Montego Bay, which is that mix of ocean and salt and city smell. 

How often do you try to get yourself there?

AF: For most of last year I was waiting on my green card, so I wasn’t able to travel. It came at the start of this year and as soon as it arrived in the post, I booked a ticket. (laughs) Literally within fifteen minutes of opening it. 

This year has been really busy. I had some time now, but I also haven’t seen my family in the UK for seven years. So next week, we’re going to London for two weeks. I needed to do that.

SP: That’s hard when you have your heart and your roots in so many different places.

AF: Yeah. Both of my Jamaican grandparents are in London and they’re both getting older and having different health issues. So I really need to go and spend some time with them. But the dream is to visit Jamaica three times a year. That’s what I’m working towards because it’s only three and a half hours away.

SP: That’s such a quick trip!

AF: Such a quick trip! The dream is to generate the support I need through different avenues here in New York. To be able to go [to Jamaica] and do dedicated recording of stories and making work. Then come back here and edit and stuff. Also the Real Talk series, I plan to turn that into a slightly longer episodic series that focus on different themes and people’s stories in twelve minute pieces instead of one minute pieces. So have two stories per episode, but then this also exists as an episodic series. This national treasure of archives. You know, these current moments and stories of people across the country in different communities, experiences, oral histories. 

SP: I love the scope of that.

AF: I want it to be ongoing. So that’s the plan. I see that happening. And once I see something then it normally happens.

SP: Yeah, that’s kind of the story that I’m getting from this conversation. It’s going to happen. Well, I’m excited to see it continue to evolve and unfold. I’ll also have to tell you when I get that trip on the books. Maybe we’ll overlap.

AF: Yeah, that would be amazing. I can definitely give you some tips on what to do, where to go.

SP: That’d be beautiful. I’d love to see some new places. This has been really lovely. Thanks so much for taking the time to connect. And thanks for being willing to be on the other side of the interview scene too.

AF: Oh absolutely.

SP: I’ll talk to you soon.

AF: Thank you. Have a great rest of your day.

Ania Freer is an Australian-Jamaican artist, filmmaker, cultural researcher, and curator living and working between Jamaica and New York. Through installation, film and curating, Ania uses oral histories to explore identity through themes of class, race, resistance, labor, craft traditions and folklore. Her intimate archive of films work to disrupt imperialist narratives and recenter marginalized voices. Ania is the founder of Goat Curry Gallery, a platform which features artworks from Jamaican craft producers along with her documentary series Real Talk, an intimate collection of oral histories. She holds a Bachelor of Arts in Anthropology and Film Theory from the University of Sydney.

Ania’s work has been exhibited at the National Gallery of Jamaica and her film, Strictly Two Wheel, won Best Documentary Short at Trinidad and Tobago Film Festival in 2022. Ania is a Curatorial and Art Writing Fellow at New Local Space Kingston and has attended residences such as Art Omi and AIRIE (Artist in Residence in Everglades). Her practice has been supported by Something Special Studios Black Creative Endeavours Grant, Caribbean Film Academy, American Australian Association and DVCAI.

This interview is a modified transcript of a conversation shared between Ania Freer and Shanley Poole on August 13, 2024. It was published using Ethical Storytelling Practices modeled after the principles created by Voice of Witness.

*Poem excerpt from Wendell Berry’s “Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front.”

All photos courtesy of Ania Freer.

Artist Profile: Michael Cuadrado

Directionality, semiotics, and deep roots with Alumni Artist-in-Residence, Michael Cuadrado.

Michael Cuadradro’s first encounter with Ox-Bow spanned the entirety of the summer of 2017. As a Summer Fellow, he spent 13 weeks on campus, splitting his time between the studio and a work placement in the kitchen. The season hosted visits to the beach, evenings on the volleyball court, and nights around the campfire. Cuadrado described his summer as a time not only to deepen his practice, but also his sense of self. He had just finished his junior year of undergraduate studies at the Pratt Institute, where he rooted his work in figurative painting, drawing, and collage. Having come out the year before, many of the renderings involved portrayals of nude men, and at Ox-Bow he found a receptive community not only for his art, but also his burgeoning identity. As the youngest of the fellows, the staff and faculty seemed extra intent on nurturing this youthful, energetic artist. 

Ox-Bow’s rural campus stood in stark contrast to Pratt’s New York cityscape, but Cuadrado took to the new environment with ease. By the time he returned to New York for his final year of undergraduate, he found himself daydreaming about Ox-Bow, its quiet meadow and open air studios. In 2019, Cuadrado fulfilled this dream and stepped into a new role in the housekeeping department. As another season came to a close, Cuadrado looked towards returning to Ox-Bow for another bustling year in 2020. Of course, as was the case all across the globe, things took an unexpected turn at Ox-Bow.

Rather than spending that summer hustling to change beds and sweep floors, Cuadradro found himself on an ultra quiet campus. There were no students romping through studios or dancing on the meadow. Only Cuadrado and a few other staff members resided on campus. As the Covid-19 pandemic progressed, Cuadrado once again found campus providing a sort of reprieve from the city. While others took to making sourdough and riding stationary bikes, Cuadrado became an avid reader during the early stages of the pandemic. “This is going to sound heady,” Cuadrado admitted, “but I was reading this book on the beginnings of semiotics.” Having spent so much time in solitude, he (like many others during 2020) began to question just about everything. So he returned to the basics of the visual world, curious what the most rudimentary characters symbolized. He also cracked open Sara Ahmed’s Queer Phenomenology, which explores the idea of directionality within semiotics. “I was lost,” Cuadrado said of those first pandemic months, “so I was like, ‘Let’s just go back to the beginning.’” And in this exploration of semiotics, Cuadrado found new footing. 

Photo courtesy of the artist, Michael Cuadrado.

“That winter I made a lot of work, because what else was I going to do?” Cuadrado said in both jest and earnest. For weeks, he spent his days reading in the morning, pausing for lunch, and then heading to the studio for the afternoon. With semiotics on the mind, arrows began to appear in his work as he explored Ahmed’s proposed interpretations of directionality. These paintings would eventually carry Cuadrado to the portfolio that brought him to Yale for his MFA, but we’re getting ahead of ourselves.

Cuadrado eventually transitioned from housekeeping to Programs Manager. With experiences as a fellow, campus staff, and now administration, Cuadrado emphasized the holistic view of Ox-Bow that he was able to glean. With each position, his understanding of the organization deepened, and it was only through much discretion and consideration that he decided to leave Ox-Bow in the fall of 2022 to pursue a Masters in Fine Arts at Yale. There Cuadrado continued to invest not only in his arts practice, but also the realm of academic and research-based writing. He maintained his pandemic practice of reading copious amounts of literature and became particularly attracted to theory-based courses at Yale.

In 2024, Cuadrado applied for the Summer Residency at Ox-Bow, which returned him to campus for a 3 week stay. “This was my first summer coming to Ox-Bow where I wasn't staff or working alongside staff,” Cuadrado reflected. During this time, Cuadrado stepped back into the ease and slowness of Ox-Bow. “I started the residency thinking I would work on ‘large’ oil paintings… However, I found myself continuously making smaller chalk pastel drawings or thinking about potential installations.” He indulged in both long afternoons in the studio and easy evenings around the campfire. “The most generative experiences outside the studio were conversations with other people,” Cuadrado said. It was these very conversations, as so often is the case at Ox-Bow, that made their way into the studio and onto the paper.

