Student Statements on Craft by brantgallery

Student Statements on Craft

Writing for Exhibitions

In Writing for Exhibitions, students at the Massachusetts College of Art and Design gain experience in the various kinds of writing involved in an art exhibition. Writing for a museum or gallery setting, students from all majors interview artists, prepare exhibition statements, compose wall texts, and draft features and reviews of shows for publication.

Each semester students focus on writing about current exhibitions in a collaborative and supportive workshop environment. While contributing to conversations around contemporary art, craft, and design, they share their perspective with first-year students through programming in the Studio Foundation Brant Gallery.

Alan

Craft and Constraint in Illustration

Jasmine Eastman

Craft and Print

Jerman Montanez

Closed Door to an Open Window

Luc Kai Buffonge

The Craft in Every Stitch

Larita Sok

Craft is a “No-No” Word

Phoebe Petryk A Caster’s Practice

in the Golden Afternoon: A Writer’s Artist Statement

Breaking Craft Traditions through Exploration and Respect

Jarrett Daniels

Happy Hunting Ground, 2023. Oil on wood, Arch: 57x31” Panel: 45 x 16”

I work in oil with depictions of nature and the figure. Contradiction is a big part of the conceptual, visual, and material aspects of my process. Through world-building, my paintings envelop the viewer in a new and altering reality, while simultaneously foregrounding a sense of comfort. I accomplish this by collaging different scenes together, painting from memory, and using old family photographs as a reference. I replicate a nostalgic but refreshing view in natural spaces recognizable to anyone, calling out discrepancies. Having grown up as a queer individual in a non-accepting environment, I instinctively and shamefully try to hide problem areas. My need for perfection and desire to be a “star pupil” is palpable. When this perfectionism comes into play it can feel unnatural and staged, which is exactly what I’m going for. In some paintings, I actually aim for certain parts to be a mockery of nature instead of a representation, in order to push the concept further of putting on a facade.

I’m intentionally heightening the tension between confusion and captivation as a push and pull to elaborate on my own disorientation and desire. At the same time, with a muddier, more abstract process working to cover my indignities, I’m having the viewer sift and investigate those confused areas of the painting most thoroughly. I’m begging for personal contact with the viewer. Going back to the basics

and simplifying my brushstrokes has been one of the toughest turning points in my work, but has proven to be beneficial to my practice, allowing more emotion to breathe through spontaneity.

My explorations of color started with practicing using family photographs for reference. Thinking of how these old cameras changed the color and, in turn, the feeling of the painting, interested me and made me want to push that further. Working from photographs helped open me up, taking the stress out of putting extra thought into how I would construct every moment from scratch. My work reflects the Fauvist movement in the intuitive placement of unrealistic colors to change reality. Paul Gauguin and Jotham Malavé are also heavy inspirations of mine due to the sense of wonder and transformation in their work. I use color as a way to reignite joy in past experiences that otherwise brought me shame, taking control of my identity and the perception of it.

Recently I’ve been delving into the manifestation of a curse birthed from the hate and homophobia I was taught. Specifically, I’m exploring this through the lens of a hunting family and the tales I was told of our ancestors and the great feats they accomplished. How vital these practices were to belonging and serving our traditions. Bringing honor to my family in this way seemed impossible yet crucial, I longed so dearly to impress my family and suppress the truest parts of myself for

My Temple, Their Nourishment, 2024. Oil on canvas, 45 x 35”

their sake. The root of this curse stems from the main story passed down for generations. The red gods that rule the forest teach us conservation and affection, deciding what animals are to be sacrificed and at what hand. Our respect, the bond and connection we have with nature is what brings us success. From a very young age I thought that tie was severed and I was disgraced in the eyes of my ancestors, prevented from accomplishing the one thing I thought connected me to my family. I prayed every night to them to lift this “curse.” For the entirety of my hunting career it was as if all deer had been stripped from the forest because of my presence. My hope is to depict the trials and tribulations I held myself accountable for, and longed to be purified of.

Poppies, 2024. Silk-aquatint with doily collagraph relief on Stonehenge paper, 22 x 30”

My work centers around grief. Through the depiction of flowers associated with mourning, and imagery that evokes distant childhood memories, I explore my experience of death. My particular use of printmaking allows me to fossilize the flowers and memories I portray in order to maintain the memory of my deceased older brother and father. My brother passed when I was ten, giving me an unusual perspective on death for a child. This inspires my motivation to represent grief with beauty and reclaim childhood memories with more sentimentality than trauma.

Lily (2023) is made with soft-ground floral impressions on copper, which are then printed on mauve-colored cochineal dyed paper. The dark-gray impression of a large lily surrounded by its leaves, baby’s breath, and other complementary florals from the grocery store where I purchased the bouquet then appears. Soft-ground is used in intaglio printmaking as a resistant material on plates of copper. The soft-ground selectively protects the copper surface from acid—the acid is used to erode the metal in order to leave imagery. This is called etching. The etched areas of the copper are able to hold ink and therefore print an image onto paper when rolled through a printing press. Soft-ground is made from asphaltum and grease— asphaltum is similar to asphalt except asphaltum is naturally occurring while asphalt is refined petroleum. The grease in soft-ground gives the asphaltum a tacky consistency that

allows for impressions to be made. When a thin layer of soft-ground is applied to a copper plate, objects or drawing materials can be pressed into it, exposing the surface of the copper.

