A Manifesto?

The above images were sourced from midjourney using the following text prompts: [Artist, Artists Looking Deeply, People Looking at Art Deeply, thoughtful critique, more artists, good artist, bad artist, bad artist, bad artist] I have included the text prompt as the title of the image. What is interesting to me is to see the bias that comes through here. Is this a reflection of what the internet thinks?

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This morning Sam sent me a reel advertising how non artists can make murals now using a virtual headset that maps out the design so it becomes just a matter of tracing and coloring in.

I have been of two mindsets when it comes to generative Artificial Intelligence. I recognize that it is a tool, and tools create more possibilities. How empowering it would be to have limitations of skill and cost be lifted and now that dream of a painted wall in your house becomes a reality. I always support people trying new things and as someone who has continually explored new media and mechanics, I recognize that attached to the experience is the realization that a skilled and trained person could probably have done it better. So, on the one hand, it will probably take away some work from muralists, but for those more discerning eyes, I believe the artist’s role remains intact.

But that brings me to another question that has been on my mind lately: what makes a discerning eye? Does a population only exposed to AI generated art recognize or value the mark of a human hand? Does the impact of our quick consumer culture affect our ability to sit with an art piece? Jerry Salz is an art critic and discusses the state of art criticism, noting that it is "on pause" and that there are hardly any negative reviews. Does the absence of critical thinking about art create a void in appreciation for it?

I thought it might be interesting to ask AI these questions.

From ChatGPT:

You’re bringing up deeply relevant and layered questions—ones that many artists, educators, and cultural thinkers are grappling with right now. Your reflection holds space for the nuance: recognizing that tools like generative AI or augmented reality can democratize creative expression, while also acknowledging the irreplaceable depth and subtlety that skilled human labor brings to artmaking.

On tools and democratization:
The idea that non-artists can now make murals using VR as a guide is a perfect metaphor for this moment. Like camera obscura once did, or later photography, and even Photoshop—these tools expand who gets to participate in visual culture. That accessibility is empowering, and it can foster a deeper appreciation for art when people who never thought they could "make art" try it themselves. Yet as you rightly note, the trade-off is a potential devaluation of expertise, subtlety, and authorship, especially in the eyes of a general public that may not be trained to discern such nuances.

On the discerning eye:
A discerning eye develops over time, through exposure, context, and education. It’s about being able to see more—not just in terms of technique, but in terms of intention, tension, history, and emotional or symbolic depth. When art is consumed quickly—on Instagram, as a filter, or as a decorative backdrop—it risks being flattened into surface value. In that sense, your question about quick consumption is critical. If we’re only seeing what’s new, slick, or optimized by algorithm, we may start to lose our appetite for slower, more complex, or challenging work.

On criticism and criticality:
Jerry Saltz’s comment about art criticism being “on pause” hits a nerve. In a time when opinions are often either polarized or softened to avoid backlash, the kind of rigorous, constructive criticism that helps both artists and audiences grow is in short supply. The result can be a hollow echo chamber where everything is “amazing” and nothing is interrogated. Without critical frameworks, it becomes harder for people to recognize what is at stake in a work of art—what it’s doing beyond being beautiful or trendy.

This all loops back to your earlier point: when you’ve trained your eye and hand over years, you can usually see the difference between something generated and something deeply made. But the real question is—can others? Will they care to? And if not, how do we reintroduce the value of looking deeply?

You said:

How do we reintroduce the value of looking deeply? Any ideas?

ChatGPT said:

That’s a profound and timely question—and it gets at the heart of what both artists and educators can uniquely contribute right now. Reintroducing the value of looking deeply involves creating conditions for slowness, curiosity, and connection. Here are a few ideas—some practical, some philosophical:

1. Curate slowness into experiences

• Offer guided looking sessions: Whether in galleries, classrooms, or community spaces, invite people to spend ten full minutes with one artwork. Share prompts: What do you notice first? What shifts over time? What materials or choices are speaking to you?