Michael Cuadrado Gonzalez (b. 1995) is an artist born in San Juan, Puerto Rico. He received a BFA in Drawing from Pratt Institute in 2018 and an MFA in Painting and Printmaking from Yale University in 2024. Cuadrado has attended residencies at Wassaic Project, BOLT at the Chicago Artists Coalition, Ox-Bow School of Art and Artists' Residency, and the School of Criticism and Theory at Cornell University. He has exhibited nationally including solo exhibitions at Harkawik and Coco Hunday.

This article was written by Shanley Poole, Engagement Liaison & Storyteller and was based on an interview and email correspondence conducted from April to September of 2024.

Photos by Dominique Muñoz (Summer Fellow, 2024).

Artist Profile: Steven Smith

Leather artisan, Steven Smith, shares about his journey to finding his craft and identity in the arts.

In the fall of 2017, Steven Smith started designing his first leather journal. He worked in secret, hiding the hobby from his family in the locker room of the soccer stadium where he coached. That Christmas he gifted me, his daughter, with that journal. It was a surprise that harkened back to the weekly trips we used to take to Barnes & Noble where I would stare longingly at the shelves of journals with dimpled leather and yellowed pages. We journeyed there every Wednesday during my middle school years on the evenings my mom had graduate school classes.

The same year my dad began crafting in secret, he announced he would retire from coaching at the season’s end. What had served as a decades-long career would soon sit in the past. Thinking he might be due for a new hobby, I picked up a book (from our Barnes & Noble, of course) on leather crafting to give to him at Christmas.

The exchange of gifts seems serendipitous in retrospect. Six years later, Steven Smith is the artist behind Holland Leather Works. From his workshop, he has produced passport holders, portable bar kits, wine quivers, portfolios, and more. Through leather crafting, he has found not just a second career, but another passion. When he creates new designs, especially custom works, he often finds himself thinking, “This is something this person should have for generations.” In one of our many conversations about his craft, he expressed that he had always loved art, but at a young age wrote himself off from being an artist. In sixth grade, he stopped drawing, certain he could never measure up to Ronny, his older brother. “I saw my brother's art and I thought now he's an artist and I'm not,” Smith confided. My uncle went on to pursue an MFA and career in neon glassblowing and metals, while my father tried to leave art behind and became a professor and collegiate soccer coach.

Despite my father’s belief that he’d never be an artist, my memories throughout childhood serve contrary evidence. I remember him rendering a sketch of his dream house with makeshift drafting tools and using woodworking skills to craft furniture, including the live-edge oak console table that now sits in my living room. Even while he was in graduate school, he found himself learning a new craft, which would eventually serve his leather work well: sewing. At the time, my mother was working at an interior design company who asked her to make pillows after hours for extra cash. During times when orders were high, he’d help cut fabric, sew, and even develop new patterns. He described it as “a skill of necessity” because it helped pay the bills through school. 

While it has taken several decades, the leather artisan has finally accepted his identity as an artist. Smith shared that his creative process usually begins in the night owl’s hours. “Ideas will pop into my mind and then I have trouble falling asleep,” he said. The day after, he’ll usually wake naturally around 4:00 or 5:00 a.m. With a new concept in mind, it’s easy to hop out of bed and head to the workshop, where he’ll turn on an English Premier League game, an audiobook, or classic rock. “Yeah, you might even find me dancing while I'm working,” he said, his confession managing to shock the author of this article. On those early studio mornings, the hours fly by as Smith troubleshoots new concepts and builds prototypes. Those are the days that reignite the creative spirit of the craft, the days that get him through the monotony of others spent on repetitious matters like producing several dozen wallets or passport holders.

After six years and the production of several products, Smith still favors making journals. “There’s something about those that makes me so happy,” he said, admitting part of that is the nostalgia of our days spent at Barnes & Noble. “This would not be happening in my life if it wasn’t for those Wednesday nights… Every time that I went there with you, I would think I could do that,” he said and years later he has proven his thoughts true.

Find Steven Smith’s artisan made journals, backpacks, wallets, and more at Ox-Bow House in Downtown Douglas.

Steven Smith is a leather artisan from Holland, Michigan. He began his craft in response to his daughter’s love of writing in her journals. In response Steven started hand crafting journals for her which turned into many requests for more from friends who saw the work. The expansion into the art continued to grow as time passed to include many forms of leather artisan products including bags, purses, wallets, and many other specialty items. Steven is a retired professor emeritus at Hope College.

This article was written by Shanley Poole, Engagement Liaison & Storyteller. The article was originally published in our Experience Ox-Bow 2024 Catalog.

All images provided courtesy of the artist.

Artist Profile: Sarah Ann Banks

Sarah Ann Banks talks digital art, surfing eBay, and telling the story of a baby mammoth.

Like many artists, Banks shares time between her studio practice and contracted gigs. In her case, such gigs include design work for esteemed brands such as Harper's Bazaar, Urban Outfitters, and Coach. Banks channeled her ever present spark while discussing these opportunities, but there was no comparison for the enthusiasm that emerged when she started discussing her studio practice. Here she allows her imagination and current obsessions to carry her to the furthest reaches. Inspirations include deep dives into Ebay where she enjoys hunting for vintage toys made in the USSR. “They have an amazing talent for [making] the most haunted squeak toys,” she explained with a laugh. During my studio visit in July, Banks was working with an antiques seller to secure a vintage Edward Mobley elephant-shaped toy box. Banks follows these obsessions and threadlines with dogged dedication. This focus has proved a major asset to the narrative component of her work. “I get fixated on something I see and then I try to develop a backstory,” Banks explains.

WolfDog by Sarah Banks. Image courtesy of the artist.

This dedication and attention results in rich characters at the forefront of her designs and complex landscapes composing the backdrop. Also present is the whimsical inspirations sourced from Banks’s childhood. Those familiar with Littlest Pet Shop and My Little Pony will see the resemblance in the luxurious eyelashes and bobble-sized heads of Banks’s creations. Don’t let this whimsy be mistaken for simplicity. Fueling her worlds are inspirations from science-minded podcasts. In her hydra series she explores anti-aging properties and the eternal nature of these mysterious (and very real) species of the Cnidaria phylum. And as one might expect from someone hunting Ebay for USSR-era children’s toys, some of Banks’s characters house a distinctly haunted look inside their sweet, doe eyes.

Most recently, the character that has been knocking on the door of Banks’s imagination is a mammoth. Specifically, a baby mammoth, once frozen in the ice, who has unfrozen in a heat wave. The narrative takes inspiration from biotech company Colossal BioScience, which is working to bring extinct species (such as the mammoth) back to life through genetic engineering. She is particularly fascinated by the paradox of such an ancient creature in infant form. “I'm interested in making some sort of body of work that's all about one story,” Banks says, which contrasts her more recent works that focus on small, unrelated stories. Her hunch is that this baby mammoth might be the perfect lead. This isn’t the only shift Banks is contemplating, she’s also interested in converting her digital renderings to paintings and drawings.

Mammoth Caterpillar by Sarah Ann Banks. Image Courtesy of the artist.