I took the impression of fresh flowers through the press, imprinting their last image alive onto an archival copper plate. This method is what moves me to use the word “fossilize” when speaking about my work; because I’m able to create a permanent object out of an ephemeral being. While taking the impression of flowers sounds like a beautiful result, in actuality I ended up with a dim stamp of them in a dark washed-out atmosphere. I find this appearance complements the concepts I work with. My use of flower symbolism represents the preservation of my deceased relatives’ memories. I choose the flowers I use as subjects based on their symbolic meaning, frequently including common funeral flowers such as lilies, carnations, and baby’s breath. Compositionally I tend to center them and create symmetry when depicting bouquets, as if to crucify them.

Poppies (2024) is a collagraph print with doily relief, rendered in a similarly gray tone to Lily but on cool, lighter gray paper. The pattern of a doily backs the imagery of two poppy flowers in a dim grayscale. Collagraphs utilize chipboard as the image-making material for printing. I create doily reliefs by adhering doilies found at flea-markets to chipboard sealed with mesh covered with diluted

paint. Gel medium, typically used as a texture medium in painting, is used in this process to create the image via negative space because the medium acts as a resist to the ink used in the printing process. While the doilies themselves may eventually disintegrate, printing the impression of their actual surface documents their existence as objects.

Watercolor allows for ambiguity, reminiscent of the nature of faded memory conveyed in Front-Yard (2022), a painting of my childhood home from an online realty image— the roof painted with speckled sunlight through trees. I allow the edges to end organically, fading out like my recollection of the home I grew up in.

Sanctuary (2023) is a white-ground print aesthetically more akin to Lily (2023) and Poppies (2024) due to its darker tone. While the effects of white-ground etching on copper looks painterly when printed, it’s the etching process that gives it a deeper appearance. White-ground refers to a mixture of soap and grease that acts as a relief like soft-ground does on copper. This mixture can be applied to a plate like paint with a brush, allowing for unique and varied textures, especially when diluted.

I alternate from close-up snapshots of family photos and objects to wide views of the exterior and interior of my first family home, which we abandoned after the death of my brother. I use realty photos for reference. This range in visual scale and perspective reflects the inconsistency of memory after

trauma and the way it becomes blurry and fades with the passage of time, especially if the memories were made during adolescence, when the mind has not fully formed.

The

Focusing primarily on 3D modeling, physical and digital, my work utilizes form and function to create a meaningful product for the end user. Beginning with preliminary research and sketching, I take steps to shape the final design. I accomplish this through a series of tests, including trend analysis, prototyping, and survey validation. Within my design process I especially enjoy the concept modeling for manufacturing; thinking about how things can be assembled or mass-produced is a tedious task but one that is personally calming and also advances production and improves efficiency. This applies to any industry and I try to keep this in mind when designing. Tackling multiple facets of design is an effective way of being challenged as a designer, being able to dictate the design and not let it decide for you.

For me, details within a design that allude to manufacturing practices illustrate the best of craft: the injection molding points hidden under a handle, invisible stress points stiffened by ribbing, or how a seam line is conveniently placed to miss an undercut in the molding process. Aspects like these are a part of the design in my eyes and when done correctly can positively benefit the final product. Taking charge of every detail and not letting it up to engineers who are looking for the easiest option creates cohesion and an intelligible design. As in many kinds of work, revision shapes who you are and gives you a moment to better understand

Brian Ferreira

your audience. This revision is necessary in design as it supports your design thinking and the expectations involved in a collaborative process.

When I’m working within a brief, my design thinking takes on an analytical lens, as I look at what my goals are and to what degree each can be accomplished. Designing with a user in mind helps me to paint a clearer picture of the direction to head in while designing broadly allows me to reach a larger audience. On the other hand, designing too niche might be the perfect solution to a problem no one has. Designing within expectations is important to a user’s understanding. Fulfilling expectations is a way of making something recognizable, which can be advantageous because it affirms a user’s prior knowledge and beliefs. When a function like a power button is immediately recognizable to a user their confidence in the product improves whereas a less recognizable power button might raise confusion and frustrations. On the other hand, informality can also work when pursuing a design. Breaking from trends can make the design stand out from the rest, demonstrating creativity, innovation, and ultimately resonating more with the user.

Exploring what I want to achieve with each design informs the feel and characteristics of the final product. For example, when creating a toy for a child, I meet with parents and their children to get a sense of personality. My overall goal with everything I

Boblo Band, 2024. CAD Modeling and rendering software

do is to create the personification of a person; that same toy could be bulbous or wavy, geometric or jagged, depending on the specific person I am aiming to connect with and how design goals are set. If a design is intended for aquatic play, a spherical form might encapsulate—and communicate—safety and buoyancy. A good design isn’t favored because it is simply a good design but rather, decisions and understanding have been implemented so that the user can understand and make the most of the piece. A good design requires both parties to understand or it becomes nonsensical. If you have no consideration for the audience and their prior knowledge, the success of a product could fall short as a result of the user’s comprehension being stunted.

