Author: Theda Sandiford

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The Language of Materials: Art as Witness and Dialogue

The purpose of art is to lay bare the questions that have been concealed by the answers.
 — James Baldwin

My art confronts the unseen, the unspoken, and the deeply felt. I transform everyday materials—often discarded, often overlooked—into intricate works that challenge perceptions, provoke introspection, and bear witness to personal and collective experiences. Through my practice, I engage in conversations about race, gender, identity, and trauma, embedding within my pieces the stories and struggles that are often concealed beneath the surface of social discourse.

Materiality is at the heart of my work. I use found objects, textiles, marine debris, rope, beads, zip ties, and unconventional fibers to weave narratives of resilience and protection. These materials hold memory, energy, and history—I am drawn to the weight of objects that have passed through many hands, the textures that whisper of labor, care, and survival. By repurposing and recontextualizing them, I give voice to experiences that might otherwise be ignored. James Baldwin once said that the purpose of art is to lay bare the questions concealed by the answers, and that is exactly what I strive to do. My I Am My Hair series challenges microaggressions and the politics of Black hair, exposing the ways in which society polices personal expression. My Lost and Found series, created from fragments of the past—discarded netting, frayed fabric, twisted cordage—becomes a meditation on what is carried, lost, and recovered over time.

Through participatory projects like Free Your Mind, I invite the audience to become part of the dialogue, using art as a tool for healing, reflection, and community engagement. I encourage people to share their personal encounters with bias and discrimination, creating spaces where concealed experiences are laid bare, fostering empathy and understanding.

In an era when dominant narratives often seek to erase or rewrite history, my art insists on remembrance, on presence, on truth. It is both shield and mirror—offering protection and clarity in a world that often seeks to obscure. My work does not provide easy answers, but rather compels us to sit with the questions, to acknowledge the weight of silence, and to recognize the power of being seen.

Tangled In Time – close up 2
Tangled In Time – close up 3
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Breathe

the breath

of the ocean

connect

with cycles

of life

death

In her name

we find

creation’s embrace

infinite tides

Each wave a breath

Each breath a life

By Theda Sandiford

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Spring into Summer: Studio Time, Travel, and Art Adventures Ahead

It’s shaping up to be a beautiful, art-filled stretch of spring and summer, and I wanted to share what’s coming up in my world—especially for those of you in the NYC/NJ/PA area who’ve been asking when we can connect.

First stop: Jersey City! I’ll be in town April 6–15, working on an installation project and staying at my studio at 15 Wilkinson Avenue, #3B2. I’m carving out time to get deep into the work, but I’m also hoping to squeeze in some good conversation, studio visits, and inspiration—so if you’re nearby, let’s connect.

After that, it’s back home to St. Croix to prepare for our Jubilee Pilgrimage to Rome (April 19–May 1). I’ve been brushing up on my Italian since November, and I’m beyond excited to explore the art, food, architecture, and rhythm of Italy—Pompeii, the Colosseum, the Trevi Fountain, and so many little moments in between. Can’t wait to share glimpses of it all with you.

On our return, we’re headed to Nyack, NY, to spend a quiet week with my mom (May 2–7)—always one of the sweetest resets.

Then, things pick back up again quickly. On May 7, I’ll be installing work for the 1-54 Contemporary African Art Fair, which runs May 8–11 in downtown NYC. If you’re planning to attend, please let me know—I’d love to see some familiar faces!

Later this summer, I’m thrilled to have work included in Fiberart International 2025, opening at Brew Arts in Pittsburgh on June 19. I’ll be at the artist walk-through on June 21, then swinging through Jersey City again for a few days (June 22–26) before heading to Millersville, PA for the MAFA Conference, where I’ll be installing an interactive Emotional Baggage Cart experience.

If you’re in NY, NJ, or PA, let’s find a moment to catch up—whether it’s a studio hang, a shared meal, or an art adventure. Drop me a line and let me know what dates might work. I can’t wait to hear what you’ve been up to.

