Somewhere between ceremony and process, seeming frivolity and added complications become added value. An etch-a-sketch embodies this valuable inefficiency. Frustrating little knobs must be turned back and forth to scratch through aluminum powder, revealing dark lines as the stylus moves just behind the screen. 

I operate best amid some combination of structure and chaos. An etch-a-sketch establishes a certain structure: regimented movement, limited aesthetic possibilities, a literal frame containing every drawing. Drawing becomes a puzzle to solve with infinite solutions. Something difficult to do with pencil on paper – drawing a perfectly straight line – becomes the simplest task on an etch-a-sketch. But, this is perhaps the least interesting thing to do with an etch-a-sketch. It is so much more captivating and satisfying to do what is difficult with an etch-a-sketch: anything but a straight line. Why? 

If I am the etch-a-sketch, I am working within my own parameters, by choice and by circumstance. Just as etch-a-sketch scribbles and masterpieces alike are specifically products of the etch-a-sketch process, my work is the result of my human experiences and challenges. I know there is value in the inefficiencies and absurdity of an etch-a-sketch, but I cannot yet articulate what that value is. Why stray beyond the simplest route from point A to B? What is the value in a circuitous path?

Backpacking with a full size feather pillow exemplifies this absurd value, in the form of luxury. Backpacking itself is a privilege, stripping my supplies down to necessities light enough to carry on my back, leaving a fine home to sleep outside. A several-pound pillow is out of place among the rest of my customized gear, optimized for lightweight functionality. But, I can think of nothing more luxurious than sleeping under a clear sky on that full size feather pillow in the quiet of the woods. In this case, reduced efficiency favors other value: luxurious comfort out of place in an otherwise primitive(ish) experience.

The circuitous route that landed me in ceramics first took me to trade school. During my two years learning all things electrical, I began writing my name exclusively in all capital letters. I liked how it looked: ANNA : strong, rectangular, solid, symmetrical, balanced. Like it could not easily be knocked over. Other than myself, my class was entirely men expressing their machismo at various volumes. ANNA, written this way, felt like an extension of the way I wanted to operate in the world, not minimizing my self or my femininity or my strength, holding my own. 

Amid contradictions, orange functions as a sort of neutral in my work. My hair is orange. I delight in clementines. I am drawn to the intensity of the color. Orange is not quiet, but it can also remain neutral as I explore the binaries that most interest me. Of course orange has worldly associations, but as I build the world where my work lives, I build my own context. It is not quite a default; orange is loud but ambiguous.

I want to operate the way the color orange operates for me. I want to transcend categorization, not by shrinking myself away from any certain nameable compartment, but by fully embodying myself and all my curiosities in a secure way. This is for myself. 

Via my work and the way I maneuver in the world, I hope to extend this valuation of the self to others. My curiosities begin with myself and my personal experience among the objects that make up our world. Beyond that, human to human connection is paramount. I do want every human to realize their own irreplaceable value, and each other’s.