People like Dieter Rams or Jony Ive, and products like HT Huang’s Toucan Table Lamp, represent craft in their respective industries, and by using the available manufacturing achieve simple yet beautiful works. Connecting to what I design is very important and often the reason why the products I design are lighthearted. I find that offering people a piece of their past is a great way to connect and get to know them. Understanding yourself helps you understand your audience as things that are impactful to you might have the same effect for them. In recent years there has been a wave of hyper-minimalist and often dystopian design; to avoid that crutch I have been trying to bring life into things. In seeing how design can impact an individual or a larger demographic, I am making myself accountable to try and bring a personal touch to what

they see and feel.

The material I work with also contributes to the direction of a piece—the feel, workability, and natural presence. These considerations come with working physically and offer something that digital creation might lack. By converging different methods of thinking, such as physical and digital, designs can tell the whole story, taking the user through each process the item underwent, from research and iteration to final product. For instance, when I designed a pediatric thermometer physical foam modeling made ergonomics experimenting easier and facilitated rapid iteration. Elements can then be refined through CAD while focusing on final materials and technologies. It took multiple design methods to create a product that speaks to the craft and effort I put into it.

With a variety of different types of media and inspirations, I tell personal stories relating to culture, adoption, and family to connect with others who may feel unseen and unsure of their place in the world. The body of my craft is storytelling. When we think about craft, we often imagine a tangible object or the making of one; however, I believe craft is the art of an individual’s process. Taking an idea, in my case a memory, and carefully forming it into a piece of art, I am able to connect with and better understand a material or subject in order to create something out of it. The relationship is personal and intimate, even if unconscious. Craft is present from the beginning to the end of the creative act, and it starts with the story.

My story is visioned in the cocoon of my brain as a web with intricate details and layers. Together, they create the full image of my life. My story is not linear. Each piece of silk holds a memory. The process of selecting a memory to weave into an idea is a delicate step in my craft. This step is meaningful as I choose, hoping to connect with an audience that will take comfort and solace in the artwork. When I’m putting these thoughts into a physical form, the media I use varies depending on the emotion, event, or theme of the story. For instance, when illustrating a memory that is distant and a bit fuzzy, I might choose a material like watercolor that has a soft, subdued effect. The process of using this material also aligns with the emotion and physicality of the

memory, as I find the application to be slower and more patient than other paint mediums. Working with watercolor reminds me of the gentle sense of time I experience between the present and the distant past. This correlation of medium and thought, as well as the initial steps of bringing a memory to a physical plane, is a craft in itself. Making the intention of the artwork palpable is a process.

In a more typical sense, craft comes into play as the selected material is used. Each line, stroke, and placement takes consideration and thought. The connection I feel between the medium and my stories is evident, as they are the physical bridge that lie between my audience and me. I believe the understanding of a material well enough to create something from it is essential in the craft process. Familiarity is very relevant in my application of media.

Lastly, the study of craft as it is practiced by others is significant in my process. I love to try different methods of creating, and I am always thinking of the next way to present my stories. I often turn to the fine lines, gritty texture, and slightly fantastical nature scenes of Karlotta Freir. Though I know not every one of Freir’s pieces shares a personal story, her quiet but powerful compositions speak volumes. I am consistently able to pull my own narratives from her work, whether it is on purpose or not. Turning to others helps me broaden my horizons and bring my own visions to life in

Memoir Cover, 2024. Watercolor, digital 7.5 x 10.5”

ways that correspond to the stories I want to tell. In a recent comic I do just this, translating the inspiration I see in Freir’s work into my own style. Fine lines are juxtaposed with bold scenes and colors chosen to convey emotion, delivering a story that is deeply personal to me. Though I do not share this story straightforwardly, as I do in many of my other works, such as Memoir Cover, others can still relate to the emotion captured in the piece. Connection is the essence of my being and the sole purpose of my craft.

“Every human being is an archeological site. What passes for root is actually a matter of sediment, of accretion, of change and juxtaposition.” –Luc Santa, The Factory of Facts

Through painting I create a visual feast, giving the viewer an intimate glimpse of my life. I bind my work to a mythological lens. I am intellectualizing and simultaneously sheltering my own experiences and circumstances thus far. I find gratification in creating narrative work without making the narrative explicit to others. I am not interested in sewing my biography into my paintings for people to interpret, but rather allowing the stories to be symbolic and private. My work perches between academic painting and allegory, fiction, and memoir. Making metaphors of animals, objects, and environments, I work within visual aliases. I can transform my emotions and physical being into subjects that live on my canvases. The figures, glowing and vibrating, engulf their scene’s territory, within and beyond the margins of the canvas. As viewers approach the paintings they are confronted with their own diminutive size in comparison to the titans. Within my work I hope for my viewers to be challenged, with questions about what they are looking at and what the meaning is. The intention behind the paintings is to invite people to project themselves into the world of the titans and animals, or to lose themselves in a moment of the artwork. My desire is

to electrify interest in my visuals and explore how an individual can make storytelling both a private and public way of creating. Just as myths can be internalized, with biased resonance and reaction, as will my paintings.