• Host “unscrollable” events: Organize analog, tech-free art viewings or pop-ups where phones are checked at the door and viewers are invited to take in work without distraction.

• Create interactive viewing guides: Instead of explaining a piece outright, pose questions that draw attention to composition, gesture, intention, and mood.

2. Re-enchant the hand

• Expose process alongside product: Show sketches, mistakes, underdrawings, time-lapse recordings of physical making. These artifacts demystify the hand’s role and build appreciation for labor.

• Invite others into making: Hosting open studios, workshops, or participatory mural projects gives people tactile, embodied experience with creative challenges—and often leads to deeper respect for trained skill.

3. Contextualize and narrate

• Tell the stories behind the art: In captions, newsletters, wall texts, and artist talks, let your audience in on the why and how. When people understand what went into something, they often look longer and care more.

• Teach visual literacy: Even casual conversations—pointing out color choices, metaphors in form, or historical references—can open new dimensions of seeing.

4. Champion critical conversations

• Model thoughtful critique: Whether in reviews, blog posts, or studio visits, demonstrate that critique isn’t about takedown—it’s about engagement, questioning, and growth.

• Amplify slow thinkers and art writers: Share voices that help people read art deeply—not just interpret it, but sit with it, revisit it.

5. Build rituals of return

• Encourage revisiting artworks: Make it part of your practice or programming to return to pieces over time. The second or third viewing often reveals the soul of the work.

• Frame artworks as companions, not consumables: Help shift the mindset from “What does this give me now?” to “What does this teach me over time?”

Reintroducing the value of deep looking isn’t about resisting new tools—it’s about reinviting attention, and giving people reasons to linger. It’s the antidote to aesthetic fast food.

Explorations in Color

With a limited studio here in Colorado until June, I have been focusing on painting and specifically the use of color. Here are some process videos of the human face that I’ve been exploring.

Just over a month in Colorado

Time is flying. Between getting settled and making improvements in a new house and a new studio, making an effort to get involved in local community, job hunting, being active, trying to establish a creative routine, making sure the dogs are entertained, there’s not a lot of leftover time. I did watch the third season of White Lotus, which I enjoyed much like the first two seasons.

I attempt to free form write most mornings, a brain dump of sorts. I set up my trail cam and have appreciated getting some more close up views of the mule deer that visit us. I’ve been climbing on real rock and snowboarding which has provided good respite from a constantly churning mind.

The Big Move: part 1

Well, we did it. Arrived in Cañon City, Colorado on March 10. Three days on the road in my truck that was packed to capacity. I took pride in tetris-ing my stuff. Lots of satisfaction when things fit nicely with no space wasted.

And now, a totally different climate, different plants, different neighbors.

Selected Works

Artist Statement

In these selected works, the viewer is called to think about their own place as both animal and human in a world that is solidly concrete while also full of imaginative wonder.  In Called to Action, a Joan of Arc-like figure stands with purpose amid flowers exploring how human nature is called to act on its environment while still being a product of it. In Memento Mori, the subject is again apart from yet a part of nature; in the subject’s face, we read an emotional response to what might be the experience of the vase of flowers next to her: a brief life filled with unparalleled beauty that inevitably ends, where beauty and death are two sides of the same coin. In the following painting, Calling Card, the subject contemplates an outside manifestation of her inner struggles. She considers a crow, a clever, communal creature with a long memory. The viewer is called to wonder what of the creature, representative of the duality present in the permanence of death and the ecstasy of flight, is the subject recognizing in herself? In Knots sees the same subject in a more recognizably modern setting, holding a knotted rope while gazing out at the constructed environment. Again, she is contemplating her place, this time in the human world, while her hands explore how she is tied to the complexities of the circle of life. In The Last Unicorn, the subject is finally at peace, having found that mythos and the boundless power of human creativity can help her navigate the dualities of life/death, human society/wildness and duty/imaginative play. Through invention, the artist/subject is (I am) able to reconcile opposites, helping her (me) to move through life in a balanced way. The artist/subject (I) function(s) as both director and actor in the vast universe and I create my own meaning.