When Banks first came to Ox-Bow during the summer of 2018, she wasn’t strictly a digital artist. At the time she was an undergraduate student at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago. While pursuing her degree, she shared her focus between ceramics and digital art. Since graduating, Banks stepped away from ceramics and focused on deepening her digital practice. But now she’s itching to expand that practice through different forms. All this coincides with Banks's return to Ox-Bow. Six years after her first visit, Banks was invited to campus for a three week stay as one of two 2024 Alumni Artists-in-Residence. In preparation for her time at Ox-Bow, where she believed the environment would be most conducive to manifesting these more physical works, she took a class from an artist who specializes in turning 3d artwork to oil paintings.

Mammoth Risograph by Sarah Ann Banks. Image courtesy of the artist.

Once on campus, Banks wasted no time unearthing the mammoth from her subconscious. After setting up her computer, she began rendering the baby mammoth. Through various iterations, Banks established the dynamic range of this ancient, infant creature. In one depiction, two mammoths frolic through a field of flowers in a carefree yet deeply feverish dream. Another showcases the mammoth’s capacity for loneliness as tears well in their eyes. In yet another, the creature, abstracted to only its head, calls to mind a talisman or deity. Banks translated two of these portraits into oil paintings, using the methods of the tutorial she took before arriving at Ox-Bow. The translation from digital to physical, felt poetically reminiscent of the mammoth's own journey from DNA to physical. While the oil paintings can’t capture the same literalism of digital work, the layers of paint and depth of color created their own sort of realness.

Mammoth Spiral by Sarah Ann Banks. Image courtesy of the artist.

Continuing with more physical translations, Banks also utilized Ox-Bow’s print studio during her residency. In particular, she experimented with the Risograph. “In 3D [work] you can be endlessly tweaking,” Banks explained, but many of these details fade amidst the granular nature of Risos. In the instance of the flowery fever dream, the faded quality works in favor of the piece. It’s as if we're viewing the young mammoth through a coming-of-age camcorder shot. Through experimentation of form, Banks is able to capture soulful portraits with oil painting, nostalgia with Riso prints, and the hyperreal with digital. Over the course of three weeks, Banks lived into the quintessential Artist Residency experience. She dug deep into her practice, experimented with new forms, and invested in the resources on campus. At the intersection of Bank’s passion and Ox-Bow’s offerings, she brought plans and visions to life and the story she produced was one so characteristic of her work: wholly whimsical and deeply soulful. 

Sarah Ann Banks is a digital artist based in Brooklyn, New York, working primarily with 3D animation software. She uses the virtual space to build an expansive world full of fantastical objects and creatures. These creations are born from vintage objects, nature, and her own personal narratives. Banks develops stories and personalities that overlap between her works, updating with her own interests and daily life. These artworks often act as a diary, tracking her daily interests and fixations. The content ranges from distressed carnival prizes to moody gargoyles. Banks received a BFA from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago in 2019. Some of her recent clients include Instagram, Urban Decay, Coach, and Harper’s Bazaar.

This article was written by Shanley Poole, Engagement Liaison & Storyteller and was based on interviews conducted in April and July of 2024.

In Line

Exploring abundant joy in linework with Mark Thomas Gibson

“There's a certain type of drawer who's constantly looking for lines, who wants to see lines, who loves drawing,” Mark Thomas Gibson said, adding that that’s what initially attracted him to comics. He was in elementary school when he fell in love with his first comic, an issue of Wolverine by John Buscema.

Gibson still finds himself drawn to lines, but as he’s spent more time with comics his care for the genre has grown in its diversity. Beyond the linework and style, he believes comics are an essential way in which we can connect to others stories and offer our own. He sees voices, intention, and individual perspectives shining through his students’ work.

Mark Thomas Gibson delivers a lecture under the tent on the meadow. Photo by Dominique Muñoz (Summer Fellow, 2024).

Despite Gibson’s current adoration for comics, which started in his youth, he set them aside for a number of years. He described himself as a product of the 1950’s war on comics. Born in 1980, Gibson explained that war lasted well beyond the 50’s. Even in undergrad he resisted taking a drawing class “because drawing was the devil,” according to his upbringing. When he finally took the course, he fell in love fast, describing the experience as meeting an evil mistress.

When the dean of his department in graduate school visited Gibson’s studio, it was a drawing that the dean purchased. Gibson remembers questioning his decision, wishing he’d instead been more attracted to one of his paintings. The dean left the young artist with these parting words, “All this other shit doesn’t matter. These drawings, that’s it!” A tough pill to swallow, it took Gibson another two years before he accepted those words. Eventually he came around. Not only did his drawings attract viewers, Gibson also realized he found more joy in producing drawings.

This realization left a profound impact on Gibson and has transformed his relationship with both his creative practice and teaching. Gibson values the moments in the studio when he catches a student lighting up about their own idea. In those moments he asks them, “don’t you want more of that?” Over and over, he finds that when students are resistant to pursuing that spark, it’s because someone along the way told them “this isn’t right.” In Gibson’s space, he strives to get students back in touch with their own voice and grant them trust and access to the limitless joy that comes from using that voice.

Gibson insists that working from that place of enthusiasm is key to giving back to other artists. You can only give to others when you are feeling satisfied in your own practice. He admires the comic community for its commitment to this philosophy. Early in his career he sat down with a prolific comic writer at their house and the writer looked over his work. “He didn’t ask for anything in return, he just gave,” Gibson marveled. Evident in Gibson’s own life is this same generosity. Contrary to some other creatives, he doesn’t seem fatigued from teaching or mentorship. Instead, he delights in the opportunity to nurture their potential. He makes it clear that it’s not all encouragement, “I’ll question you, I’ll challenge you, but I always make it clear I’m on your side.”

This is the first year that Gibson’s course, “Considering Comics: Graphic Narratives in Ink,” will be offered at Ox-Bow. Students enrolled can expect to be guided by Gibson’s welcoming spirit, fervor for comics, and vast technique. His goal in every course is to equip students with a well stocked toolkit that will serve them well beyond their weeks on campus.

Headshot of Mark Thomas Gibson. Image courtesy of the artist.

Mark Thomas Gibson's (b. 1980, Miami, Florida) personal lens on American culture stems from his viewpoint as an artist, a professor, and an American history buff. These myriad and often colliding perspectives fuel his exploration of contemporary culture through the language of painting and drawing, revealing a vision of America where every viewer is implicated as a potential character within the story. Gibson has released two books: Some Monsters Loom Large, 2016, with funding from the Foundation for Contemporary Arts; and Early Retirement, 2017, with Edition Patrick Frey in Zurich. Gibson has been awarded: residencies at Yaddo; the Elizabeth Murray Artist Residency; a fellowship from the Pew Center for Arts and Heritage, Philadelphia; a Hodder Fellowship from the Lewis Center for the Arts, Princeton University; a Guggenheim Fellowship from the Guggenheim Memorial Foundation, New York; and was named a 2022 Grantee by The Louis Comfort Tiffany Foundation, New York. In 2023 Gibson had solo exhibitions at Sikkema & Jenkins Co. in New York and MOCAD in Detroit, and was included in the exhibition Rising Sun: Artists in an Uncertain America at the African American Museum in Philadelphia. Gibson is represented by M+B, (Los Angeles) and Loyal, (Stockholm, Sweden). He is currently an Assistant Professor of Painting at Tyler School of Art and Architecture, Temple University and lives and works in Philadelphia.

