This is an image of Queen Anne’s Lace installed at Edith Wharton’s Home, The Mount, in Lenox, MA in 2019. The white doilies are made at home with nylon yarn and tied into the trees along a path. There were 13 doilies as part of this installation.
I live in a mid-century ranch home in a suburban area of San Diego, California with my family, my dogs, and a flock of chickens. I was born and raised in San Diego. Four generations of my family have been born here, which is a little unusual because a lot of people living in here are transplants from somewhere else. My husband’s family is also from here, and we both share a love of San Diego.
The doily forms I use are echoes of a time past; at the same time accelerating away from collective memory at warp speed.
I grew up in a very traditional family where my father worked and my mom stayed home with us. I am the youngest child, and I have an older sibling who is a published author and writes historical fiction. My mom was an interior decorator before she decided to have children, and I grew up in a nicely decorated home full of antiques. I really enjoyed growing up with that.
When it came time to apply to college, I chose San Diego State University because I had been told that the program was very hands-on and materials-based. That sounded like the right approach to creating art, and the processes that I learned as an undergrad are still with me. I studied painting, printmaking, furniture, metals, photography, and jewelry. I have always been very fortunate that my family supported my decision to be an artist.
I work using crochet with thread, yarn, and nylon. Crochet is done using a hook to make interlocking loops with yarn. Each stitch is made one at a time and you build up stitches to make a fabric. I always was a crocheter, but I studied painting in college because that’s what “legitimate” artists do, right? “Legitimate” artists are painters.
After undergrad, I moved a couple hours away to work on my MA in Art History and I bought a cabin in the woods. I lived in that cabin with my pet Pomeranian and I tried to keep painting, but it just wasn’t happening. Painting was like wearing someone else’s old, heavy coat—it just didn’t fit. Painting has the burden of history, and I wasn’t sure what I would say, or how I could make my own voice out of so many voices. That was sometime almost 14 years ago.
In terms of how I work, I have frenetic bursts of creative energy where I will do three or four new works in a week, and then I will just go knit socks for a month to reflect on what I just created. I have a studio I don’t use very much. I only store yarn and my finished artwork in my studio, where all of my materials are organized by color. I do the majority of my handwork in my own home around my family—with kids’ toys on the floor and dogs running around. I enjoy sitting on the couch working on a piece and watching TV; I never did work well in quiet isolation.
I really do work best in the chaos of my home where I can live with my artwork. It is messy and crazy, but I thrive there. I live in a 1950s ranch home and it is decorated with a lot of vintage furniture. My funky tiki room is where I work most often, sitting on my rattan furniture in front of the TV.
I took up crochet again because it was calming and I liked doing it. I was in such new surroundings, and having so many abrupt life changes, that I needed a link back to my past. At some point, I got brave enough to make it my art.
I take a lot of my inspiration from popular culture, and I love watching TV. I will probably be the last person who still has cable someday. I get ideas and names for my works when I hear phrases in TV shows or from songs. I’ll hear a random sentence, and it will trigger an idea for a piece of art. There is a lot of free association in my creative process.
I spend a lot of time reflecting on what I want to do, or need to do, and I am constantly working with my hands. If I don’t have an art piece I need to work on, then I knit or crochet for myself or for my kids. I always keep my hands busy. I work on something every day, and usually work for at least six hours a day. I don’t know the last time I watched TV without a project in my hands.
My work is inspired by the home, and it makes sense to make my work there. When I travel to create site-specific installations, I take my family with me. I want them to be part of the experience with me, and I don’t like the idea of going off the see the country by myself and leaving my husband with the all the work of taking care of the house and the kids by himself.
When I am working on an installation, the work is created on-site; at a museum, in a gallery or historic home, or out in the woods. Since I always take my family with me when I work, they are usually somewhere in the background of those installations, somewhere just out of the camera frame.
This is a shot of my finished installation, Queen Anne’s Lace, at Highfield Hall and Gardens in Falmouth, MA, in 2017.