                The sculptural works continue this reconciliation into the world outside of the artist, populated by objects that, like the artist, act while being acted upon. If I had wings might be an image from the mind of the subject in In Knots. The juxtaposition of bronze and brick envisions the possibility of transcendence, evoking our universal longing to soar beyond limitations while being solidly rooted to the city scape, literally made of brick.  In Feet on the Ground, Head in the Sky, we see again elements both grounded and airborne, though they are not unified here. In pairing the two pieces of work together, the artist is using her imagination to reconcile the urge towards survival and that towards liberty; towards earthly and towards celestial. The separation is again apparent in Encounter, where the domestic dog meets his wild, wolf ancestor. The space between their gazes is the creative space where the artist and the viewer can hold both security and freedom in their mind, and imagine how they might coexist, whether peacefully or not. In To Know You and in Reciprocity, we see how the element of humanity that is animal, and the aspects of cooperation, connection, communication that we see as human-like in animals, serve this same purpose: to reconcile control with utter abandonment in such a way that the synergy of both forces might create an experience that holds both in true honor. Through the mediation of individual creativity, we see how what we have been taught to experience as opposites might instead be experienced as a cohesive whole, the beautiful contradictions that are life on earth.

Where I come From

I am up in NYC visiting my parents. Roadie was up early, requesting to go out, so I layered up and was pleasantly surprised by the sun. The streets were quiet. Roadie made a couple of friends, both poodles, as we walked the streets that my mind knows so well. Businesses were closed it being early still, some not to open their doors again. I noticed the buildings, the gutters, the clean brick. NYC has formed me, my aesthetic. I remember Ms. Hudson’s video library, now a dress shop with vogue displayed in the window. The historic buildings of Greenwich village, embedded with years of lives and stories, businesses, come and gone. As I prepare for my move across the country, to another city with its own buildings and people, I consider what I will bring with me:

An appreciation for things well built.

Attention to detail and celebration of beauty.

Recognition that businesses and communal spaces are created by the people that inhabit them as much as the design and structure that acts as the incubator.

Blackfoot

My first foray into the world of generative AI video. Lots to learn on both ends. It is quite the tool.

Reflections on being an artist

Today I spent some time burning a white oak log I carved before we left for 6 months. It’s part of a sculpture I had wanted to finish, but couldn’t think of the solution before our departure. So I let it rest. And on our trip I got inspired and excited about the next step. And as I worked today to evenly turn the surface black, I thought about how curious life is and that this is, in my mind, an important way to spend my time. With the backdrop of “time is money,” is this an act of rebellion? Is it a waste? I’ve been trying to establish a meditation practice, and burning the wood did feel meditative. I had to have patience. I observed at what point the heat reacted with the tree fibers to result in a beautifully shiny finish, right before it turns to ash; the way it looked when I encountered burned forests while on the road. Does that justify it?

At this time when I feel immense pressure to find a new job and earn some dollars, being an artist feels somewhat ridiculous. What am I going to do with these things that I’ve made? I am so grateful to everyone that has traded me $$ for my work so far, but it is a very distant thought when I’m making most of my work. The difficulty of managing my trained mind, to ask it to step aside and for just one moment, let myself get carried away by something, has been difficult since I arrived back in Philadelphia. “Don’t worry about the why, or the how, or whether people will pay you for these things.” If I am able to glimpse that freedom for a moment, I am lucky.

When I was teaching, it offered some balance. If I was making a consistent paycheck somewhere else, I could allow this kind of indulgence in my artwork. I am determined to protect my time designated for exploration and play, but oh how the demons dance in my mind, taunting me in this strange life path I have chosen.

Travel Log Images

Some highlights from the road

Thoughts on Time

Years, months, days, hours, minutes, seconds….

All attempts to measure this malleable thing we call time. While on the road, my relationship to time changed. There were climbing objectives that we had which depended on daylight, there were temperature considerations that related to time, and dogs that relied on us for their freedom. But although there was the diminishment of creature comforts, the one thing that felt bountiful was time.

