Fish Factory, Stöðvarfjörður, Iceland // Mar. 25
(coming soon...)
Arteles Creative Center, Haukijärvi, Finland // Feb. 25
a full circle return.
returning to arteles in the same month as the year before was a quiet full circle moment. a lot has changed - and yet the land felt familiar. the studio air at the blue house, the light through the windows facing the fields, the circle where i laughed through a snowball fight with my friends, alison, axelle, and kane. and then, there was also the heavy grief that sat on my chest like a rock. as i moved through all of that while building my installation: the story of statatolia, the full circle moment reached its epiphany when i found a bag of clay i left behind last year, still sitting in the supply closet.
for the next few days, i sat on the floor with that clay, holding it in my hands, realizing how much i had walked through since i last touched it - the doubt, the transformation, the clarity that had reshaped me, and the healing i had gone through in order to be in this moment. i dumped the clay in an orange bucket of water and slowly broke it into tiny dumplings, piece by piece. as the clay softened, so did something in me.
i realized, most events in my life move in a gradual circle. what i had planted as intentions last year fruited in this very moment. and that was when i knew then the time has came for me to host a workshop: to share the process that had kept me close to myself - working with clay as a form of listening, using intuition both as canvas and collaborator, and inviting others into that space.
the idea became a time capsule project and even though I'm an incredibly sensitive being - and hosting workshop takes a lot out of me - this moment felt fulfilling. i spent the whole day flattened in bed, feeling the weight of it on my right shoulder. but at 8pm, i quietly set up the studio, laid out the cards, and began.
we started with three breaths holding hands, pulling cards. each artist wrote something to their future self, and tucked the letter away in the lilac envelops i prepared for them. some scribbled fast. other sat still for a long time. the room felt filled with invisible conversations: intimate, wordless, inward. when the writing slowed, i began showing them how i make spirit forms, and told stories of how these peculiar beings arrive through me. the planned two-hour workshop turned into four, with laughter, tears (mostly from me), quiet making, and some of the most meaningful conversations that could only exist in this magical time bubble.
this was more than a workshop, it was a threshold - between years, between selves. and i feel incredibly grateful to host it.