Taking everyone with me certainly doesn’t make traveling easier, but the memories have been worth it. My biggest challenge has been trying to make work that is a sculptural interpretation of my installations. How can I make work that I don’t always have to go travel and install?
To make my crochet pieces, I usually hear something that triggers an image of a finished piece or concept. Then, I work towards making that thing I imagined. I rarely sketch. I don’t make notes. I use craft-based processes to create objects and site-responsive installations. Through the meditative process of crochet, where every stitch is evidence of work by hand, I explore themes of discomfort and the coping mechanisms used to provide solace from the stress and trauma of modern life.
I primarily make giant crocheted doilies by crocheting yarn from a pattern. The red doilies are pieces of multiple installations entitled Keeping Up Appearances. The red color gives away the futility of such an act and hints at the unease that lurks below the surface of an obsessive need to control and arrange. This site-specific installation series Keeping Up Appearances consists of vibrant red forms crocheted at home and then presented in an exhibition space. Although non-threatening in a domestic setting, in the gallery and at this scale, the forms overtake the viewer and cover the walls or the space.
One of my biggest accomplishments has been creating installations incorporating doilies that are 25 feet tall. Every doily is made one stitch at a time. When things seem too much to do, just break it down into steps and go through the steps one at a time.
Roz Steiner Gallery in New York state
Each piece is crocheted from cotton or nylon yarn using an aluminum crochet hook. To make a doily, I follow a pattern, working from the center outward in rounds. The giant red doilies are crocheted at home before installation. When I get into the museum or gallery space, I screw and nail the doilies to the walls, then I use fishing line to tie them to the floor and the walls.
One installation of Keeping Up Appearances is at Heritage Museum and Garden in Massachusetts. This was an incredibly difficult installation because we had to get the piece 15 feet up into a tree with only a ladder. We ended up weighting the fishing line and throwing it up over the branches to lift the piece.
Artists help others see the world in a way they never thought to see it.
As part of the Colorfast Exhibition in 2016, I installed Keeping Up Appearances at the Whatcom Museum in Bellingham, Washington. Each of the three or four artists in the show had a different color. This installation is 25 feet tall and 30 feet wide and took a month to make. The installation covered two floors and created an arch to walk under. We used a lift to get the doily up to the ceiling.
Whatcom Museum in Bellington, WA
My art comments on the home and what we want the world to think of us versus who we really are. That is the essence of what my work is about, perception versus reality. My dream goal is to have a sustainable career until I die.
I want respect for my work, and to be able to keep developing my ideas, while being able to live comfortably. In the end, I just want to live life on my terms. I was recently in the woods hanging an art installation and I thought, “This sure beats working 9 to 5 in an office all day.”
This is an image of Queen Anne’s Lace installed at Edith Wharton’s Home, The Mount, in Lenox, MA in 2019. The white doilies are made at home with nylon yarn and tied into the trees along a path. There were 13 doilies as part of this installation.
I live in a mid-century ranch home in a suburban area of San Diego, California with my family, my dogs, and a flock of chickens. I was born and raised in San Diego. Four generations of my family have been born here, which is a little unusual because a lot of people living in here are transplants from somewhere else. My husband’s family is also from here, and we both share a love of San Diego.
The doily forms I use are echoes of a time past; at the same time accelerating away from collective memory at warp speed.
I grew up in a very traditional family where my father worked and my mom stayed home with us. I am the youngest child, and I have an older sibling who is a published author and writes historical fiction. My mom was an interior decorator before she decided to have children, and I grew up in a nicely decorated home full of antiques. I really enjoyed growing up with that.
When it came time to apply to college, I chose San Diego State University because I had been told that the program was very hands-on and materials-based. That sounded like the right approach to creating art, and the processes that I learned as an undergrad are still with me. I studied painting, printmaking, furniture, metals, photography, and jewelry. I have always been very fortunate that my family supported my decision to be an artist.
I work using crochet with thread, yarn, and nylon. Crochet is done using a hook to make interlocking loops with yarn. Each stitch is made one at a time and you build up stitches to make a fabric. I always was a crocheter, but I studied painting in college because that’s what “legitimate” artists do, right? “Legitimate” artists are painters.