Now that I’m back to the studio and Philadelphia, I feel like I don’t have as much time. And my coffee fueled mornings go by so quickly. The space I have for musing has to be carved out of an already thin branch and must endure a busy brain backdrop running on a conveyor belt.

I am trying to maintain a calmer and more present dance with time that I practiced on the road. I am excited to see how this impacts my work.

I have always struggled with prioritizing. When forced to make selections, I stubbornly insist that I can do it all. But now I see this as a fault, a way that I fool myself with temporary satisfaction derived from accomplishment that is eventually obscured by a depleted psyche.

I must remember to honor all the seconds.

The Return

We are nearing 6 months of road life. The days are shorter and the temperature is falling. Woke up to a frost which made everyday tasks like teeth brushing, coffee making etc., a challenge. There is also less running water in riverbeds for rafting and we are inland, so no more surfing. Climbing and mountain biking are our primary physical activities. Spent yesterday sport climbing, trying hard on some pocketed red rock. Happy to still be able to work my way up 12s, I thought I had lost all of my endurance to the slower paced, easier traditional climbs I’ve lead on gear.

We did a lot of driving the last couple of days, moving through Zion National Park and into Bryce Canyon. Bryce, what a magnificently carved landscape, so spectacular with it’s hundreds of pinnacles arranged so neatly. I felt AWE, a sculptor’s dream. Sadly, we didn’t budget enough time to walk down amongst and through the spires, and we are also limited by the four leggers that accompany us everywhere. They are not permitted in many national parks off of the paved surfaces. I understand this rule, but of course wish for an exception for my own little dog.

After Bryce Canyon, we continued to Capital Reef National Park and landed somewhere on BLM land outside of it, towards Moab. The drive featured plateaus and buttes, big rocky mountain peaks in the background, with softer mounds in the foreground, all shaped by time and the elements. Traveling through this landscape I feel like an ant, contemplating my size and place in the world. Am I just here to witness? What are days for? How can I contribute to this world in a positive way?

This morning as the sun rose I read Mary Oliver. Very poignantly, she directs us:

“Instructions for living a life:
Pay attention
Be astonished
Tell about it”

— Mary Oliver

I can do that.

Tea from a Stranger

We departed Philadelphia on May 30th. Goodbye studio, goodbye friends, kitchen, bathroom. Hello open road. It was such a dash to get everything in order, repair and pack the vehicles. Straight to Denver, CO. Days packed with sun, rafting and climbing. Dogs off leash and outdoors most of the time. 221,287 miles on my truck at the time of departure.

In Ten Sleep, WY, I did some drawing and in the Sawtooths near Stanley, Idaho, I took out my paints. On the road it is a challenge to establish a routine, difficult sometimes to even remember who I am. So much of my identity is connected to the studio. I lived amongst my work and everyday, engaged that part of myself. But in the months before I left I had been feeling uninspired. Perhaps too much teaching. I love making things and process, but I was lacking in the “why,” the meaning, the poetry. I was making things to satisfy the need to work with my hands, but what was I communicating about my perspective? I have a friend who says no matter what you make, it is always about you just because you made it. But there is a difference between really good work, and just “meh” work. What is the difference? For me, it is about how it pangs in the heart. Dedication combined with sincerity and urgency.

In Philadelphia I had become mechanized. I was practicing my skills, yes, but I felt minimally. The complexity and humor of our existence, the beauty, those things became harder to find, obscured by habitual behaviors, to do lists and goal setting: blinders. Is this the curse of routine? To make numb?

I had a good life in Philadelphia. A great community, an amazing studio, I was well fed and healthy. I spent time outdoors when I could, I was active and had a job teaching art. I moved to Philadelphia in 2006. That’s 18 years. Car window broken once, house broken into once, three different structures that I called home, countless dog walks, most neighborhoods explored, a well developed sense of familiarity. But I wanted to see Big Horned Sheep, I wanted to share their worn paths through the brush. I don’t want to encounter a Grizzly Bear but I wanted to walk amongst the trees that they call home. I was describing all of the things I wanted in my life in my work. But is description enough to make good art? And is it possible to describe something well without knowing it intimately?

