I’m beginning to think that the entire structure of my art practice is best understood not as a production line, but as a complex, self-regulating ecosystem. This isn't just a gentle metaphor; it’s a necessary reframing. If I’m looking for sustained vitality, I need to recognize that the studio requires winter, spring, summer, and autumn—the necessary fallow times, the periods of explosive, unfocused growth, the slow refinement, and the inevitable release. The process needs fertilisation—those unexpected, raw inputs—and above all, interconnectedness.
The Experimentation Lab
I need to get to grips with the literal ground of the studio, the Experimentation Lab, and stop treating it merely as a place of output. This lab is where I must Ground the work: accurately recording the material choices, the technical decisions, and the formal developments—the 'what happened' science of the practice. What happens when this texture is layered onto that colour? What is the specific gravity of a decision? This requires a ruthless critical thinking applied not to theory, but to the tangible mess on the table.
This leads me to the real juice of the idea: the connections. The focus on interconnectedness in the studio immediately brings to mind Creolization and Hybrid Thought. My practice is essentially a hybrid space where disparate ideas and materials meet. Therefore, the health we should be prioritizing isn’t the perfection or the isolation of the individual element—the singular piece of fruit—but the strength and complexity of the connections and relations between them. That is the true engine of my work.
The Overhanging Species
This realisation allows me to Expand the work beyond the studio, linking the practical actions to a wider discourse. If the well-being of the practice relies on a thriving, balanced ecosystem, what threatens it? What fertilises it?
I’m increasingly looking at the structures that exhibit and validate the work—the galleries—and seeing them, sometimes, as an overhanging species. A towering, singular presence that drowns out the light, stifling the necessary biodiversity of the creative process. They demand a monoculture of output, making the entire system unhealthy by starving the fragile, complex growth happening beneath the canopy. It's a reminder that adaptability is key: I have to be able to serve as a mirror to this environment while still nurturing the growth cycle.
Is the final act of Materialising this whole idea is simple: the work’s purpose is to champion and articulate this hybrid space. To both look out and hold in - settle in... listen in. Like breathing in and breathing out...
How do I build structures that can protect the health of the connections from the shadow of the 'overhanging species'?
I am left with the question - what kind of garden or world do i want?