Spectators, 2024. Oil on canvas, 45 x 60 x 1.5”

, 2024. Oil on canvas, 48 x 36 x 1.5”

She-Wolf

I am but a corvid. Whatever sparkles in the sunlight is devoured by my eye. To be a writer is to read. There is nothing I would not attempt to consume, but that is not to say I do not have personal taste. Existentialism grounds me, an intangible plane that Kundera presented and Kafka perpetuated. It was Peter S. Beagle that introduced fantasy literature, setting the framework for my particular taste for nonsense. I became inspired by idioms, wordplay, and puns, utilizing definition and rule to rearrange the expectation of a phrase. Psychological horror is an intersection of these whimsical delights, contorting the grotesque into the frivolously overthought.

There is not yet a great masterpiece, a memoir or manifesto of my beliefs that is definitive and true. Although they have not been organized as such, the words that I craft as individual pieces are connected in unseen ways. My anthology is augmented with each poem, documented dream, email, great idea promptly forgotten, opinion, and perspective. Unintentional wording, word without thought, is riddled with subconscious and should be revered appropriately. Even my non-textual work insists upon involving text. Stamped onto garments or scrawled in metal on metal, there is always more to say.

It is often the urge to write that strikes before the sentence itself. The ink bleeds into letters when they plan on speaking for themselves. “You

think too much!” is what they often have to say. They can be shrill. While occasionally galling, they have a point. Instead of me, I let the pen do the thinking. Focusing on my handwriting instead of the words. When looking to call upon them for a purpose, I converse with myself aloud to see what is to be said (this may be considered the verbal version of the previous method).

Writing is not only necessary but inevitable—there is an urgency that feels passionate instead of panicked. The principal is perennial, positively kismet. I have a better grip upon the reality of each sentence with each one that I write, so I may just go on and on and on. And on and on until I may rule in the place of King Azaz.

I cannot foresee a future in which I am not writing. Despite me, there are words.

Scratch Block Name Plate, 2024. Iron, 5 x 5”

At the beginning of “25 Essential Notes on Craft,” Mathew Salesses writes that craft is a set of expectations. In fashion, my major, standards run rampant. People wear clothing everyday and have set expectations of what a garment should look like. Not only is craft enforced by those who make clothes, but by those who buy and wear them as well. I love this as a starting point. As a designer, I am always trying to break down expectations as a way of pushing my own art. But you must engage in the standards of craft to break them, another point made by Salesses.

Before sewing my understanding of garment construction was nonexistent. I remember my sophomore year of high school my art teacher showing me how things were sewn inside out, and needed to be flipped and turned in different ways to be completed. Although in essence this is very simple, the act of sewing two pieces of fabric and folding them in such a way as to have a clean and tailored piece… can be challenging, to say the least. In many cases it is less about the difficulty of the task than it is about how much you’re willing to submit to it, spending extensive time doing the same thing over and over again until it feels like second nature, as if you were born with it.

The beauty of clothing for me is not only the end product in a store or on stage, but how people engage with my work, whether it’s touching the fabric, feeling the individual topstitching,

watching how the form drapes and shapes around the body. Craft is deeply rooted in individual experiences, as each person’s engagement with craft is entirely different, based on their cultural background, hobbies, personality type. All of these different factors are crucial to the well-defined story. In many cases this is what craft takes shape as—a story.

Craft would not exist without culture, craft is culture. The different nuances of how things are done, style and technique, the history of how things are made—it is impossible to advance in any field without understanding these elements. Without understanding comes a lack of cohesion, and other problems that can manifest in your work. Whether issues in construction, how your message is getting across to your audience, how different things work or blend together. This is not to say that understanding can’t be learned. It takes time. With any development, you must commit yourself to learning the finer details, and with due diligence your storytelling will only become stronger and more insightful.

In relation to storytelling, I love using materials like denim or canvas to construct garments such as jeans, jackets, etc. My love for denim specifically is in relation to its fading properties. Over time the indigo on the fabric naturally chips off with wear and tear, leaving fading and marks across clothes. What I love so much about these gestures is how they

humanize my work. I choose to see what I create in many ways as a canvas for the human body. Its purpose is to reflect not only the physical wear of its user, but to entrap part of their soul as well. Every garment that has ever been worn has a piece of soul in it, a slice of life given to it by the person who wore it. I like framing my work in this way for my audience as it skyrockets the art to the next level. I think of my craft similar to a Mad Libs book, where I am giving you the framework for you to fill in the blanks, ultimately defining your own path. Jeans are universal in many regards, and act as the perfect gateway for people to feel themselves while engaging in my art and thinking. I am always trying to advance my thinking and art simultaneously, as they are directly connected. As my art grows my ability to perceive the world around me does as well, and when I expand my mind through learning and experience, the meaning of my work becomes much richer, the details of my storytelling more concise.