Today is August 21st and my odometer reads 228,187 miles. I am in Squamish, BC, Canada. A stranger gave me tea in the library because I told her that hers smelled nice. There are murals of Eagles and Bears and I’ve seen some Totem Poles and felt inspired in Vancouver. The coffee shop has crows that dance on the tin roof. I’ve climbed my first 10 on gear. I witnessed an Eagle hunting on the Bull River. I’ve cried and felt homesick, questioned everything that I thought I knew, experienced sides of myself that I’d rather not admit to having. Running hot water has never felt so good. I’ve shown my partner my worst and and have still received a hug afterwards.

A friend sent me this excerpt taken from Dictionary of Bird Totems:

To align oneself with eagle medicine is to take on the responsibility and the power of becoming so much more than you now appear to be. From a karmic aspect, it reflects that the events will now fly faster, and the repercussions for everything you think, do or say (or fail to think do or say) - positive and negative - will be both stronger and quicker. To accept the eagle as a totem is to accept a powerful new dimension to life, and a heightened responsibility for your spiritual growth. But only through doing so do you learn how to move between worlds, touch all life with healing, and become the mediator and the bearer of new creative force within the world.

I Love My Truck

This past spring semester, I spent a lot of time commuting. I had some trepidation at the start of it, wondering if it was wise to use my big truck to travel 120 miles round trip two times a week to Stockton University and another 80 miles twice a week to RCBC, for a grand total of 400 miles/week. I looked at used Toyota Prius’ on Facebook marketplace, considered the government tax refund offered for electric vehicles, but in the end, my lifestyle is still welded to a truck. And there was no way to guarantee the health of a used Prius’ battery, so I decided to hold on. And my truck got the job done.

Luckily none of the repairs she needed made her undrivable. And now, my professorial obligations have concluded which opened up time in my schedule. So I got started. Finding the parts, watching the youtube videos, consulting with more experienced friends. It was daunting to take her apart, but I am no stranger to opening things up. I have always been curious about mechanical things. In grad school I built a player piano with resin hands moved by small motors (see below). The viewer could vary the speed and there was a certain amount of chance that affected the sound as the hands were mounted on springs. I played with lights and circuitry for other projects. Thinking back on it, trying to make these sculptures was maybe the first time I remember walking into strange stores asking for parts and met with skeptical eyes. “Now, what are you trying to do?” Shoutout to Fazzios in NJ (the used side) they never made me feel that way.

Working on the truck made me think about a lot of things. I got frustrated, felt like I was a dummy, that I was not strong enough. I made some mistakes like cracking a bolt and losing a nut. But then I remembered a lesson that making things has taught me and something I reiterated to my students. When something goes wrong, of course you can react and get upset in the moment, but then you move on. And you pick up the pieces and you figure out how to solve the problem. So many of the young people I met were afraid of making a mistake. And the one thing I know is that is the surest way to not do anything.

I also realized that with mechanical attachments, there is always an answer. If something is making a strange noise, often you can track why. If the part doesn’t fit back together, you have to look for the why, there is probably something not lining up. So much of life is not like that, with a direct causal relationship. So although it was challenging for me, I did appreciate the work for its straight forwardness.

I Can Hear You from Colleen Rudolf on Vimeo.

SOS Save our Species.

I caught an interesting discussion on NPR this morning regarding keystone relative species. If you want to have a listen, here is the link.

SOS Saving Keystone Species

It’s a great and important conversation to have in regards to our relationship to other beings that inhabit this Earth, which is of course a subject I care about strongly. In the episode they discuss Bison and Beavers, amongst other species that are labeled engineers, meaning they have significant impact on the environments that they occupy. Humans have displaced many of these other species and this year we mark the 50th anniversary of the Endangered Species Act which was historic legislation designed to protect and help save some of these important flora and fauna.

