The studio has been loud lately, not in sound, but in pull.
I’m working across multiple series at once, moving from one piece to another, then back again. Rope on one table. Foraged material drying in the corner. A vessel half-bound. A line of thought that won’t sit still. It feels a little ADHD in the studio, attention splitting, doubling back, chasing sparks before they cool.
It’s a gift and a curse.
Focus, for me, doesn’t look like a straight line. It looks like orbit. One piece unlocks another. Finishing something doesn’t close it, it opens a door. I’ll tie off one work and immediately see where it wants to go next. So I follow it, even if it means holding five things at once.
Right now, I’m in that stretch, finishing, resolving, pushing pieces to their edge while new ideas keep interrupting. I don’t fight it. I work like an octopus, reaching, holding, testing, building across everything all at once.
All of it is moving toward my solo show at Cane Roots Gallery in Christiansted, opening later this year. The work is rooted here, in St. Croix. New rhythms. New materials. New material histories. What the land offers. What the sea leaves behind. What the island reveals over time.
There are not enough hours in the day to bring every idea into the light. I’ve had to accept that. Some things will wait. Some will evolve. Some will never be made and that’s part of the practice too.
But what is here, what is becoming, is enough.
Each piece carries the imprint of this moment of working in motion, of holding many threads, of trusting that even in the scatter, there is a pattern forming.
I just have to keep my hands in it.
