2025 McKnight Fiber Artist Fellowship Exhibition, Jan 13 – April 4, 2026

I Know, Baby (For Yves)

Detail of No one ever knew all of me

In aviation, a holding pattern describes the path a plane flies as it awaits clearance to land. Colloquially, it refers to an elongated pause: limbo between one state and the next. I began to find connection between this concept and my postpartum period after giving birth to my first child in 2024. My life became repeated patterns of care and a constant physical holding of my son. In these months of early motherhood, I floated above the life I once lived. I could see my past life from a great distance, but had not yet landed in this new world and new body.  

While postpartum can seem like dormancy to the rest of the world, internally it is the slow and sleepless reshaping of all forms of a mother’s life. Coated in milk, spit-up, and sweat, I held this absolute adoration for my child with a paradoxical longing and indifference for my maiden self. I considered my dismissal of the “mother figure” and my absolute naiveté of this most universal and radical identity.  Concurrently, this was a time to heal my body after a cesarean delivery and process and to relive a birth that was tinged with fear, trauma, and disappointment.  

These new textiles describe the liminal early months of a mother’s becoming. Fragile slits break the internal plane of cloth to reveal new forms through bending, draping, opening and closing. Each deviation from the taut state on the floor loom reflects this transformation of self and transfiguration of body. Simultaneously, this work depicts the technicolor elation and power that grows from childbirth and the unconditional love of a new life. Each of these snapshots provides a glimpse into this intimate and dimensional period of matrescence. These works suggest that there is a complex and billowing life under the perceived quietude, an inner strength that is supported by the fragility. 

Coalescence

Insight

Alchemy is a seemingly magical process of transforming and combining elements into something new. At its simplest, life itself is alchemy. 

My work centers on transformation—of physical objects and lived experience. I weave together driftwood from Lake Superior, deer antlers from an abandoned family farm, chives from the garden, and other found materials, with emotions such as curiosity, loneliness, joy, and the rhythms of parenthood, travel, and performance. Using rattan reed as my primary medium, I build form and structure through repetitive, meditative processes. Natural elements anchor the work in place, both physically and emotionally. 

I am from northern Minnesota, yet I do not engage with the landscape through traditional paths of hunting, fishing, or hiking. This raised an essential question in my practice: how does the environment enter my work? Searching for ways to define my relationship to the natural world, I began to invite it into my space—not through extraction, but through inclusion.  

The McKnight Fellowship prompted deeper introspection, expanding my questions from “how” and “why” to include “who.” As I explore new resources and directions, I solicit feedback through workshops and social media, asking for access rather than ownership—leaves from flower beds, fresh dogwood from a roadside ditch, remnants others no longer need. My work has become a reflection not only of myself, but of my community. 

I don’t search the woods for antlers; I find them on my doorstep, donations from community. Driftwood embedded with shells was brought to me by a student returning from the Gulf of Mexico. Beads once formed a necklace worn by a beloved grandmother. Copper strips arrived, remnants from an anonymous school project completed decades ago. Each material carries history, memory, and intention. As part of a small but invested community, my work becomes our work. My environment is not only the land surrounding my studio, but the people who shape my daily life—family, friends, students, and collaborators. 

The alchemy in my work is not limited to physical materials; it lies in their combination with shared experience and emotion. Dense, concentrated weaving speaks to focus, routine, and the strength of togetherness. Open spaces and voids allow for growth, outreach, curiosity, and breath. New textures mark transitions; harvested and processed materials embody change. Each added element contributes its own flavor of support, curiosity, and joy.

As in life, it is the combination of components that creates meaning and beauty. By melding basketry with my work in jewelry design and teaching, I continue the transformation—carrying the magic outward. 

We are, together, alchemy.