After undergrad, I moved a couple hours away to work on my MA in Art History and I bought a cabin in the woods. I lived in that cabin with my pet Pomeranian and I tried to keep painting, but it just wasn’t happening. Painting was like wearing someone else’s old, heavy coat—it just didn’t fit. Painting has the burden of history, and I wasn’t sure what I would say, or how I could make my own voice out of so many voices. That was sometime almost 14 years ago.
In terms of how I work, I have frenetic bursts of creative energy where I will do three or four new works in a week, and then I will just go knit socks for a month to reflect on what I just created. I have a studio I don’t use very much. I only store yarn and my finished artwork in my studio, where all of my materials are organized by color. I do the majority of my handwork in my own home around my family—with kids’ toys on the floor and dogs running around. I enjoy sitting on the couch working on a piece and watching TV; I never did work well in quiet isolation.
I really do work best in the chaos of my home where I can live with my artwork. It is messy and crazy, but I thrive there. I live in a 1950s ranch home and it is decorated with a lot of vintage furniture. My funky tiki room is where I work most often, sitting on my rattan furniture in front of the TV.
I took up crochet again because it was calming and I liked doing it. I was in such new surroundings, and having so many abrupt life changes, that I needed a link back to my past. At some point, I got brave enough to make it my art.
I take a lot of my inspiration from popular culture, and I love watching TV. I will probably be the last person who still has cable someday. I get ideas and names for my works when I hear phrases in TV shows or from songs. I’ll hear a random sentence, and it will trigger an idea for a piece of art. There is a lot of free association in my creative process.
I spend a lot of time reflecting on what I want to do, or need to do, and I am constantly working with my hands. If I don’t have an art piece I need to work on, then I knit or crochet for myself or for my kids. I always keep my hands busy. I work on something every day, and usually work for at least six hours a day. I don’t know the last time I watched TV without a project in my hands.
My work is inspired by the home, and it makes sense to make my work there. When I travel to create site-specific installations, I take my family with me. I want them to be part of the experience with me, and I don’t like the idea of going off the see the country by myself and leaving my husband with the all the work of taking care of the house and the kids by himself.
When I am working on an installation, the work is created on-site; at a museum, in a gallery or historic home, or out in the woods. Since I always take my family with me when I work, they are usually somewhere in the background of those installations, somewhere just out of the camera frame.
This is a shot of my finished installation, Queen Anne’s Lace, at Highfield Hall and Gardens in Falmouth, MA, in 2017.
Taking everyone with me certainly doesn’t make traveling easier, but the memories have been worth it. My biggest challenge has been trying to make work that is a sculptural interpretation of my installations. How can I make work that I don’t always have to go travel and install?
To make my crochet pieces, I usually hear something that triggers an image of a finished piece or concept. Then, I work towards making that thing I imagined. I rarely sketch. I don’t make notes. I use craft-based processes to create objects and site-responsive installations. Through the meditative process of crochet, where every stitch is evidence of work by hand, I explore themes of discomfort and the coping mechanisms used to provide solace from the stress and trauma of modern life.
I primarily make giant crocheted doilies by crocheting yarn from a pattern. The red doilies are pieces of multiple installations entitled Keeping Up Appearances. The red color gives away the futility of such an act and hints at the unease that lurks below the surface of an obsessive need to control and arrange. This site-specific installation series Keeping Up Appearances consists of vibrant red forms crocheted at home and then presented in an exhibition space. Although non-threatening in a domestic setting, in the gallery and at this scale, the forms overtake the viewer and cover the walls or the space.
One of my biggest accomplishments has been creating installations incorporating doilies that are 25 feet tall. Every doily is made one stitch at a time. When things seem too much to do, just break it down into steps and go through the steps one at a time.