To be able to properly write any story, it is important to do research and have command over your subject, especially when tapping into different cultures, their crafts and techniques. Different cultures develop their own specific ways of procuring their craft, and it is important as an outsider if you want to engage in these crafts, to have, not only a deep understanding and appreciation for the subject, but respect for the culture as well. A great example of this in my own work is my use of sashiko, a traditional Japanese technique of decorative straight stitches that stand for little stabs. This style was commonly used to reinforce fabric and clothes. It has

been around since the 1600 –1700s, and was originally meant as a way for poorer individuals who couldn’t afford silk to create their traditional robes. Their robes would be stitched together using scrap pieces of fabric, typically linen or indigo dyed cotton. These small pieces stitched together are called boro, and represent the style of piecing using sashiko stitching. Something like this distinction is very important when engaging in craft from a different culture, as not only are you explaining its usage in your own work, but representing, in a sense, or showcasing, for those who have been doing it for hundreds of years before you.

As I continue to grow my art and understand my craft, I am constantly trying to question what I do and why I do things. I think Salesses’ final point, that “[t]he considerations here are not only aesthetic” really shines through in my mind. Things like small visual changes to work that require no forethought are enforced by preconceived experiences and notions throughout our lives. Liking things can go deeper than just thinking something looks good, it’s rooted in specifically who we are, and who we perceive or understand others to be. Preconceived notions have no basis in fact, only personal opinion screwed by our experiences. I try to separate myself from this bias in many ways when refining my work. Specifically I’ll try and make things that I wouldn’t otherwise be into. This part of the creation process in relation to craft is super important for my work as it gives you a final answer. If you finish the project and you like it, you need to consider what swayed your mind,

how your opinion might change, what techniques or ideas did I learn from doing this? On the flip side, if you finish and you still don’t like it, think, did I learn anything from this experience, could I change any details that might make me like this more? Do I have a better understanding as to why others enjoy this instead of me?

I expect to engage in the craft of sewing and fashion as a whole till the day I die, meaning that until then I will still be growing and changing the inner workings of what I do. I shall continue to live life as a sponge, a curious household item or sea creature, consuming not only sewing, but all aspects of life, from the shells on the beach and the wind across the grass to conversations with my friends, the bruises and cuts on our skin. Anything has the ability to manifest in your art and advance your thinking, it’s up to you to choose to experience aspects of life previously unknown to you to get the best shot.

As an artist with a versatile approach to media, I find my work can be interpreted in many ways. Rather than imposing a grand meaning or bold message on my work, I leave it to the viewer to engage with the piece freely. I have several objectives when creating a work of art but experiencing the physical act of creation, feeding my passion for the subject matter, and fulfilling client requirements are primary.

While I consider myself a mixed-media artist, I have a preference for working in ink. Using ink allows me to explore value, form, and expressive lines, instilling confidence in the work and elevating the quality of every piece. The tactile experience of using a pen nib and ink is extremely rewarding. In the realm of 2D art the physicality of crafting a piece is much different from that of its 3D counterpart. In 2D we start with a flat canvas most of the time and build out imagery that communicates a form whereas in 3D you start with material and manipulate it into another form. Though I am not a sculptor, I revel in creating form in space, albeit on paper. I enjoy trying to convince the viewer that a 2D material is 3D such as with my acrylic triptych Deep Blue (2024) in which I am attempting to give the viewer the feeling that they are actually immersed in the watery scene.

The choice of medium is closely tied to the subject matter of a piece. For portraits I gravitate towards ink, leveraging its etching quality to

capture intricate details. The soft but captivating hatching possible with ink tends to translate hair and skin textures believably. I utilize this in my Self-Portrait (2024) to convey the softness of hair and skin. If I was attempting a more narrative-driven scene with more organic elements I would lean towards acrylic for its denser texture and blending capabilities. While any medium can be used in a multitude of ways, some tools and materials lend themselves to specific endeavors. My creative process begins with quick sketches and once I have the general aesthetic established I can make the decision on medium to inform the rendering process.

As an illustrator, a huge part of my creative process depends on the creative needs of a client. If I am hired by a company my end goal is to make a quality piece of work that satisfies their requirements and aligns with the company’s target points. Despite constraints, whether from commercial guidelines or personal preferences, my style and voice shine through. Client requirements can actually serve as a catalyst for creativity, providing a framework for innovation to flourish. Established guidelines in my practice also help combat the challenge of coming up with revolutionary ideas and in some cases spark the idea.

While my art is informed by medium or the brief for an assignment, it often has no specific meaning behind it, allowing viewers to interpret it subjectively. I aim to create

Self-Portrait, 2023. Pen and ink, 9 x 12”

aesthetically pleasing pieces with a multifaceted function in the world, whether that be for personal reasons or professional requests. Achieving resolution in a piece is gratifying. Painting that last highlight and signing off the work is a wonderful feeling. In the long run, however, the physical act of crafting a piece is my favorite part and what drives my future creative projects.

Mediocre Skies, 2023. Acrylic on paper, 12 x 16”

Through multiple forms of printmaking, I create imagery that explores the struggles, tensions, and, ultimately, the reconciliation between my religious upbringing and my identity as a queer individual. Printmaking is a questionable practice for those outside the field, for whom the techniques are tied to outdated purposes. Processes like etching, lithography, and screen printing have contemporary replacements that allow for faster, easier reproduction, so what’s the point? But printmaking in fine art today is more about expression than making thousands of t-shirt designs. In my work, the message I am trying to convey in each print influences which processes I choose to use. With commercially “outdated” techniques, I can leverage process and material to add layers of depth to each print I pull.