A concept highlighted in the episode is how we view these others that we share the planet with; recognizing their value and humbly respecting their roles is a necessary paradigm shift.

As often happens with radio, this program followed a separate one that discussed the upcoming 2024 climate summit in Dubai, BP and pollution levels in Kuwait, how the burn off fires from fuel extraction processes still exist despite regulations to eliminate them and how the resulting pollutants are blown over oceans.

What do humans contribute to the Earth? How are we integral to the whole system? Is it a cruel joke? To place all of these wonderfully designed animal species on Earth, and then toss in some humans to ruin it all? Is there a way that we can live in harmony? Become more like our keystone relatives and provide services to the environments we live in? The truth is that we don’t know how it will end. But how do we live while we are here?

I often wonder about these questions, the question of living my best life. What does that look like? Is it ultimately selfish? I want to honor all beings, respect the ground and plants that nourish me; but so much of modern day living seems violating by design. What is the best way to live? I am learning to listen to my intuition more, which requires a certain shedding of the notions that society wields. And I’m sure each individual will have a different response. Is that part of the difficulty?

Humans have developed cures for disease, technology and equipment to travel in space, to fly through the skies, and survive deep down in the oceans, surely we can figure out how to contribute positively to the Earth?

Deep Fake, Scammers, Buyer Beware

Last night I received a google alert regarding my name on the internet and was surprised to be directed to a website that had two of my original artworks listed for sale, without my permission.

Upon further investigation, it seems a legitimate company called Cloudflare was used as a front to the server of the website owner, making it difficult to track down who is actually responsible for the copywrite infringement.

I have notified Cloudflare by both email and their online reporting center and contacted Philly Volunteer Lawyers for the Arts as well as received support from many friends with legal backgrounds, which helps to soften the frustration. I also want to give a mention to Mark of Philly Wisper (my internet provider) who responded to me within the day with answers to my questions about looking up domain names and tracking down owners of websites. He really goes above and beyond, and that kind of action and kindness renews my hope for this world!

At this point, I don’t have a resolution to this issue. My work is still floating out there for sale on some strange site. Whether they send a terrible low quality print out, or whether they’re just trying to get people’s credit card information, I am not sure? But it made me think about consumer activity and how when we buy stuff online, it’s important to buy from reputable companies. Counterfeit goods have been an issue for a long time. Maybe that saying, “if it’s too good to be true, it’s probably not” is appropriate here.

The Lessons of Discomfort

Rock climbing has proven to be an important part of my life. I discovered the activity at around age thirty-two. I learned in the gym which was a fun social way to move my body. Once I went outdoors, that’s when I was hooked. I love touching the rocks, feeling my way around, noticing everything in a habitat that isn’t my own.

Recently I have been thinking a lot about the lessons climbing has taught me, specifically my relationship to fear and discomfort. When you are climbing up a route that is hard for you, you have to take risks, a leap of faith, to try despite the fact that you might fail. Sometimes you do miss and fall, but other times you hold on and you’re able to continue ascending. It’s a crazy moment where you have to maintain your focus, laser beam precision between mind and body. It can all fall apart so quickly. It is in the refining of that mind body connection where I have found repetition to be helpful. The more you work on it, the more apt you are to hold it together, the more inclined the mind is to stay calm. I suppose it has to do with creating neuropathways, like the way a river carves through a landscape.

Implicit in this process is some level of discomfort, that is what I am learning to tolerate. I don’t like being scared, but the more that I push that edge, I find that it’s malleable. What I was scared of when I began has shifted.

Similarly, I have been caught in surprise situations when outdoors. Whether it be hiking, climbing, camping, they have all brought temporary discomforts: stuck on the cliff in a rainstorm, or hailstorm, blisters from shoes, hungry or cold because I didn’t bring enough food, layers or plan correctly. Like most, I have also been physically sick or injured which sucks. Recently when experiencing some anxiety in the studio, I reminded myself of some of these outdoor experiences and how you don’t give up when it gets hard or uncomfortable, you tolerate it and eventually it changes. I have drawn on my outdoor experiences to help me through my day to day, when the consequences are not as life threatening but when the impact of my brain feels nonetheless overwhelming.