This article was written by Shanley Poole, Engagement Liaison & Storyteller. The article was originally published in our Experience Ox-Bow 2024 Catalog.

Banner: Mark Thomas Gibson, The Boys, 2023, ink on canvas. Image courtesy of the artist.

Carousel photos of students working in the studio by Dominique Muñoz (Summer Fellow, 2024).

Artist Profile: Paul Peng

Written by Natia Ser (Summer Fellow, 2023), this article dives into the contagious curiosity of Artist-in-Residence Paul Peng.

Before I recognized Paul Peng as one of Ox-Bow's Artist-in-Residence, I thought the face that had been showing up at every single campus event, always flashing a smile, belonged to a student who had a genuine and intense curiosity for other people's practice. He would show up to Faculty and Visiting Artist lectures, gripping his sketchbook and scribbling notes down as the presentation unfolded, before eagerly raising his hand to direct thoughtful inquiries to the speaker. It was on another night, while passing by him glued to his laptop in the Old Inn, where he engaged me in conversation filled with fervor despite the hour (math and art at 12 a.m.!), that I knew he was as avid of a speaker as he was a listener. This summer marks Paul's return to Ox-Bow since he first took a class here six years ago—which he fondly recalls as the time he wore a smile "all week long." With the same radiant beam, he sets foot on these grounds again, exerting an energy that illuminates through his countenance to warm everyone he meets. When I called it a night, he waved at me enthusiastically with a peace sign. Classic Paul. 

Paul points at his favorite work made during the residency.

The same energy permeates Paul’s art practice. In his Ox-Bow studio, his drawings overflow the walls and his sketchbooks—which he divides between "freak" sketchbooks and "actual" sketchbooks. "But the conditions of these books are the same in terms that there is no pressure in making them," he says as he flips through pages of old and new appearances of his rendition of Dipper from Gravity Falls. Weaving through his illustrations in the space are Risograph prints, collages, and ceramics—it seems that Paul has ventured beyond pencil sketches on paper during his time here.

Paul's favorite work he made during his residency—Dipper reimagined as a Chinese dragon over a magazine cut-out.

Paul has also been dabbling with a new way of mark-making. Covering one of his studio walls are dark, uniformed blobs and strokes that fill up sheets of paper. Bolstered by an interest in religion his whole life and inspired by the tranquil scenery of Ox-Bow that he has been waking up to recently, his latest endeavors involve using Sumi ink to make repetitive marks as a means to study Zen Buddhism. In describing the influences of this meditative practice, Paul recalls one of his favorite Pittsburgh-based artists whose work is informed by the same beliefs, as well as his sister who once commented on how Paul's intuitive, improvisatory approach to his works converges with the Zen Buddhist notion of a beginner's mind. "[Zen Buddhism] really specifically solidified and put language for me and gave me a really wonderful framework for how I wanted to approach my time at Oxbow, which is to just really listen to the surroundings and figure out what I can actually do here. And just reading through the Zen practices, the almost natural conclusion of that line of thought is this practice that's dedicated entirely to not making any discoveries. You're just trying to exist in the most basic sense of that, and the most purest sense of that, and the most expansive sense of that."

After his residency at Ox-Bow, Paul looks forward to returning to Pittsburgh where he will be moving to a new home and, hopefully, turning one of the rooms into a studio.

Influenced by Zen Buddhism, Paul has been experimenting with new ways of mark-making using Sumi ink.

With access to Ox-Bow’s Ceramics Studio, Paul ventured out of his comfort zone to explore other mediums like clay.

Paul attends a faculty lecture at Ox-Bow.

Paul Peng (b. 1994, Allentown, PA; pronounced “Pung”) is a contemporary artist who makes non-representational and cartoon drawings based on what it feels like to be a real person. This feeling comes from his adolescent experience witnessing and participating in an internet-based folk art tradition of sad closeted teens drawing pictures of themselves as anthropomorphic fantasy creatures, anime monster boys, and other cartoons of things that they are not. Paul is currently interested in how his art practice directly extends this tradition: how his work, born from queer teen anguish, exists under conditions where that anguish used to exist but no longer does. Paul graduated from Carnegie Mellon University in 2017 with a BCSA in Computer Science and Art, and has also studied classical drawing at Barnstone Studios in Coplay, PA (2013) and experimental drawing right here at Ox-Bow (2017). Alongside his art practice, Paul is a roller coaster enthusiast, a programming language design hobbyist, and an aspiring long-distance runner and competitive DanceDanceRevolution player. He currently lives and works from Pittsburgh, PA.

Photos by Natia Ser (Summer Fellow, 2023).

All Fired Up

Henry J.H. Crissman and Virginia Torrence share about the importance of kindling community and their passion for wood-fired ceramics.

At the start of my call with artists Virginia Torrence and Henry Crissman, they introduced me to the coffee mugs from which they sipped. Torrence favored a brightly freckled mug that couldn’t have held more than eight ounces. Crissman showcased a more sizable and earth-toned mug with a rock sticking out of its handle. As they shared about each vessel and bantered together, I quickly came to understand the personal connection they share with such objects as well as each other. Given their background, such familiarity shouldn’t come as a surprise…

The artists sit on a potters wheel. Each holds a dog in their lap. Photo courtesy of the artists.

The Early Years of the Artists

Virginia Torrence and Henry Crismass share an extensive history with both pottery and each other. In their early teenage years, Crissman and Torrence attended artist markets together around Michigan. Crissman would bring along his potter's wheel and perform live throwings (often in exchange for their booth fee to be waived) while Torrence managed the sales. Eventually they set up their first studio in Crissman’s family barn. They shared the space with a pony who was particularly winded in one direction and namesaked the studio Farting Pony Pottery in honor of their studio mate. This would only serve as the beginning of their endeavors in pottery.

Both artists attended the College for Creative Studies in undergrad, which led them to fellowships at Ox-Bow in 2010 and 2012. Ox-Bow was celebrating 100 years during Crissman’s summer. In one story he recounted the timely return of the bell, which had been allegedly stolen years before from campus and serendipitously returned for its centennial anniversary. Crissman also admitted to rocking a mullet all summer long. Torrence cited her summer in 2012 as “the best summer of [her] life.” Her work placement stationed her in maintenance alongside John Rossi, whom she showered with no shortage of praise. “I made such incredible friends that I still have today and it was so formative for me,” Torrence said. Crissman also reveled in the impact of his summer surrounded by artists such as Theaster Gates (Visiting Artist) and Sterling Ruby (Faculty), citing that “Ox-Bow gave [him] the tools to imagine how [his] practice could be.”

Woodfire & Community

Woodfired ceramics entered Torrence and Crissman’s lives in a less than typical fashion. In college they were assigned to build a kiln for woodfiring, a ceramics process they had never before tried. The assignment proved influential, inspiring Crissman to ask the department for the scrap parts of the retired kilns. After building his own kiln, Crissman fixed it to a trailer and toured the country in a community initiative seeking to bring access to pottery. Ceramics' potential for creating community was something Torrence and Crissman both prized. When they left Eastern Michigan to go to graduate school at Alfred University, they knew they’d eventually return to the Detroit area. “Our community was here already,” Torrence explained, adding, “We’re thankful to be here. We have such an incredible group of people that orbit around [Detroit].”

