The highest praise I ever received was that my work has a “hot mess quality” to it. Surely it was said as a genuine compliment, right? If I were trying to say something truly profound, I’d call it an act of malicious defiance. After all, in most Western cultures, art only seems to have value if it’s aesthetically pleasing or carries some deep meaning. But if you look at my work, you’ll find that much of what I create is primal, non-representational, and, yes, messy—not lazy. I know enough to tell the difference.
Between you and me, my work isn’t earth shatteringly deep, but a celebration of creating for the sake of creating. As kids, most of us made arts and crafts at some point. However, my elementary school was one of many that faced budget cuts, making art an optional activity. And, like many kids, I always chose recess over sitting inside. For a long time, I immersed myself in other creative fields—writing, music—before I finally landed in a real art class in high school. Looking back, it’s not surprising that I ended up here. There’s a common thread between all my past interests: physical engagement. Whether typing on a keyboard, playing an instrument, or molding clay with my hands, there’s something about the act of making that keeps pulling me back.
For years, I’ve tried to analyze my work—figure out what it represents. But for the longest time, no answers stared back at me. Because surely, telling people, “My work is personal to me because I enjoy making it,” isn’t an acceptable enough answer… right? I consider myself a strong personality. Likewise, clay is just as stubborn. It’s what makes it both charming and infuriating to work with. But what draws me most to sculpture is the intimacy of it—the physical back-and-forth with the medium. I like to think of it as a dialogue between artist and medium. I guide it into form, but I also let it do its thing. The need to create is often just that: a need. Whether the final piece is messy or refined, the act itself is liberating. As we grow into adulthood, we tend to lose sight of what’s important.
It might not be surprising that I thrive on instant gratification (ironic, considering how time-consuming my work can be. That’s why I gravitate toward ceramic techniques with faster results—wheel-throwing and slab-building. But… why clay? Funny enough, I’m a meticulous perfectionist. Clay forces me out of this comfort zone and makes me more in tune with the inner familiarity of personal enjoyment. It demands that you loosen up, accept imperfection, and just go with it. There’s something almost comical and intriguing about making aesthetically “ugly” objects that make people ask, “What the hell am I looking at?” (Honestly, sometimes even I don’t know—what do you think it is?)
So, perhaps I must correct myself—maybe my work is an act of malicious defiance to some extent. Because I’d be lying if I said I didn’t take pleasure in making people question, critique, or even outright reject what I create. At the end of the day, I strongly believe art should be made for the intrinsic joy the process brings. We should take a step back and start investing in ourselves—create something just for the hell of it. Because that, to me, is what making art is all about.
