What Does My Work Long For?

As I contemplate my artistic practice, I often think about what my work is striving for that and has not yet achieved. There’s an underlying desire propelling me, a current that urges each work to transcend mere objecthood, narrative, discourse, or structure. This aspiration has consistently been a crucial element of my creative methodology, particularly in how I address themes of motion, immobility, and the constructed environments that mould our experiences.

My present emphasis lies in my perception of architectural spaces, sensorially investigating the impact of architecture on my being, and more recently, expanding this notion to encompass ideas of transit, waiting, and the quotidian routines that govern our lives. I contemplate how individuals navigate through and inhabit constructed spaces, and the nuanced, often unspoken emotions that accompany these movements.

In my ceramic pieces and mixed media works, there’s a dialogue between movement and stillness – a tension that I’m always trying to understand more deeply. Architecture has always been a core focus, from the way a building influences our behavior to how public spaces orchestrate movement. This fascination is perhaps why I’m drawn to the work of architects like Richard Le Plastrier, whose designs interact harmoniously with their natural surroundings, creating spaces that are highly purposeful yet deeply resonant. Le Plastrier’s philosophy inspires my approach to capturing the intersection of the natural and the constructed, and it informs my exploration of how architectural forms can evoke a sense of rhythm, pause, and even confinement.

More recently since undertaking a  doctorate, I’ve been thinking about this interplay between movement and stillness through the lens of transit spaces – bus stops, train stations, and other areas where people are temporarily at rest yet still in motion. This is where my work begins to reach for something more. How can I translate the feeling of waiting, of being in a space that is both public and private, structured yet chaotic? This question drives my current explorations, as I seek to bridge the gap between the rigid lines of architecture and the fluid, unpredictable nature of human behaviour.

Artists like Amy Sillman offer insight into this balance. Her dynamic practice spans drawing, painting, and zines, treating each medium as a playground for exploration. Sillman’s zines, in particular, embody a freedom of expression that I admire – an ability to bypass the constraints of traditional formats and create something immediate, raw, and deeply personal. This resonates with my own exploration of how to capture the tension of movement and stillness, where even the act of waiting can carry a kind of silent motion, an unfulfilled but persistent energy. Zines have always represented freedom for me – freedom to express, to reflect, and to experiment without the constraints of traditional mediums. I see them as the ultimate tool of expression, allowing me to present anything I like, in any way I choose. The raw, unfiltered quality of zines enables a kind of honesty that I’m always trying to bring into my work. But my practice as a whole still seems to be searching for a way to integrate this freedom more seamlessly across different mediums.

I imagine a world where my ceramics, mixed media pieces, and zines all flow together, each piece building on the last, forming a cohesive narrative that invites viewers to move with it, to feel its rhythm.  In thinking about this integration, I’m reminded of Helen Carnac’s approach to ceramics, where surface, form, and movement merge into a unified whole. Carnac’s work engages directly with the tactile, the sensory, creating objects that are not just to be seen, but felt, touched, and experienced. It’s a kind of balance I strive for – where conceptual depth doesn’t overshadow the physicality of the work, but rather complements it, enhancing its presence.

Another element my practice craves is a more profound sense of personal truth. In creating zines, I find myself able to explore this more freely by leaning into vulnerability, allowing my thoughts and emotions to be laid bare on the page. However, how can this same rawness and willingness to confront the messiness of life be translated into the solid, tangible form of a ceramic piece that is abstract for the most part? I think about the work of Louise Bourgeois, who used her sculptures as vessels for deeply personal stories, turning abstract forms into powerful narratives of emotions and memory. There is a quiet courage in her pieces that I find inspiring, a way of using art to speak truths that might otherwise remain hidden. Movement, stillness, freedom, and connection – these are the elements that drive my practice and the things it continually strives for. I see this in the way I approach each piece, whether it is a form reminiscent of architectural structures, a mixed media work reflecting the textures of urban life, or a zine that captures fleeting and transient thoughts. It is a pursuit of balance, an attempt to make sense of the spaces between action and inaction, and between the noise of the everyday and the silence that accompanies it.

Ultimately, my practice is to find a dialogue between structured and unstructured, tactile, and conceptual. It is about seeking a way to connect the deeply personal with the universal, to use materials not just to make things, but to ask questions and explore what lies beneath the surface. I think of my ceramic pieces as moments of stillness and my zines as moments of freedom – each playing their part in a larger, ongoing conversation. Through my work, I am not just exploring architecture, transit, or routines. I am exploring the spaces where these elements intersect, collide, and coexist. There is a desire to bring these threads together to create a narrative that is fluid, cohesive and honest. I know this is a universal problem for artists; if you are not uncomfortable then …As long as this drive exists, my practice will continue to stretch and expand, and this constant question may produce some answers.

Guthrie.