Alright, Cynthia thanks for taking the time to share your stories and insights with us today. We’d love to hear about a project that you’ve worked on that’s meant a lot to you, but first can you take some time to bring our readers up to speed on you and what you do?

Thank you for the invitation to share my studio practice! I’m a visual artist working in St. Petersburg, Florida. I was trained as an architect in the 1990s and am fascinated by the overlap and edges of topographies. I make soft paintings that hang from the ceiling onto the floor and mixed media wall constructions that scramble painting and sculpture’s spatial and material codes.

My sculptural paintings expand dimensionally, as my love for materials results in folding, rolling, attaching, and stuffing porcelain, plaster, fabrics, shredded paper, and other mediums in haphazard or makeshift methods. I love to reveal how materials repel or merge, ooze and crack, how they patina and shift to show their existence. These material interactions create moments and intersections that reflect the complexity and fragility of reality in spaces not yet recognized. Examining the placement and characteristics of each material shifts us from recognition to pure perception.

There is an abject quality to my work—I strive for a balance between beauty and the grotesque. ‘In critical theory, abjection is the state of being cast off and separated from norms and rules, especially on the scale of society and morality.’ These types of forms may repel us, but invite a squeeze or a pinch: How do our desires implicate us? Over time, the sculptures sag. They slouch and turn impotent, challenging our desire for trust in systems and how we react when they fail.

You will also see a lot of grids in my work—as a former architecture student it was drilled into my being. Throughout history, the grid has been used to navigate space, chart new territories, and dominate and control. I use the grid as a point of reference for humans’ repeated failure to the environment and to ourselves. I also have to say that really love the grid, it serves as a place of solace.

One of the biggest influences is Architect Bernard Tschumi’s book ‘Questions of Space’. Tschumi interprets architecture as a reality in terms of not simply being about space and form, but also about events, action, and what happens in space. He proposes that architecture is composed of difference and opposition rather than synthesis and totality. Reality can never be fixed but is produced from isolated frames, disjunction, and abounding events.

Cynthia, thank you for that explanation of your studio practice. Is there a specific project you can share with us?

A project I would love to share with you is my mixed-media installation titled ‘Secret Garden’ (2022-2023) exhibited at the Wasmer Gallery at Florida Gulf Coast University in September 2023. In this site-specific installation, I draw parallels between our present-day climate crisis and the eruption of Mount Vesuvius in 79 AD—an event that entombed Pompeii and Herculaneum under volcanic pumice and ash for 1500 years. The installation is comprised of approximately 100 individual pieces of work.

Secret Garden explores the artificial nature of authority. In the age of the Anthropocene, humans carry untold influence over the natural order. We disrupt primal patterns, we cause systemic failure. This work dwells on that fraught relationship between humans and the natural world. Are we of this world, or are we invaders? In this bewildered moment, what authority do we have?

Drooping canvas, meteorite-like ceramics, glittering marble dust, and a grid-like architecture portray themes including the instability of our infrastructure, the inadequacy of our traditions, and humanity’s fraught interaction with the natural world.

‘Secret Garden’ is both bodily and geological. Its fleshy folds—unsettling yet familiar. Pieces of the body can be discerned: Sagging skin. Spines. Limbs and orifices.

Meanwhile, the forms have topographic peaks and valleys. They are gritty and gaping with holes and grottos. They gesture to the link between our skin and the earth’s crust and the faint line between the anthropogenic and the so-called natural. But these sculptures also gesture to our social systems and our infrastructure. Some are gridded, some are stacked. Some are tubed like aqueducts. In each, the armature itself is weak, and the constructions are crudely built. Internally, shredded junk mail acts as filler.

Pompeii has always been in the back of my mind since first learning about it 30 years ago in Art History Class: the intimate ritual spaces of its architecture; the trompe l’oeil painting techniques used; and the lush landscapes found in its gardens and fresco paintings. Referencing the painting of the serpent and fig tree from the House of Orchard, I embroidered a trace imprint of it on one of ‘Secret Garden’s’ hanging canvas walls. The serpent and the fig tree were both a sign of prosperity and female sexuality for the ancient Greeks and Romans. What fascinates me is how the meaning of imagery has shifted throughout human existence.

How the viewer’s body engages with my work is something I always consider. I want the viewer to have to shift their position to get the entire view. When we think about how our bodies relate to the space and objects around us we start giving our awareness more to the present moment. Our perception shifts when our body and mind are engaged, navigating space together. So when a viewer has to shift position—or turn to see what is going on behind a piece—they invest more awareness into that moment.

We often hear about learning lessons – but just as important is unlearning lessons. Have you ever had to unlearn a lesson?

That society is human made and we as individuals are in complete control in terms of reframing it. Any of the systems in place can be changed, nothing is permanent or concrete.

For you, what’s the most rewarding aspect of being a creative?

I really enjoy the in-depth research of various subjects that shift with each body of work. Central to my practice is the concept of Genius Loci (another influence from my architecture days). Genius Loci is a space where meaning is composed of ordered time, a layered space of substances, texture, color, and human’s psychic framework. It can be thought of as a special atmosphere or the energy one feels in that space.

Art residencies are another rewarding aspect of being an artist (these places have a strong Genius Loci!) Living and working alongside fellow artists you admire and respect for an extended period of time is an enormous gift that always leads to lifelong friendships and creative breakthroughs in my work. I am incredibly grateful to have created Secret Garden at three residences over the past year: The Hambidge Center in Rubens Gap, Georgia (left image); Virginia Center for the Creative Arts in Amherst, Virginia (middle image); and the Atlantic Center for the Arts in New Smyrna Beach, Florida (right image).

Art residencies are an incredible gift of time and support for artists. If anyone wants to support the arts in their local community, volunteering or donating to an art residency in your region is a great option.

Seeing the final exhibition at FGCU’s Wasmer Gallery is as rewarding as making the work. It was installed in the 5-person exhibition ‘Wild Garden’ with fellow Florida artists Jen Clay, Luca Molnar, Grace Mikell Ramsey, and Anastasia Samoylova in September 2023. The conversations that emerge between the work are really exciting to see. You will see the presence of the body and the weight of natural surroundings recur throughout the exhibition. It was a wonderful collaboration with curators Assistant Professor Grace Mikell Ramsey and Gallery Director John Loscuito, the artists, the photographer Caitlin Rosolen who captured the exhibition so beautifully, and the students who worked with me on the installation.