The particular techniques I select forward my imagery and ideas about religion, gender, and sexuality, establishing connections with the history of printmaking and drawing attention to the repetition of the image. The idea of the repeated image was important during the Renaissance, in Byzantine art, and even in more ancient times, when depictions of God and religious figures first spread across great distances. During times where the average person could not read or write, people relied on images. As religions grew with civilizations, artists and artisans depicted religious characters in a universal way that people could understand

across culture and community. In Christianity, Jesus would usually have long hair, a white robe, a halo around his head, and depending on the image, cuts in his palm and torso, showing his wounds from the crucifixion. Mary often wore blue, a veil, and was often holding baby Jesus. The power of the repeated image was crucial to the overall understanding of people without access to bibles, or people who did not know how to read.

The quality of an image is relevant to my practice and intimately tied to craft. Since printmaking techniques are all done by hand, there is great room for error. It is extremely easy to pull a poor screen print. Once one of your layers is messed up, you can’t use that print. Learning how to wipe a copper plate or how to properly grain and process a stone are things that take time. It is easy to over wipe a piece of copper, and even easier to under wipe it, but once the techniques become second nature, pulling that perfect print is the best feeling. The attempt to create perfect “editions,” or exact copies, from print to print, allows the printer to hone in on becoming more mechanical, machine-like, or maybe rhythmical is a better word, like a dancer nailing their steps. Working with multiple matrices or substrates is something that interests me, as my work speaks of times in my life where multiple things were present, creating a push and pull against one another.

Worship After Hours, 2024. Polyester plate lithograph and monotype, 22 x 15”

I Am But a Lamb, 2024. Stone lithograph with silk screened text, 5 x 7”

I hate for good things to fall into the wrong hands, such as a handsewn Hmong story cloth condemned to a 30 year old’s soulless seaport condo or a Waspy Nantucketer’s beachside home. This, to me, would be like displaying a Mark Ryden painting in the vacuum of space (an object of personality in a place devoid of culture). I can hardly say that my illustrations compare to the skill and refinement taken to construct a story cloth or Ryden painting, however, I fear that my artwork may meet such a fate. This anxiety partly fuels my desire to create unnerving art. Although I make plenty of pleasant and easy to consume imagery, I have a love for grotesque and odd things, which are equally present in my illustrations. I use my love of traditionally unpleasant imagery as a tool for self-preservation. My less palatable artwork acts as a barrier which fortifies my more attractive work from those I egotistically deem unfit to appreciate it. In composing artwork that is chockfull of absurdity and displeasing imagery, I make certain that my art is indigestible to yuppie suburbanites and similarly unwelcome viewers. My more palatable work, on the other hand, focuses on the bare elements that make it appealing. Color, shape, and mark making are aspects of art that I find fascinating and frequently utilize to make traditionally appealing work. These same elements are similarly implemented in my less palatable work, however, it takes viewers who are equally intrigued by peculiar imagery to truly appreciate it.

This work is typically in the form of ink drawings, as well as graphite, charcoal, and occasionally digital design. I most commonly work with these mediums but also explore with various paints as a means of including color. Exploration is crucial to my current studio practice, which has yet to reach a concise state. At the moment my practice and ambitions are in an amorphous larval stage—too ambiguous to decisively point to one path. My sketchbook experimentation with mark making, texture, pattern, color interaction, and different mediums and paper types has rendered me too enthralled with minute details to devote myself to a larger overall process or goal. My different obsessions and curiosities pull my attention in every direction. Currently I put emphasis on creative exploration and further developing my basic skills so I can generate stronger work. Honing my craft I am able to make more effective deterrent and more easily develop my concepts from how I envision them.

Fashion design is a craft that includes a balance of creativity, technical skills, and cultural awareness. The core of this craft is creating garments and accessories that not only serve a practical purpose but also express the unique identity and aesthetic of the designer. Sources of inspiration are drawn from multiple different realms such as art, nature, history, and culture. In my own craft, I draw inspiration from architecture and interior design. This makes my design aesthetically clean and minimal and allows me to play with a lot of asymmetry and deconstruction. I start my project by creating a moodboard with images to inform my silhouettes and color palette, then proceed to explore and experiment through illustrating ideas, draping the fabric on dress forms, and finding materials to bring my ideas to life.

The heart of the craft of fashion design is the ability to transform abstract ideas and emotions into tangible creations. With a strong knowledge of color theory and textile qualities, I am skilled at selecting materials that provide the desired drape, texture, and functionality for an aesthetically appealing piece. Whether it’s the luxurious flow of silk, the architectural look created by stiff organza, or the floaty appearance of chiffon, each fabric choice contributes to the overall appearance and narrative of the collection or garment. At the same time, designers require a strong knowledge of pattern-making and garment construction techniques

Larita Sok

to successfully execute their ideas. Pattern-making is not one of my strong suits. My solution to this problem is to be organized with basic patterns for every garment I can find, which I can easily modify and alter for the garments I want to create next.

