I thought it was already figured out
Finishing the experimental Quilt piece reminded me of a humbling truth: learning and perfecting a new process always takes time. Like other parts of this project, I underestimated how much time developing a new skill takes. I think that’s why I sometimes resist new processes — and why I have to consciously push myself to devote time for learning them.
I had originally envisioned “The Quilt” to be a work suspended, floating about 12″ above the floor horizontally. I also had ideas for making other works to add to the environment —hanging some of my fathers actual letters in space like a wind chime, works laying on the floor, and so on — but I didn’t have a clear vision. I was moving in the direction of creating individual elements that would tell a story when exhibited together, but none of these element-ideas held any power on their own.
I brought my ideas to a meeting with my advisor, Michael David, and I was surprised when he wasn’t convinced my ideas would not hold up in the space. In one of our previous meetings, I’d left with the impression that we’d settled on filling a corner with hanging fabric panels — and now that plan no longer seemed to be on target. My current vision was to have individual pieces read as a narrative, with the viewer walking from one work to the next. From my perspective, the individual pieces related to each other, but Michael pointed out they were disjointed solo events rather than a cohesive, immersive experience. He noted this approach wasn’t using the space as a whole but was too much like a traditional gallery exhibition, not an installation.
My apple cart tipped over.
Here is one of my ideas of making a kind of chandalier out of the letters.
Earlier in my career, this feedback would have sent me into total panic — my self-esteem shattered, my mind spiraling into a full emotional breakdown. This time was different. I felt the same familiar sensation, like the rug being pulled out from under me, but I tried to relax and take note of how and what I was feeling instead of automatically reacting. As I took time to reflect I could see I was being challenged, and this was my opportunity to expand my thinking. Michael’s reaction was just an assessment of where I was in the process and suggestions on how I could push forward. It wasn’t a criticism about me personally.
Coming out the other side of that, I started thinking about the entirety of the room as my canvas — not individual works exhibited in a shared space, but large forms that, when assembled, would become the whole. It was a major shift in perspective.
When I tried to continue with “The Quilt” concept, I couldn’t visualize a version five times bigger — the patch elements just wouldn’t hold visual impact at that scale. So instead, I asked a different question: what if I made large-scale, modular elements that could combine into a larger whole? That gave me the flexibility to add or remove pieces at install time, based on what was needed.
Somewhere in that shift, I realized I could still use everything I’d already made without forcing it into the old narrative structure. Back in the studio, I took inventory of all the printed pieces and re-created them in scale to fit the model of the room.
I experienced real resistance to doing this because it required time and patience, and a part of me wanted to shortcut it. But I couldn’t find another way to actually understand and see the possibilities. So I slowed down and followed through, making the elements to scale. To my surprise, I became calmer slowing down and was more comfortable shifting from my original plan.
I haven’t worked out all the details, and there’s a lot of work still ahead of me. But I feel good about where this is heading.
I’m on a new path now, and I trust it’ll end up stronger for the change in direction. That’s always the case with the creative process. It’s not always comfortable — but there’s a kind of comfort in the familiarity of the discomfort.