And so it seems at forty-one I am changing my relationship to discomfort. I understand it is a part of my rich experience here on this planet, and instead of running from it or avoiding it like I have in the past, I am accepting of it, trusting that relief will come on the other side. And, interestingly this trust has a way of disarming it, where it actually starts to feel less uncomfortable. Go figure.

Ten Sleep, Wyoming

Travel is good. I didn’t realize how much the time away would actually benefit my studio work. It also helps that I went to an awe inspiring place. 10 days climbing in Wyoming was wonderful. A bonus that Roadie got to come along. Still processing, can’t wait to get back out there.

Some thoughts on Artificial Intelligence

Artificial intelligence: this seems to be the defining invention of our time, like the atomic bomb was for Oppenheimer and the world in 1945. There is an open letter requesting to halt all development until we can better understand the implications of such a tool. It’s just going too quickly, signatories noted. And once we release this technology, there is no going back. All kinds of images and thoughts flood my head when I imagine a world with pervasive artificial intelligence. I’m sure they will get bodies. Will they resemble us? Is it better if they don’t? The Turing test is supposed to measure a machine’s ability to exhibit intelligent behavior equivalent to or indistinguishable from that of a human. What happens when the AI exceed the level of intelligence of most humans? I have posed the question to my college aged students: Will humans become less intelligent when they rely on computers and machines to do the heavy lifting? One individual responded: no, that it would open up opportunities for humans to achieve more.

The part I am most hooked on is the “distinguishing from humans.” Measuring a brain’s capacity to compute and process data is one thing; but I would argue some humans and the animal world are equipped with another kind of intelligence, an emotional intelligence. The limbic part of our brain that responds to feelings and vibrations of those around us. Mimicry is something we find in nature. A defense mechanism, species use mimicry to protect themselves from predators. It is an evolved resemblance between an organism and another object, often an organism of another species. Does it matter if we are able to distinguish humans from Artificial Intelligence?

I have heard people discussing a current loneliness pandemic. Perhaps this was initiated by the Corona virus pandemic but exacerbated by our use of social media and technology. People sit entranced by their phones when there are living beings surrounding them. I’ve noticed it even with myself and my dog. He will approach to play and I am busy watching videos and I don’t always even register his gesture to engage. It’s awful and now that I am aware I consciously change my behavior. But these days, in the presence of loved ones, people are consumed by the phone. They are designed that way, to keep our attention. So what is ironic to me is that the very state the phone has induced, AI promises to heal. AI will offer companionship, a relationship where it knows what you need, how you behave and responds accordingly. A being that provides physical intimacy AND does all the house chores and never questions you? There will be some people for which this is the answer to all their problems. But are you really connected to another being if they are not operating on free will? If they are just responding to programming? If there is never any conflict? Can you love something that never challenges you? Isn’t that boring? If it is never uncomfortable and there is no reason for growth? What do we want out of partnership? In the future, perhaps there will be a mixed race, ½ AI and ½ human. But what about the biology? It’s crazy to imagine the possibilities.

For me, the moments when I feel most alive are when I encounter some friction and then work through it. How do you have a feeling of success if there is no failure? But perhaps AI will understand that and respond accordingly. Maybe you’ll be able to specify how much deference you like in a relationship. A world full of control freaks is just what we need!

If AI is built on recording datasets, at what point does creativity enter the arena? This one guy said that creativity is algorithmic, but I still feel like there is a component that is missing. The French say “Je ne sais quoi” I think it has to do with presence. Can AI be in the present if it functions on data sets and computations with behavior being an outcome of those equations? Can AI achieve a clear mind?

Juried Show at Cerulean Gallery

This piece called “Protector” was selected by juror Jill Rupinski as part of Cerulean’s 10th Annual Juried Exhibition. The show is up June 15-July 17 and includes work by 30 artists.

