Category: Ramblings

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Instagram Hack—A Quick Note from Me

Friends,

If you received a strange message from my Instagram recently asking you to “vote for me on Spotify”—please know, that wasn’t me.

My account was hacked and out of my control for three days. I deeply apologize for any confusion or inconvenience this caused. And for the record: there’s no such thing as voting on Spotify. I would never send a mass message like that. If I had a real personal ask, I’d send a text or make an old-fashioned phone call—especially if we haven’t spoken in a while.

The experience was frustrating and unsettling, but thankfully I’ve regained access and tightened my security settings.

Please stay vigilant—if it can happen to me, it can happen to anyone.

With gratitude and a side of cyber caution,
Theda

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Quite Truth From The Margins

Since losing my father this past Thanksgiving, I’ve been leaning more heavily on the quiet practice that has grounded me for decades: journaling. I’ve kept journals and scrapbooks since childhood, but it was reading The Artist’s Way in the ’90s that made writing a consistent part of my creative and emotional life.

These pages are where I process—ideas, emotions, memories, the mundane, the magical. After I finish a piece of art, I often return to what I was writing during its making. In those margins, glimmers emerge. Little phrases. Sensory echoes. Emotions I couldn’t name at the time. And from there, poems begin to form.

Until now, I’ve kept most of these poems to myself. They’ve always felt deeply personal—like offerings only meant for the page. But recently, I was encouraged to begin sharing them, not just as a part of my grieving process, but as an extension of my artistic one.

So here goes.

I’ll be sharing select poems in the weeks ahead—tender words that trace the undercurrents of loss, memory, and healing. They live between fiber and feeling, just like my art.

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May: Inspiration, Community, and the Power of Collaboration

This month has been a whirlwind—charged with shared energy, creative breakthroughs, and meaningful connections. From my pilgrimage to Rome for Jubilee 2025 to the 1-54 Contemporary African Art Fair in New York, NY Art Week exhibitions, and a return to my Jersey City showroom, one thing has become clear: collaboration and community are the lifeblood of my practice.

A standout moment was collaborating with artist and maker Nate Watson to build a custom loom lightbox for Entre Genres, a commission for Coty Infiniment Paris. I envisioned light passing through the weaving—refracted by suspended glass perfume bottles—capturing an ethereal, floating quality. Nate’s fabrication exceeded all expectations, and on a tight deadline. His generosity and expertise were instrumental in bringing this vision to life. I deconstructed marine line into soft fibers and wove airy, cloudlike gestures into the frame. The process opened new doors for me creatively—I’ve already started sketching a series of lightbox loom works inspired by this experience.

Morgan Mahape

Being immersed in art has been equally inspiring. Morgan Mahape’s beaded portrait at the 1-54 Fair stopped me in my tracks. The intricacy and emotion of the piece had me digging into my bead stash, suddenly seeing each bead like a pixel—tiny fragments forming a larger truth. That’s the power of great art: it reframes your perspective.

Spending time with other artists—talking technique, exchanging feedback, or simply standing in quiet reverence before a piece—has reminded me that art is never made in isolation. We are shaped by our conversations, our collaborators, and the environments we move through.

And yes, Rome was magical. Our trip began the same day Pope Francis passed away. We were among the first 100,000+ people to pay our respects during the wake at St. Peter’s Basilica. Standing before the frescoes, sculptures, catacombs, and icons I once only studied in books was surreal. Ancient cities built upon ruins of older cities—a living metaphor for layers of history and belief. I left with a deep desire to create a Threshold Altar installation, my own contemporary interpretation of iconography, spirituality, and faith. A slab of mahogany waits in my studio, alongside ritual items I’ve been quietly gathering. More soon on that.

This month, I’m filled with gratitude—for creative collaboration, for the artist community that surrounds me, and for the ongoing invitation to grow. Inspiration, after all, multiplies when shared.

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Warp & Weft Math (Without the Headache)

Let me tell you—I’ve done my fair share of weaving on unconventional looms with everything from paracord to denim strips and marine rope. But when I recently set up my custom 24″ loom with a ¼” EPI spacing, I needed to get precise. I didn’t want to run out of materials mid-weave, especially when I’m working with reclaimed fibers that can be hard to match.

Enter the Grist Yarn Calculator.

I stumbled across it while searching for a warp and weft yardage calculator and wow—game changer. Grist Yarn’s tool helped me take the guesswork out of figuring out exactly how much material I needed.

Here’s how it helped:

My Project Specs:

  • Loom width: 24″
  • EPI: 4 (¼” spacing)
  • Length of piece: 24″
  • Warp waste allowance: 12″
  • Weft take-up estimate: 15%

Plugging those into the calculator gave me the exact yardage I needed for both warp and weft—in minutes. No scribbled notes or mental math. It even accounts for take-up and loom waste, which can make a big difference when working with chunky or unusual materials.

What I Learned:

Even with all my hands-on experience, it was incredibly helpful to have a digital tool double-check my math. Especially when I’m planning a series or working with limited quantities of fiber, knowing my numbers saves time and stress—and helps me stretch every inch of my materials.

Have you used it? Got another tool you swear by? Drop it in the comments—I’m always looking for ways to make the math behind the magic a little smoother.

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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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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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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! ✨