The project Torrence and Crissman returned to their home state to start is now the Ceramics School in Hamtramck. Part community arts school, part artist residency program, the school grew from what others had modeled to Crissman and Torrence in undergrad. “The artists that we admired when we were in undergrad were people that were making these broader community practices,” Crissman said.

Crissman and Torrence give an Artist Lecture in the tent on the meadow. Photo by Dominique Muñoz (Summer Fellow, 2024).

Returning to Ox-Bow

At Ox-Bow they saw a similar spirit at work. After each of their seasons there, they started dreaming of ways to return. During two of the summers following Crissman’s fellowship, he visited briefly to assist with a woodfire course taught by Israel Davis. But in 2023, their dream was realized more concretely. Crissman and Torrence officially returned to teach their first course at Ox-Bow during one of the seven summer sessions. The communal nature of the woodfiring course they led captured the attention of their students and those around campus. It wasn’t long before someone proposed the couple return for a community-based workshop that fall. “Something that feels really important and special to me is how little it's changed,,” Torrence said, adding that in particular she’s grateful for the communities that are nurtured on campus.

Their fall workshop in particular embraced and fostered the tight-knit community that so many Ox-Bow attendees experience. For ten days, participating artists shared hours upon hours in the studio together. The loading of the kiln has become a particularly important experience in their course and workshop. “We load the kiln and then we sing it songs… fire themed songs,” Crissman explained. “And transformation themed,” Torrence chimed in. The two have dubbed this night-long tradition Kiln-aoke. Between their festive traditions and enthusiasm for introducing newcomers to the art of woodfiring, it’s no wonder why participants have raved about their experiences with Torrence and Crissman. Those interested in learning about the art of woodfiring can sign up for their upcoming workshop, which will run October 22–November 2, 2024.

Self-portrait pots by Crissman and Torrence. Photo courtesy of the artists.

Virginia Rose Torrence (She/her) co-owns, operates and teaches at Ceramics School, a community ceramics studio and Artist Residency in Hamtramck, Michigan. Virginia’s art practice is sometimes making pottery, and sometimes making sculptures. She received her BFA in Craft/Ceramics from the College for Creative Studies (Detroit, Michigan) in 2013 and her MFA in Ceramics from Alfred University (Alfred, New York) in 2016. Virginia lives and makes art in Hamtramck, MI with her partner and co-teacher Henry Crissman, two dogs, two cats and a parakeet.

Henry James Haver Crissman earned a BFA in Craft from the College for Creative Studies in Detroit, MI in 2012, and a MFA in Ceramics at Alfred University in Alfred, New York in 2015. He now lives and works in Hamtramck, Michigan where he and his wife and fellow artist, Virginia Rose Torrence, founded and co-direct Ceramics School, a community ceramics studio and artist residency. He regards teaching as an integral aspect of his creative practice, and in addition to teaching at Ceramics School, he is currently an adjunct professor in the Studio Art and Craft Department at the College for Creative Studies in Detroit, Michigan.

This article was written by Shanley Poole, Engagement Liaison & Storyteller. The article was originally published in our Experience Ox-Bow 2024 Catalog.

Carosel photos courtesy of the artists.

Visionary Awardee: John Rossi

John Rossi’s 30-Year Legacy of Luminosity at Ox-Bow

Looking back, my first memory of John Rossi is a fitting one. I initially met him during April of 2021 when I came to campus for a final round interview for what would become my first job at Ox-Bow. My encounter was brief. He stood atop a ladder in the old inn fixing an antique chandelier in place. He gave me a friendly hello, I returned it, and that was that. My first Rossi sighting.

Two years later, I’m walking around campus with John. It’s a cool sunny day in May. The sky shines blue, but only through a filtered haze of clouds. John wears, as he does most days, a plaid flannel. His hat, like most of his hats, is sun faded. I own the same one he does, a forest green in baseball style, but his has paled several shades from mine.

John Rossi, wearing a sun-faded baseball cap, tends to the canoe stand on campus alongside Nate Skiffington, Assistant Facilities Manager. Photo by Dominique Muñoz (Summer Fellow, 2024).

John has several titles here at Ox-Bow, from his official role as Facilities Manager to the cheeky title of Pricker Daddy. Today I’m here to learn why he’s earned one of his most infamous titles: The Light Wizard.

From the moment one walks onto campus there are lights to guide your way. If you arrive after dusk or before dawn, you’ll be greeted first by strings of pixie lights. In every room, you’ll find lamps intentionally selected and slightly altered to meet the aesthetics of our unique building environments. And of course, the tent under which Friday night dance parties take place has been adorned with the perfect mood lighting to fit the revolving party themes. 

John Rossi stands behind a work bench in The Rob (the campus’s maintenance building). Photo by Dominique Muñoz (Summer Fellow, 2024).

John isn’t alone in his adoration of lighting on campus. He notes that what originally drew impressionist painters was the natural light of the area. “It reminded them of France,” he said. For this reason, he’s partial to using warm lighting in the cabins and on exterior buildings. Daylight bulbs he finds too disruptive in how it attempts to imitate the sun. “For most of history, artificial light was warm,” he said, noting how its hue mimicked hearths and candles. Using these warmer bulbs rather than cool lighting helps John’s work imitate what it might’ve once been like to spend time on campus during the days when things were illuminated by gaslights and lanterns.

Of course, some of John’s work is much more bold, not so rooted in imitating nature. When he invites me into his studio space, many of the works in progress are lamps and lights. Just yesterday he spent the evening at the metals studio to work with the plasma cutter. Over the course of the night, he transformed various tin cans into lamp shades. This morning, one of the pieces hangs afresh over the entrance of the studio. The tin can lantern is complemented by a carnival chandelier, purple and orange, equal parts normcore and fabulous. Above that sits a string of blue and purple Christmas lights. Fitting, as that’s where John’s love of lights started.

John Rossi stands outside his studio and looks down at a pencil. Photo by Dominique Muñoz (Summer Fellow, 2024).

When I ask him about this passion’s origin story, John doesn’t hesitate: “Probably around age four or five,” aka the age that memory begins. For all we know, John’s love of lights could’ve been at first sight. He recalled playing with lights as a kid. He’d sneak into the closet where his parents stored the Christmas lights, stage them, then hide the lights away before his parents could find out. Eventually he took on the role of hanging the Christmas lights at both his parents’ and grandmother’s houses. Little did young John know, eventually he’d find a place where this passion would be prized and celebrated.

(left) A chandelier selected by John Rossi for the Talmadge cabin. Photo by Clare Britt. (right) Fairy lights in the trees. Photo by Jamie Kelter Davis.

John takes me to the tent on the meadow, underneath which he’s set up a variety of paper lanterns shaped as stars. He altered them himself to accommodate bigger sockets. While under the tent, John gives me a briefing on the physics of lights, explaining why LEDS produce a stronger spectrum than incandescents, which often fail to produce bright purples and blues. As he throws around jargon like diodes, prisms, and cones it becomes clear to me just how deep John’s knowledge of light goes. 

