If there’s one thing nature teaches us, it is humility. Last week, my family and I rode out Hurricane Milton together as it passed directly overhead. We experienced the threat, the approach, the eye, and its wake, and have emerged on the other end safe, in our homes, and exhausted. Two major hurricanes in as many weeks is quite enough.
One way or another, we have all witnessed how breathtaking the natural world can be, from the largest, most extraordinary gestures to the finest, most exquisite detail. These moments invite us to experience wonder and, many times, to feel really small.
Returning to my studio this week, I contemplated several recently completed works of grown crystals completed just ahead of this recent storm. It occurred to me that these very pieces represent my own humble attempt to capture the miraculous power of nature.
Tap below to view each new work
How it began
As long as I can remember, I have been awed by the capacity of the natural world to produce astounding beauty. Today, as an artist, I often feel like an imposter in the face of great genius. As a human, I feel an acute responsibility to consider carefully what I choose to put into the world. At some point, I began to think that maybe I could reconcile this artistic stalemate by inviting nature not just to collaborate in my art making, but to be the central character. I wondered:
What would happen if I set up the right conditions and allow natural processes to take over?
What role should I then play as an artist, if any? Would I even be necessary at all?
With this mission, I embarked on a year-long exploration of materials. I found myself up to my elbows in powders, liquids, and goo. In my imagination, I was practicing some form of magical, benevolent alchemy. In reality, it was just a classic mess. Our kitchen became my studio. Phases of trial and error coexisted with (im)patience, chance, waiting, reflecting, and wondering.
Then, quite by surprise, the crystals showed up.
What’s the process?
At first, summoning these crystals resembles more science than art. It begins by immersing fabric remnants in a boiling, watery solution and experimenting with time, materials, dyes, and other interventions. Multiple, shorter dips of 2-3 hours each typically result in a thick crust of crystals. Longer dips–undisturbed for 24 hours or more–yield large, satisfying formations. Some dips, annoyingly, produce nothing at all. Duds are repurposed in the next round. Successful samples are rinsed, air dried, and laid out for selection. Against my natural inclinations, I make careful notes at every step.
Samples laid out for drying and selection
Next, precision gives way to improvisation. The most promising pieces get styled into an assemblage that celebrates their unique form. Juxtaposing the crystals with soft fibers produces a tension that I love, bringing lightness to the crystallized formation.
I am often asked if my process involves glue. It does not. The natural bond of the crystals themselves fully takes care of business. Smaller crystals occasionally flake off with handling, but nothing to worry about. While these pieces appear ethereal and delicate, they are also remarkably resilient and mighty.
Styling and assembly of "Rebel” in the studio
A final word
Thinking back at my initial intentions, I came to recognize the nuances of facing nature with humility that I had missed before. What began with hesitation gave way to a small dance. The more I worked in harmony with what was unfolding in front of me, the more the process invited me to participate. Now with each new piece, I can see the invitation. And now, with greater assuredness, I tend to accept.