As part of their technical proficiency, fashion designers pay close attention to detail. In my own making, every inch of the seam, stitch, and embellishment is carefully considered or placed to achieve the desired silhouette and finish. When it comes to hand-sewing, it can get very stressful and complicated. But sewn details add important depth and the designer’s personal touch to each garment. Looking at an example from my own making, I love adding pleats to create texture and an interesting silhouette. This gesture elevates my minimal and clean silhouette, turning each piece into wearable art, or architecture, depending on how you look at it.

Time management and adaptability are also essential aspects of this craft. Fashion design is time consuming and labor intensive, requiring commitment and dedication. I tend to work based on bursts of inspiration and motivation. Therefore I try to be effective with my time, balancing out various tasks and meeting deadlines. When a project is given to me I will have a plan or schedule of what to do up until the deadline. Between those times I also give myself breaks and try to be flexible with other tasks. Fashion is a craft that you cannot rush

Larita Sok, Retrofuturist Revival, 2023. Portfolio page, 11 x 14”

Larita Sok, Retrofuturistic Revival, 2023. Portfolio page, 11 x 14”

or get through without planning. This has become evident to me through previous work where I had to rush due to time management; rushing is not a great experience as reflected in that piece.

My garments and designs reflect my personal interest and aesthetic. Drawing inspiration from the world around me, fashion of the past, and my love for architecture. Knowing my inspiration and intended message has allowed me to showcase stronger concepts throughout my design journey. Fashion is a multi-step process that involves various factors that lead to succeeding in the craft. Moving forward, I hope to create designs and garments that connect with people through storytelling. I aim to try out new aesthetics in order to become a well-rounded designer with the ability to work with clients’ desires as well as my own.

Eyeballs, 2023. Felt, 4 x 6”

Felted

To Them

To them, craft is a dirty word. Craft is cutesy stuffed animals, hideous scarves, and ill-fitting sweaters wrapped up and served on a platter as weaponized Christmas presents. Craft is womens’ work designed to keep our hands busy and our loins docile for when our husbands return from war. Craft is clichéd, craft is a crocheted granny square afghan passed down from your Great Aunt Carol, who intended for it to be used as a decorative accent piece, not a rag for you to mop up your spilled dirty bong water with. Craft is nothing more than prehistoric practices, old, outdated, and dusty.

To Us

To those around me, either in an academic, studio, or institutional setting, craft through the lens of fibers is still a cuss word but not quite a swear. It is accepted as a relative to fine art, but not yet a family member allowed to sit at the “adults table.” Instead, fiber crafts are still confined to an awkward sort of criss-cross applesauce pose. This is not said to imply that fibers deserve to sit pretty on a higher horse than all other 3D mediums, but to point out the blaring irregularities in quality control and reputation that fibers and textiles face on a daily basis. The ongoing fight to be considered a legitimate player in the art world is a grueling and consistent kick to the artist’s psyche. At the end of the day, all you can do to combat this is to make work that is deliberately profound and pushes against the

boundaries of what qualifies as fibers, textiles, and craft.

To Me

To me, craft is a soft and comforting word. Craft is a more intimate and curious approach to a sharp and pointy world. Between a warp and a weft lies craft. Craft cannot exist without fibers, and fibers cannot exist without craft. My work relies on historic practices and techniques to tell new stories about the body, mind, and soul. My work is the offspring of joy, curiosity, and despair, smooshed together into one beautiful and otherworldly form. My work is soft and malleable but always with the distinct touch of the hands and repetitive motions. My love affair between bulk materials and layers upon layers of experimental material manipulation is unexpected. Craft within fibers is always to touch and be touched.

A Caster’s

In the times when I don’t deem to call myself an artist, I call myself a maker. People often call themselves makers in place of other terms because of the difficult associations that come with the term Artist with a capital “A”. The title is weighed down by a pretentious past and long standing tradition of telling people what is and isn’t institutionalized enough to be referred to as Art. Others have the tendency to call themselves makers, with a lowercase “m”, because that’s what their mothers, mentors, or teachers were—makers of a particular craft. Although I refer to myself as an artist (lowercase “a”, please and thank you) most frequently, I find myself relating to those who reclaim the name for their mentors. As a mold maker and metal caster, I cannot make art without the skills that have been taught to me and the knowledge that has been passed down to me by my teachers. My work does not exist without the craft traditions that have come before it.

As an artist, I have many friends who create by dreaming up an idea or a question and instinctively beginning to make the art from that idea or question. As an “artist-researchermaker,” I have a different process. I struggle to begin working on anything until I know the steps of how I am going to bring it into existence. There is as much a relationship between the idea and the creation as there is between history and process of craft. When it is taught, craft is a living, breathing tradition. These craft

traditions are constantly being lived and re-lived through the learning and teaching of mixing, spruing, connecting, chasing, casting, and finishing in the objects I make. Craft is as integral to the understanding of my work as it is inseparable from my thought process. It is important to both my artistic practice and my academic research practice.