Across campus, other cleverly engineered solutions abound, all the work of Rossi. Some of these include collaborations with other studios: a hand blown glass vase that ensconces its light bulb and a full string of plasma-cut tin cans hanging behind The Rob (facilities headquarters). It can be said without exaggeration that in every building and even along pathways, John’s expertise and artistic touch literally light the way.

John Rossi stands in front of the floral, teal doors of his studio. Photo by Dominique Muñoz (Summer Fellow, 2024).

This article was written by Shanley Poole and was based on interviews conducted with John Rossi in 2023. Banner photo by Dominique Muñoz (Summer Fellow, 2024).

Visionary Awardee: Larry Gammons

A Lifelong Legacy of Community Impact in Saugatuck-Douglas

Born and raised in Big Rapids, Michigan, Larry Gammons spent many summers vacationing on Lake Michigan’s shoreline. He and his partner Carl Jennings especially enjoyed Saugatuck-Douglas and would take multiple trips with their boat to the quaint town during the sixties. In conversation, Gammons fondly recalled his visits to the Blue Tempo, a popular (and perhaps West Michigan’s first) gay bar, where his eventual partner worked as a bartender in the sixties. In 1976, the venue was destroyed by a fire. For several years after, its absence was felt by community members like Gammons and Jennings. Rather than sit idly by, the couple began scheming. The dream settled into an epic vision for a gay resort, which would feature lodging, a bar, restaurant, pool, and lots of parties.

Manifesting this ambitious dream proved no easy task. Though real estate options weren’t lacking in Saugatuck, local government support for a gay resort certainly was. Multiple times the city of Saugatuck denied the couple’s request to secure a liquor license. “​​They just kept turning us down and turning us down because they found out it was going to be gay,” Gammons confided. After yet another city meeting in which the majority voted against the resort, Gammons and Jennings went for a drive through Douglas to take their mind off the latest rejection. It was on that ride that the couple spotted the shuttered Amity Motel. The instant they set eyes on it they thought, “that could be a great resort!” From there, things finally began to fall into place. After Gammons and Jennings made an offer on the property, the Douglas council members approved its use at the next town meeting. In 1981, their resort finally opened.

Larry sits on a bench in the Pride Celebration Garden. Photo by Dominique Muñoz (Summer Fellow, 2024).

For nearly two decades, Gammons and Jennings oversaw what is still known as The Dunes Resort. Their vision was brought to life, including the restaurant at which Jennings served as the head chef. After buying the resort the couple became full-time residents in Saugatuck-Douglas. While the dream may have finally been realized, Gammons expressed that those first years held a number of challenges. In an article with the Holland Sentinel in 2019, Gammons told reporters, “We had bomb threats and Ku Klux Klan threats… just all kinds of things.” In striking contrast, the community today has come to embrace its reputation as one of Michigan’s queerest cities. 

Gammons hypothesizes that many young folks in the area might have trouble comprehending what the atmosphere was like forty years ago. It was for this reason that Gammons created the Pride Celebration Garden in downtown Douglas following Jennings’s passing in 2019. He wanted to build a memorial to commemorate community members as well as his partner. He also hopes the garden will serve as a reminder that the culture of Saugatuck-Douglas is not one to take for granted, nor has it always existed.

In 1999, Gammons and Jennings made the difficult decision to sell the Dunes Resort. “When you create something it’s hard to give it up,” Gammons explained, but he and Jennings knew it was the right time to pass it on. While the restaurant has since closed under new ownership, the Dunes still hosts a bar, pool, and an abundance of parties. After selling the Dunes, Gammons found new ways to engage with the Saugatuck-Douglas community. He and Jennings co-founded the organization West Shore Aware, which provides financial support to non-profits and awards scholarships to LGBTQ+ individuals and allies. Over two decades, the organization has given away over $1.4 million in scholarships and awards, all of which have gone to the benefit of the West Michigan community.

Larry amidst the flowers in the Pride Celebration Garden. Photo by Dominique Muñoz (Summer Fellow, 2024).

It was Arthur Frederick, former owner of the Button Gallery, that eventually invited Gammons to an Ox-Bow fundraiser. “That was 43 years ago… we had our heart in Ox-Bow from day one,” said Gammons. From the start, he and Jennings recognized the instrumental role that Ox-Bow played in the history of the area. Eventually, Gammons even served as a local board member.

At this year’s Field of Vision: Summer of Love benefit, Ox-Bow recognizes Larry Gamons with the Community Honoree Visionary Award. Gammon’s impact and legacy in Saugatuck-Douglas—from the Dunes Resort to the Pride Celebration Garden, from West Shore Aware to his service at Ox-Bow—spans decades and will surely continue to do so. We look forward to honoring Gammons at the event. Tickets are on sale now and can be purchased through June 24, 2024.

Lead support for Field of Vision: Summer of Love is provided by the Holly Palmer Foundation.

Summer Fellow: Christen Baker

Exploring the path less traveled with Christen Baker (Summer Fellow, 2023).

During Christen Baker’s sophomore year of college, she enrolled in her first and only studio glass course of her undergraduate years. That semester would ultimately go on to shape the path Baker pursues today. After graduating from the Kansas City Art Institute with a BFA in Ceramics, she enrolled in an MFA program at Tyler School of Art & Architecture to study glass. With almost no hotshop experience, she was a unique candidate. “Most people don’t want to try to learn new, crazy skills when they’re entering grad school because you’re already doing a lot,” Baker said. But she was invigorated by the prospect of pursuing a new specialty.

Baker describes her transition to glasswork as “largely trial and error.” But don’t let her humble words fool you into overlooking her alluring and thoughtful work. While glass often serves as a focal point, she doesn’t let her new degree define her. Instead, she identifies as a multidisciplinary artist in which “[glass] grounds the work.” Alongside glass, she has brought photography and printmaking into her practice. During her time at Ox-Bow, Baker spent her spare hours in the Works on Paper Studio, where she learned how to use the risograph.

Christen Baker at work in the studio. Photo by Jamie Kelter Davis.

Baker also leaned into research after discovering the ongoing environmental challenges facing Saugatuck. During the summer of 2023, numerous articles, demonstrations, and yard signs were erected in opposition to a marina that would be built on the Lake Michigan shoreline. In a city that prides itself on its unmarred lakeshore, many Saugatuck citizens were determined to raise hell. Their efforts garnered the attention of Baker, and her interest inevitably began to influence her work. 

At the group exhibition “The Hole” in Ox-Bow’s Betsy Gallery, Baker contributed three distinct pieces to the exhibition. The first of the pieces, a stack of risographs, revealed two-tone images of the dunes. Next to the pile was a note to viewers: “Take one image to transform this landscape.” Elevated less than two feet off the ground was a trail of glass vessels, filled with sand, and embedded with stake flags that a surveyor might use to map a property. The last piece featured an anchor tethered to a rope. Far from subtle and paying tactful homage to the Saugatuck community’s voices, Baker’s works portrayed the imminent danger the environment faced. In February 2024, the Michigan Department of Environment, Great Lakes, and Energy denied a permit to the developers seeking to build a marina. To the relief of many Saugatuck citizens, this decision has ensured the protection of the lakeshore

Another of the most fruitfall aspects of Baker’s time on campus was the friendship that blossomed between Baker and Glass Studio Assistant, Pricilla Lo. “We both just hit it off immediately,” Baker said, adding that the common threads between their work allowed them to learn a great deal from each other.