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March: Celebrating Small Wins

This month, I’m focused on noticing and celebrating the small wins that often get overlooked. In a world that sometimes measures success by big, public milestones, I’m finding joy in the quieter victories that keep me moving forward.

Completing an unfinished piece of art, mentoring a student through their first creative breakthrough, or building raised beds the prepare for the next growing season—these moments might seem small on their own, but they build toward something much larger. Acknowledging them helps me stay motivated and connected to my goals.

One particularly meaningful experience these past months is seeing how our first residency artists at Sky Garden have settled into the space. Watching someone else find inspiration here, has affirmed my belief in the power of this creative community. And the resulting feedback has been helpful in refining Sky Garden programming and the compound itself

As I work toward the longer-term project, launching the paid residency programming, I’m learning to embrace patience and trust in the process. There’s something grounding about celebrating what’s already been accomplished rather than focusing solely on what’s ahead.

These reflections remind me to pause and appreciate the journey. Progress isn’t always dramatic; often, it’s the steady accumulation of small, meaningful steps.

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Liminal Staff


Liminal Staff
Theda Sandiford
32x12x4”
Recovered marine line, sea tumbled, woven and knotted with alpaca wool, fabric, acrylic yarn, beads, shells, washers, vintage watch and deconstructed line
2024

Liminal Staff is an emblem of authority and sovereignty.  It stands as a sacred artifact, a conduit between worlds, bearing witness to the unseen threads that bind the past, present, and future. Crafted from recovered marine line, sea-tumbled and imbued with layers of memory, it is woven and knotted with alpaca wool, fabric, acrylic yarn, beads, shells, washers, vintage watch parts, and deconstructed line. Each element tells a story, a fragment of life reclaimed from the chaos of hurricanes, transformed into a vessel of spiritual protection and ancestral reverence.

This work emerges from the tension of being both tethered and adrift. It honors the countless lives lost to the Atlantic, the water graves of the enslaved, and the resilience of those who survived. The Liminal Staff bridges realms—living and dead, land and sea—echoing the pull of tides and the cyclical rhythm of existence. Conjure bags, locs of hair, and marine debris lend their essence to this creation, layering it with magic, memory, and the energy of reclamation.

We are water’s kin, caught in its perpetual embrace. This piece reminds us of our origins and the call of the ocean’s depths, where our spirits forever reside. Like the rivers that flow unerringly toward the sea, the Liminal Staff symbolizes our eternal connection to nature’s grace, the harmony between destruction and renewal, and the enduring strength of the human spirit to find its way home

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February: Building Structure into Creative Practice

Theda with Bottle Cap Pearls

This month, I’ve been focusing on the rhythms of my days, creating a structure that supports both productivity and joy. Balancing time between the studio, Sky Garden Gallery projects, and my commitments to Hidden Beach requires intentionality, but it’s rewarding to see everything coming together.

One thing I’ve found helpful is setting clear boundaries around my creative time. Mornings are now sacred for studio work. Whether I’m stitching, dyeing, or sketching, this uninterrupted time allows me to immerse myself in the process. Afternoons often shift to collaboration—mentoring residency artists or planning upcoming events, like our new Art Salon Dinner series.

Adapting to this structure hasn’t been without challenges. Some days flow effortlessly; others feel scattered. I’ve learned to be flexible and forgiving, recognizing that creativity isn’t always linear. Taking short breaks to walk Sky Garden STX or sit quietly under the canopy of the Saman tree often helps me reset.

This balance of structure and spontaneity has deepened my connection to my practice. I’m reminded that nurturing creativity is as much about showing up consistently as it is about staying open to inspiration when it comes.

As February ends, I feel grateful for the steady foundation I’m building. It’s a reminder that success doesn’t come from rushing toward goals but from weaving intention into the fabric of each day.