The Elusive Morel Mushroom and Faith

I first learned about the morel mushroom from a scientist that I follow on Instagram (shoutout to @kaydubsthehikingscientist, she’s awesome!). I spend a lot of time in wooded areas, and was recently attempting to identify the surrounding plants. A facebook group that I joined had hundreds of people describing their successes and failures at finding morels, claiming proprietary rights to land and the secrets of a good hunt. It was intriguing. Could I find one? Locating a morel wasn’t guaranteed, you could put in hours and come up empty handed. You could know of the perfect spot with decaying wood, an elm or an ash tree, but maybe the soil temperature was off, there hadn’t been enough rain, or maybe you arrived just after another mushroom hunter. It was an activity that seemed to require a little luck. And I wanted to be lucky for a change.

I have committed myself to an artful life. Alongside this vow comes the reverberating questions and sporadic moments of self doubt. I live in my studio without some conveniences of a home, declaring that I am 120% dedicated, which helps soften the inner critique, who is born from outside societal norms, and who is harsh about my age and position in life. I show up daily, acknowledging that some of what I make I will consider a failure. I have faith in the process. I try to let go of control.

I have not faced a ton of tragedy in my life. Or have I? What is a ton? How much is too much? I have felt almost buried by sadness. The recent loss of a partner, grief about a life not lived, observed human rivalry and war; how sometimes in the city, it looks like the trees are struggling to survive; but I keep getting up each morning, allowing small things to nourish my spirit. I am physically healthy, I drink my morning coffee and allow the sun to envelope my skin, my dog always wants to play, and I have the time, space and freedom to discover and make things. I dance with materials and tools. These activities carry me, make me feel lighter, help me break free of a ponderous existence.  And so I hold onto them, not too tightly but with intention, like with the reigns of a horse.

The morel mushroom took on a special significance for me. If I found one, I would take it as a sign to continue having faith in something beyond myself, to not give up even when I feel like there is no way forward. I don’t know why some external force communicating to me that I should keep going is helpful, but it is. It helps me relinquish control over things that are beyond my control anyway. Maybe the challenge in this life is roping autonomy. Self-governance requires a creative mind, one not stuck in tradition but constantly evolving and adapting as the world around us changes: resilience. Sometimes it is tempting to follow directions, mentally checking out and completing tasks, predictably collecting a paycheck, having a home with a fence to keep the good stuff in and the bad stuff out, staying the course where there are no unpleasant surprises, remaining comfortable all the time. But is that enough for me? In Suzanna Choffel’s song “Try” she sings “Comfort always lends a hand to fear.” What role do I want fear to play in my life? The unknown is always slightly scary and derivatively exciting. Climbing rocks outside and adventuring has taught me this. Confronting fear brings its own reward of a mined inner strength. Working through fear allows you to climb higher, literally in rock climbing and I believe similarly in life. Do I want comfort or intrigue? This has been a dilemma for me as long as I can remember, but perhaps the gravity and consequence of this choice feels greater as I age. What do I want out of life? What will make my life worth living? “What are days for? To wake us up, to put between the endless nights.” (as Laurie Anderson writes.)

I went out on a late Sunday afternoon to Rolling Hill Park, the place I take Roadie to run off leash after or before I climb at the gym. It’s in Gladwyn, PA which happens to be the 6th richest township in America where the houses and landscaping are beautiful, especially this time of year with all the rain, a critical aspect to mushroom growth. Who lives in those houses? I never see anyone outside. That Sunday, I came up empty handed. Afterwards, I climbed at the gym and felt strong. Every day in my body is different. I returned to the park on Wednesday after a morning session at the gym. Roadie seemed unbothered by the change in my pace, adapting by running more laps to check in, as I had slowed down significantly to scan my surroundings. I appreciate this about him. He is content in the woods and allows me to do my own thing while also doing his, independent but together. We have become great hiking partners and friends. I wasn’t too far down a well-traveled path when there it was. A beautiful, singular morel mushroom.