Roz Steiner Gallery in New York state
Each piece is crocheted from cotton or nylon yarn using an aluminum crochet hook. To make a doily, I follow a pattern, working from the center outward in rounds. The giant red doilies are crocheted at home before installation. When I get into the museum or gallery space, I screw and nail the doilies to the walls, then I use fishing line to tie them to the floor and the walls.
One installation of Keeping Up Appearances is at Heritage Museum and Garden in Massachusetts. This was an incredibly difficult installation because we had to get the piece 15 feet up into a tree with only a ladder. We ended up weighting the fishing line and throwing it up over the branches to lift the piece.
Artists help others see the world in a way they never thought to see it.
As part of the Colorfast Exhibition in 2016, I installed Keeping Up Appearances at the Whatcom Museum in Bellingham, Washington. Each of the three or four artists in the show had a different color. This installation is 25 feet tall and 30 feet wide and took a month to make. The installation covered two floors and created an arch to walk under. We used a lift to get the doily up to the ceiling.
Whatcom Museum in Bellington, WA
My art comments on the home and what we want the world to think of us versus who we really are. That is the essence of what my work is about, perception versus reality. My dream goal is to have a sustainable career until I die.
I want respect for my work, and to be able to keep developing my ideas, while being able to live comfortably. In the end, I just want to live life on my terms. I was recently in the woods hanging an art installation and I thought, “This sure beats working 9 to 5 in an office all day.”
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This is an image of Queen Anne’s Lace installed at Edith Wharton’s Home, The Mount, in Lenox, MA in 2019. The white doilies are made at home with nylon yarn and tied into the trees along a path. There were 13 doilies as part of this installation.
I live in a mid-century ranch home in a suburban area of San Diego, California with my family, my dogs, and a flock of chickens. I was born and raised in San Diego. Four generations of my family have been born here, which is a little unusual because a lot of people living in here are transplants from somewhere else. My husband’s family is also from here, and we both share a love of San Diego.
The doily forms I use are echoes of a time past; at the same time accelerating away from collective memory at warp speed.
I grew up in a very traditional family where my father worked and my mom stayed home with us. I am the youngest child, and I have an older sibling who is a published author and writes historical fiction. My mom was an interior decorator before she decided to have children, and I grew up in a nicely decorated home full of antiques. I really enjoyed growing up with that.
When it came time to apply to college, I chose San Diego State University because I had been told that the program was very hands-on and materials-based. That sounded like the right approach to creating art, and the processes that I learned as an undergrad are still with me. I studied painting, printmaking, furniture, metals, photography, and jewelry. I have always been very fortunate that my family supported my decision to be an artist.
I work using crochet with thread, yarn, and nylon. Crochet is done using a hook to make interlocking loops with yarn. Each stitch is made one at a time and you build up stitches to make a fabric. I always was a crocheter, but I studied painting in college because that’s what “legitimate” artists do, right? “Legitimate” artists are painters.
After undergrad, I moved a couple hours away to work on my MA in Art History and I bought a cabin in the woods. I lived in that cabin with my pet Pomeranian and I tried to keep painting, but it just wasn’t happening. Painting was like wearing someone else’s old, heavy coat—it just didn’t fit. Painting has the burden of history, and I wasn’t sure what I would say, or how I could make my own voice out of so many voices. That was sometime almost 14 years ago.
In terms of how I work, I have frenetic bursts of creative energy where I will do three or four new works in a week, and then I will just go knit socks for a month to reflect on what I just created. I have a studio I don’t use very much. I only store yarn and my finished artwork in my studio, where all of my materials are organized by color. I do the majority of my handwork in my own home around my family—with kids’ toys on the floor and dogs running around. I enjoy sitting on the couch working on a piece and watching TV; I never did work well in quiet isolation.
I really do work best in the chaos of my home where I can live with my artwork. It is messy and crazy, but I thrive there. I live in a 1950s ranch home and it is decorated with a lot of vintage furniture. My funky tiki room is where I work most often, sitting on my rattan furniture in front of the TV.
I took up crochet again because it was calming and I liked doing it. I was in such new surroundings, and having so many abrupt life changes, that I needed a link back to my past. At some point, I got brave enough to make it my art.