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I Keep Seeing 11, 1:11, and 11:11… EVERYWHERE

Have you ever caught yourself looking at the clock at just the right moment—11:11—or noticed 1:11 appearing on receipts, phone screens, or random places? Lately, these numbers have been showing up in my daily life with such consistency that I had to stop and reflect: What am I supposed to do with this message?

Understanding the Meaning

In numerology and spiritual traditions, repeating ones—11, 1:11, and 11:11—are often seen as signs of spiritual awakening, alignment, and manifestation. They serve as reminders that our thoughts, intentions, and actions are creating our reality. But beyond their meaning, what really matters is how we respond to these signs.

As an artist, I see the world in layers—meanings hidden beneath surfaces, waiting to be uncovered. When these numbers appear, I take them as cues to turn inward, realign with my purpose, and take intentional action in my life and creative practice.

Pause and Reflect

When I see 11:11, I take a deep breath. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and ask: What am I feeling in this moment? These numbers are an invitation to step out of autopilot and check in with myself. Am I feeling aligned with my path? Am I honoring my creative spirit? Sometimes, this moment of stillness reveals exactly what I need to hear.

Refocus My Intentions

Numbers like 1:11 and 11:11 remind me that my thoughts shape my reality. If I’m caught in a spiral of doubt or worry, this is my signal to shift my mindset. Instead of asking “Why isn’t this working?” I ask, What small step can I take today to move forward? This shift in focus keeps me grounded and empowered.

Take Aligned Action

Receiving these signs means nothing if I don’t respond to them. When these numbers appear, I ask: What is one action I can take right now to honor this message? Maybe it’s picking up my sketchbook, reaching out to a friend, or simply choosing to trust myself. These numbers remind me that change happens through small, intentional choices.

Stay Open and Trust the Process

Sometimes, I don’t immediately understand why these numbers appear, and that’s okay. Not every message needs to be deciphered right away. Instead, I trust that I’m being guided, even if the path ahead isn’t fully clear. The key is to remain open—to inspiration, to possibility, to unexpected opportunities.

What’s Your Next Step?

If you’re seeing 11, 1:11, or 11:11, take it as a moment to pause, reflect, and realign. What is the universe asking you to notice? What step, no matter how small, can you take today? These numbers aren’t just signs—they are invitations to step more fully into who you are meant to be.

Have you been seeing these numbers too? How do you respond when they appear? Let’s talk about it! ✨

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Shopping Cart Theory: A Test of Character

Have you ever thought about what happens after you unload your groceries? Do you return the shopping cart to its proper place or leave it in the parking lot? This simple decision is the essence of the Shopping Cart Theory, a concept that examines personal responsibility, ethics, and how we engage with the world when no one is watching.

The theory suggests that returning the cart reflects a sense of accountability and care for others, while leaving it behind might show a lack of consideration. It’s a low-stakes, everyday choice—but one that says a lot about our relationship with responsibility, empathy, and community.

This idea resonates deeply with my Emotional Baggage Cart series. Much like the shopping cart, the baggage we carry is often left unattended. Emotional wounds, microaggressions, and societal pressures pile up, and we’re rarely given the tools—or the time—to sort through them. But what happens when we take responsibility for that baggage? When we pause, reflect, and decide what to carry forward and what to leave behind?

In creating these sculptures, I’m exploring how we navigate the invisible loads we carry. Each Emotional Baggage Cart is layered with materials like zip ties, paracord, and vintage fabrics—metaphors for the weight of trauma, resilience, and healing. They’re a reminder that, much like returning a shopping cart, taking the time to confront our emotional baggage requires effort but ultimately makes the world a better place for ourselves and those around us.

Just as the Shopping Cart Theory invites us to consider our small, everyday actions, my Emotional Baggage Cart series asks us to reflect on our inner world. What are we carrying? What do we need to release? And how can our choices—whether in a parking lot or in life—help foster greater empathy and accountability?

By turning responsibility into ritual and art into reflection, we can lighten our loads, honor our stories, and contribute to a more connected, considerate world. After all, it’s not just about the cart—it’s about the journey.