As summer drew to a close, Baker was open about her hopes to return to campus. True to her ambitious tendencies, she wasted no time in making that dream a reality. Alongside friend and fellow glass artist, Pricilla Lo, Baker will return to Ox-Bow to teach Glass Multiples. Baker’s multidisciplinary approach will be well utilized as one of the course’s instructors. With much of the course centered in mold making, Baker will tap into her ceramic experiences that often centered around mold making. Prospective students can read more about this course in our 2024 Summer Course Catalog.

In the meantime, Baker—in collaboration with Ox-Bow Alumni Victoria Ahmadizadeh Melendez—is finishing a residency with She Bends and the Museum of Craft and Design. The residency will culminate with the exhibition Neon as Soulcraft at the Museum of Craft and Design in San Francisco.

Christen Baker and Pricilla Kar Yee Lo at work together in the studio. Photo by Jamie Kelter Davis.

Christen Baker is a multidisciplinary artist whose work explores the complex relationship between attention, desire, and economies that emerge from it. Baker earned a BFA in Ceramics from the Kansas City Art Institute and a MFA from Tyler School of Art and Architecture. She currently lives and works in Philadelphia, where she continues to explore the geographies of public spaces and objects, real and imagined.

This article was written by Shanley Poole and was based on interviews conducted with Christen Baker in August 2023 and May 2024.

Carousel images of The Hole Exhibition by Natia Ser (Summer Fellow, 2023).

Fashion as Intuition

Hansell shares about their gift for reading the style palm of others and tuning the gender dial.

Gurtie Hansell’s love for fashion and connection to altered clothing stems far into their past. At a young age their grandmother taught them to sew and from there it seemed, in Hansell’s words, “I always made clothes or augmented clothes to fit my weirdo personality.” However, Hansell started to make a more communal and consistent practice of it in 2015. For the retirement party of Chicago’s Chances Dances, Hansell was approached about facilitating a fashion show. The project materialized into something substantial. Hansell reminisced on the crowd’s positive reactions. “And I had a lot of fun and the models really liked it,” they added. That Hansell would receive such positive reviews from all around didn’t surprise me. It’s in their nature to honor and connect with others, something I’ve experienced first hand in all my encounters with them. 

After the fashion show, Mary Eleanor invited Hansell to display in the window of the boutique and gallery space Tusk. From there Hansell thought, “Okay, I guess this is what I do now.” They credit the encouragement from their community as the spark to transition to an entrepreneurial artist. At the time they’d been working for six years doing corporate level branding and graphic design for Whole Foods. “I lived in front of a computer,” Hansell said, “And I’m a very tactile person,” making their transition to the material world of fashion and alterations a natural one. Though that’s not to say their practice is without challenge. Mostly recently, they’ve been struggling to decipher how to maintain the political heart that fuels their work without capitalizing off of tragedy. Much of their altered fashion consists of upcycling t-shirts by screen printing on them. They do not shy away from imbuing political statements with humor, referring to such t-shirts as “an analog meme.” With hefty doses of intention and goofiness, Hansell’s work hits with a heartfelt relevance and their humor buoys grave subjects with a zany spirit of hope.

Ox-Bow, its traditions and culture, have largely influenced Hansell’s practice. They first visited in 2020 to volunteer at a Halloween event, which has since become one of their annual reasons to come to campus. “Halloween has become [a] part of my practice because of those visits,” Hansell said. These experiences have encouraged Hansell to more deeply explore drag, which they say is “directly linked to the freedom [they have] experienced at Ox-Bow” during Halloween each year. This sense of liberation is one they hope to facilitate in their workshops and one they’ve clearly achieved in years past. In particular, Hansell loves to twist what they refer to as the gender dial. “If I wear a dress, and I love to wear dresses,” Hansell explained they’ll tune in the dial by “then [throwing] on a ballcap” to add a dash of masc to the fem look of a dress.

Hansell rocking the dress and ballcap combo.

Interpretations of gender and willingness to play with them comes naturally to Hansell. They even enjoy twisting this dial when they stylize for others. When I asked Hansell how they go about creating looks for another person, they said, “I think it’s always been a facet of who I am.” They described it as a form of listening to others. When one lends their ear to how others present themselves, it becomes easy enough (for Hansell at least) to offer that individual a look that honors them. Hansell refers to this act as “reading the style palm” of others.

One of Hansell’s favorite parts of Art on the Meadow Workshops is watching folks settle into the space. At the start of the class, participants learn to shed their fears and grow comfortable with the sense of whimsy and spontaneity in Hansell’s workshop. Hansell describes that the four day workshop has a kindred feeling to getting ready for a party as they sift through clothes and help each other find and modify objects to achieve a desired look. The intergenerational aspect, hosting students from 16 to 60+ has also fueled Hansell’s time on campus. “It’s always such a wild mix,” Hansell said. The exchange of creativity between all ages in the workshop and the friendships that form over just four days is truly remarkable.

Those looking to revamp their wardrobe and encounter the enthusiasm and inspiration that Gurtie Hansell always provides, should consider enrolling in their upcoming workshop Renewed Ready-to-Wear.

Gurtie Hansell is a multimedia artist, teacher, and entrepreneur working out of their home studio and backyard in Chicago. They draw on fashion, printmaking (and print-breaking), as well as graphic design to outfit their community for pageantry, protest, and pleasure. Their wearables are deeply inspired by decades in queer nightlife, camp craft, and generally being loud in public. Gurtie owns a gender-expansive streetwear brand called Kangmankey which they've run since 2015, and they also co-operate a production and costume design company called MotherTwin. This is their fourth year teaching "Renewed Ready to Wear" at Ox-Bow.

All images are courtesy of the artist.

Research and interviews were conducted by the article’s author, Shanley Poole, Engagement Liaison & Storyteller. The article was originally published in Experience Ox-Bow 2024.

Partner Profile: zakti tea

Janeil Engelstad and Pamela Miller share their passion for tea and all its varieties, communities, and rituals.

In 2004 Janeil Engelstad and Pamela Miller took a trip to Kuala Lampur, Malaysia. Little did they know how much the trip would transform their future. By the close of their experience, they were dreaming of an entirely new business venture that intersected with the couple’s newfound passion: tea. This passion would eventually grow into the formation of zakti, a speciality, loose-leaf tea company. Engelstad had incorporated tea into her life decades prior, though her partner Miller never held much interest. While in Kuala Lampur, Miller ordered a cup of Shu Puer tea that changed everything.

“I smelled it and it just took me right away to my grandparents' farm in Germany. It was so earthy and musky,” as Miller described the memory, I could see her crawling back into the comfort of that moment. “It’s still my go to drink.” Throughout the rest of the trip, Engelstad and Miller enjoyed a variety of quality loose leaf teas. “The experience there led us to really think about starting a business, a tea company,” shared Engelstad.

In time, Miller’s newfound passion for tea took an academic twist. “ I spent a few years studying and learning all I could and buying tea from all over Asia,” she shared. Enrolling at the Speciality Tea Institute and the American Tea Association, Miller began to pursue more formal training. This desire to learn has also progressed in a desire to share that knowledge with others. “Education for me and talking about tea… that's my happy place,” Miller said. It’s clear she thrives in these educational contexts. She compares the complexities of teas to that which people often associate with wine. “All wine comes from grapes, right? And all tea comes from camellia sinensis,” explained Miller. “Those varieties excited me.”