I take a lot of my inspiration from popular culture, and I love watching TV. I will probably be the last person who still has cable someday. I get ideas and names for my works when I hear phrases in TV shows or from songs. I’ll hear a random sentence, and it will trigger an idea for a piece of art. There is a lot of free association in my creative process.
I spend a lot of time reflecting on what I want to do, or need to do, and I am constantly working with my hands. If I don’t have an art piece I need to work on, then I knit or crochet for myself or for my kids. I always keep my hands busy. I work on something every day, and usually work for at least six hours a day. I don’t know the last time I watched TV without a project in my hands.
My work is inspired by the home, and it makes sense to make my work there. When I travel to create site-specific installations, I take my family with me. I want them to be part of the experience with me, and I don’t like the idea of going off the see the country by myself and leaving my husband with the all the work of taking care of the house and the kids by himself.
When I am working on an installation, the work is created on-site; at a museum, in a gallery or historic home, or out in the woods. Since I always take my family with me when I work, they are usually somewhere in the background of those installations, somewhere just out of the camera frame.
This is a shot of my finished installation, Queen Anne’s Lace, at Highfield Hall and Gardens in Falmouth, MA, in 2017.
Taking everyone with me certainly doesn’t make traveling easier, but the memories have been worth it. My biggest challenge has been trying to make work that is a sculptural interpretation of my installations. How can I make work that I don’t always have to go travel and install?
To make my crochet pieces, I usually hear something that triggers an image of a finished piece or concept. Then, I work towards making that thing I imagined. I rarely sketch. I don’t make notes. I use craft-based processes to create objects and site-responsive installations. Through the meditative process of crochet, where every stitch is evidence of work by hand, I explore themes of discomfort and the coping mechanisms used to provide solace from the stress and trauma of modern life.
I primarily make giant crocheted doilies by crocheting yarn from a pattern. The red doilies are pieces of multiple installations entitled Keeping Up Appearances. The red color gives away the futility of such an act and hints at the unease that lurks below the surface of an obsessive need to control and arrange. This site-specific installation series Keeping Up Appearances consists of vibrant red forms crocheted at home and then presented in an exhibition space. Although non-threatening in a domestic setting, in the gallery and at this scale, the forms overtake the viewer and cover the walls or the space.
One of my biggest accomplishments has been creating installations incorporating doilies that are 25 feet tall. Every doily is made one stitch at a time. When things seem too much to do, just break it down into steps and go through the steps one at a time.
Roz Steiner Gallery in New York state
Each piece is crocheted from cotton or nylon yarn using an aluminum crochet hook. To make a doily, I follow a pattern, working from the center outward in rounds. The giant red doilies are crocheted at home before installation. When I get into the museum or gallery space, I screw and nail the doilies to the walls, then I use fishing line to tie them to the floor and the walls.
One installation of Keeping Up Appearances is at Heritage Museum and Garden in Massachusetts. This was an incredibly difficult installation because we had to get the piece 15 feet up into a tree with only a ladder. We ended up weighting the fishing line and throwing it up over the branches to lift the piece.
Artists help others see the world in a way they never thought to see it.
As part of the Colorfast Exhibition in 2016, I installed Keeping Up Appearances at the Whatcom Museum in Bellingham, Washington. Each of the three or four artists in the show had a different color. This installation is 25 feet tall and 30 feet wide and took a month to make. The installation covered two floors and created an arch to walk under. We used a lift to get the doily up to the ceiling.
Whatcom Museum in Bellington, WA
My art comments on the home and what we want the world to think of us versus who we really are. That is the essence of what my work is about, perception versus reality. My dream goal is to have a sustainable career until I die.
I want respect for my work, and to be able to keep developing my ideas, while being able to live comfortably. In the end, I just want to live life on my terms. I was recently in the woods hanging an art installation and I thought, “This sure beats working 9 to 5 in an office all day.”
The Women Create Foundation is a catalyst for small but significant strides to empower women creators through grants that help bring projects to life and foster innovation.