Craft is an expression of personhood and means of carrying culture. Whether that be linked to regional, ethnic, or national identity or to the community and family of makers that one belongs to. This is a family one belongs to not by blood, but by sweat and hard work. Tied up in these traditions are the tools, spaces, and craftspeople involved in metalsmithing, forging, fabrication, and alchemical realization. In the past, my castings have mused on makers’ relationships with their tools, as well as the blurred lines between a workshop tool and a mobility aid. I have made iron life castings of my own hands, tipped with bandages from workshop cuts and burns or “furnace kisses”. I have also made bronze versions of hand tools including hammers, plumb bobs, and miniature anvils. This theme of tools as objects of reverence is an example of the importance of craft in my work. The love and care manifested through the hard work and precision of craft is equally relevant. Craft is often used as a metaphor for the creation of the universe; life sculpted from clay, time woven in yarn, and fate cast in bronze.

It is safe to say that not only my practice, but my universe is defined by craft.

Oil paint has been around for centuries, but first rose to popularity during the Renaissance, because the nature of the paint allowed the old masters to work in multiple layers, which expanded the achievable range of values and depth of color. Painters of the time developed techniques that were passed down from master to apprentice through generations over hundreds of years. The paintings themselves have proven incredibly stable, many still in excellent condition today. Countless other historic art forms have fallen out of practice and been lost to time, but fortunately, these methods of oil painting have endured.

Historical paintings have always been especially alluring to me, perhaps because of the storied and complex craftsmanship they exhibit. I was eager to learn to paint in oil at a young age so I taught myself through experimentation, as it would be several years before I received any type of formal instruction. In my time working alone, I stumbled upon a few techniques that I would later discover have been practiced for hundreds of years.

My practice today still leans heavily on what I taught myself, but is enriched by the instruction of others. Just as when I was young, I am heavily influenced by the craft of oil painters throughout history, adopting and altering their techniques in my own process. I begin each painting by creating a

texture on the canvas with gesso, then fleshing out an underpainting in Raw Sienna and white. Although the gesso, brushes, and pigments have evolved significantly, this practice of underpainting is largely unchanged since its emergence in the fifteenth century. Once the first layer is fully dried, I apply a variety of both transparent and opaque paint to build up surface texture and intricate color. There are many small steps throughout this process that are as old as oil painting itself, such as oiling a dried layer of paint before applying a fresh coat. When it comes time for me to do a step like this, I like to imagine my hands as the hands of all the artists that have come before me, completing the same task. The act of creation becomes almost spiritual, and the completed painting always pales in comparison.

The classical paintings that exist today are lasting records of the artists’ understanding and enactment of their craft. There is a bewitching quality one feels when in the presence of an old painting, where you can almost inhabit the same space as the artist, and imagine your own hands holding the brush. When whole periods of paintings are considered together, they suggest the sharing of knowledge, and the repetition of countless small practices by many different hands. This is the magic of a piece of art and a medium that lasts centuries: It allows you to travel through time. This is the inspiration for my paintings. I aim to explore human

Greenhouse, 2023. Oil on canvas, 24 x 36”

experience outside of the constraints of the space and time in which we live. I draw inspiration from the natural world, the human form, the fall of light. This is evident in my piece Requiem (2024), which I created for Handel and Hyden’s performance of Brahms’ Requiem in April. I reflect on the grand and spiritual nature of the music in my portrayal of a figure floating high above the ground, suspended amidst an imposing formation of clouds and light. I also find inspiration in dreams, as I believe our dreams are an honest, if sometimes confusing, glimpse into our lives. I based my piece Greenhouse (2023) on a place I sometimes dream about flying through. The silhouette of an anonymous figure can barely be seen in the reflection on the glass. Although each of these paintings themselves is a byproduct of the process, they are perhaps my only connection to artists of the future. I like to imagine that one day in the future, a painting of mine will feel familiar to another artist, and they will be inspired to create something new, connecting us all through time.

Alan Rivers Painting ’25

Angela Buonocore Printmaking ’24

Brian Ferreira Industrial Design ’25

Callie Ware Illustration’ 26

Fallon Lavertue Painting ’24

gem conway Fashion Design, Creative Writing ’26

Jarrett Daniels Fashion Design ’25

Jasmine Eastman Illustration ’25

Jerman Montanez Printmaking ’25

Luc Kai Buffonge Illustration ’26

Larita Sok Fashion Design ’25

Phoebe Petryk Fibers ’24

Ruby Gonzalez History of Art, Sculpture ’24

Valerie Diehl Illustration ’25

The Brant Gallery provides a forum for interdisciplinary, cross-cultural curriculum development through its exhibition program, lecture series, and artist residencies. The gallery expands the boundaries of the Studio Foundation department by introducing students to contemporary art, craft, and design from a local and global perspective.

Helen Miller, visiting professor and curator of the Brant Gallery, collaborated with students on editing this Brant Paper.

Design: Dandelion

Craft and its relationship with canon and tradition are undergoing redefinition in the arts. The transformation is propelled by other paradigm shifts in art and education, most notably the turn to equitable and culturally responsive teaching and socially engaged art and design.

Craft in the Real World, a year-long series of events and dialogue across disciplines, contributes to MassArt’s understanding of these trends and opportunities, and their roots in the relationship between craft and world, culture and identity.

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