As the two tea connoisseurs shared about the history of zakti, Engelstad painted a crisp picture of what drives them, “The three P’s are central to our business: people, planet, and profit.” The latter being rather self explanatory, Engelstad expounded on the philosophy of sustainability that drives their company’s relationships and environmental investments. “It’s everything from packaging to the people we work with.” A quick glance at the zakti website showcases paper packaging and partnerships with small, family-owned farms, but their commitment extends far beyond these choices. Zakti returns a portion of its profits to the communities with which it partners. Engelstad, an artist herself, emphasized the importance of supporting the arts in communities from which they source their tea. In 2023 this meant supporting a play in South Africa—where zakti’s rooibos is sourced—directed by renowned theatre artist Selloane (Lalu) Mokuku.

Of course, Engelstad and Miller also believe the tea itself has something to offer. It has the power to connect individuals to themselves and others. As a coach for executives, Miller often starts meetings with clients by offering them tea. Similarly in her role as a professor, Engelstad enjoys bringing tea into the classroom to share with students. “I try to encourage people to build rituals that are infused in their daily life,” Miller said. She lauds these rituals not just because of the benefits of polyphenols, alkaloids, and other compounds found within tea, but because these rituals can encourage individuals to slow down and reflect. If you can create a ritual, then it becomes part of your life,” explained Miller.

In April, zakti will bring their knowledge, passion, and of course, tea to Ox-Bow’s campus. As one of the partners for the upcoming Tea & Trails event, they will conduct a tea ceremony as the Tallamdge Woods celebrates its induction into the Old Growth Forest Network. Learn more at ox-bow.org/tea-trails.

Miller and Engelstad have traveled throughout the tea growing regions of Asia, learning about and tasting teas along the way. Participating in the culture of tea around the world has led to continual research and study, learning how people around the world grow, process, prepare and enjoy tea, which are as diverse as the types of tea. From Chinese Kung Fu, to the Japanese Tea Ceremony (also called The Way of Tea), to Moroccan Mint tea, and more. With joy and enthusiasm, Pamela and Janeil create opportunities to share tea and their learning and passion connected to “The Culture of Tea®,” with clients, friends and family. Learn more at zakti.com.

This article was written by Shanley Poole, Engagement Liaison & Storyteller, and was based off of an interview conducted by the author in April 2024.

LeRoy Neiman Fellow: Jack Holly

Jack Holly (Summer Fellow, 2023) discusses their path to photography and the portrait series they developed during their summer at Ox-Bow.

At age 18, Jack Holly bought their first camera and has ever since been entranced by what appears in the view lens. Through photography, Holly has captured everything from the landscapes of rural America to intimate glimpses of BDSM culture, at times even intertwining the two as seen in How to Steal a Plane. Their ongoing portrait series sits in thoughtful juxtaposition to their past career as a model. Ultimately, they were unsatisfied with their experiences in front of the camera. “It made me feel like a hat rack for other people,” Holly shared. This perspective deeply informs how they aim to render images of others. Their untitled project, which documents genderqueer and gender-nonconforming individuals through portraiture, prizes the autonomy and power of individuals. Through interviews with the subject and collaboration during the shoots, Holly hopes to capture their subjects in a way that honors and elevates.

(left) A portrait of EXYL.

(right) A portrait of John Rossi. Photos by Jack Holly.

During the summer of 2023, after completing their BFA at the Kansas City Art Institute, Holly started their portrait series on campus where they spent 13 weeks as a Summer Fellow at Ox-Bow School of Art & Artists’ Residency. In each photo, an individual identifying as queer or gender nonconforming faces away from the camera and holds an object of meaning to them. “It's one of those projects that I kind of consider a sketchbook practice because it's not really a main tenet of my practice, but it's a way for me to continue photographing and getting to know people and understanding the weird part of people's lives,” explained Holly. During each portrait session, Holly incorporates an interview to better understand the individual. Oftentimes, the stories they reveal are deeply personal. “It's an honor that people feel so open,” Holly said.

Throughout their 13 weeks on campus, they continued taking photos and also ventured into another new project, a performance piece that would eventually become the short film “Big Yellow Horse.” The film’s inspiration took root in Holly’s long standing fascination with Dante’s “Inferno” and Holly describes their work as a “surrealist adaptation” of the text. Having first read the work at age 14, Holly said, “it was a pretty formative text growing up and… [I] always had it checked out at the public library.” Perhaps it is partially this childlike fondness that charges Dante’s themes with new relevance. “The dead have collected and keep my memories now. The world will go on without them,” serves as the film’s opening words. These two lines baptize viewers with the sense of existential modesty that guides them through the rest of the film.  

Still from Jack Holly’s short film “Big Yellow Horse.” Image courtesy of the artist.

Big Yellow Horse builds its own language and logic, creating a world for its audience. Though the piece only runs for six minutes and twenty-some seconds, Holly creates a universe that tugs at the threads of death and memory, weaving them into a visual oasis. The word inferno doesn’t easily come to mind amidst the shots in which Cole Bespalko floats on an air mattress on Lake Michigan's water, but Holly isn’t aiming for simple, as is evident through the psychedelic editing style and sound design that wavers between transcendent and terrifying, like the film’s many symbolic coin flips and flickering lights. While others may have been tempted to manifest inferno with more depictions of brimstones and damnation, in Holly’s hands “Big Yellow Horse” presents downfalls as an opportunity for inferno to function as rebirth, akin to a phoenix gifted with the liberty of a tabula rasa. 

In creating the film, Holly was eager to involve other artists on Ox-Bow’s campus. A number of other summer fellows joined the film as actors. Artist and LeRoy Neiman Fellow EXYL consulted on sound design and staff member Michael Stone wrote the poem that opens the film. The process of filming held its own adventures including late night shoots and on one occasion, Holly fell into the lagoon while trying to capture the perfect shot. At each moment, Holly emphasized the warmth the community offered, whether that included volunteering to help during the witching hours of campus or laughing alongside them when they took their unintended dip. The film’s private debut was also communal; it first aired on the meadow during a 10 p.m. screening in which staff, students, faculty, and other artists gathered together. After its private showing at Ox-Bow, “Big Yellow Horse” made its public debut at the Glenwood Arts Theatre in Kansas City.

(left) A Portrait of Aidan Mudge.

(right) A Portrait of Cole Bespalko. Photos by Jack Holly.

Since the conclusion of Holly’s fellowship, they have settled into their post-graduate life in Kansas City. While working full time at a frame shop and gallery alongside keeping up a studio practice has not been without challenges, they still manage to get into the studio most days and have continued the portrait series they started at Ox-Bow. Nowadays, Holly photographs people in their own homes. “It can be intimidating because I'm a tiny person, and you never know what someone's gonna do when you meet them on the internet,” Holly acknowledged. “It's a really weird exchange of trust and intimacy,” they added, an exchange that has cultivated a captivating series of images.

For the foreseeable future, Holly hopes to continue developing short films, rendering photographs, and spending time with their family and new niece.

This article was written by Shanley Poole based off interviews conducted with Jack Holly in August 2023 and February 2024.