A Day at the Fair: Weaving Memories and Weathering the Storm

 The Minnesota State Fair is a bittersweet time and marks the end of summer for Minnesotans. Nestled within the Twin Cities metro area, the fair attracts a diverse crowd from the city, across Minnesota, and neighboring states. It’s a big deal in our state, with many folks upholding annual traditions they revisit every year. For artists, it represents the largest juried art exhibition in Minnesota. The competition is fierce—this year, there were 2,821 entries, with only 333 works making the cut. Despite the overwhelming number of pieces, the display space is expertly arranged, providing enough room to breathe between works—a delicate balance indeed.

Studio space for the day.

My one-day residency at the fair was on Monday, August 26th, which turned out to be a beastly hot and humid day—the hottest day of our summer. I joked with many visitors that it felt just like a typical summer day in St. Louis. Despite the sweltering weather, I had a great time working on my studio projects and chatting with the crowds. The day concluded with severe storms rolling into the area. We were evacuated to the 4-H Building under some of the eeriest orange skies I’ve ever seen. Thankfully, the walk from the Fine Arts Building was short, but it was quite an experience with blowing debris, dust, and sand instantly sticking to our sweaty skin. The police and fair staff guided us to shelter, where we waited out the storm. The 4-H kids seized the moment and entertained the captive audience with a musical production—they were fantastic! While we sheltered, 4-Hers walked through the crowd, offering water and checking on everyone. The storm passed quickly, and the day ended much cooler, though the fairgrounds required quite a bit of cleanup.

With the help of the Weavers Guild of Minnesota, I borrowed a loom to work on during my residency. It took most of the day to find the time to sit down and start a piece, but I managed to get a decent start on a new work.

Working in an art gallery is pretty great!

This piece will always remind me of late August. It began at the state fair and was finished in my garage, accompanied by the summer cicadas’ song. In many ways, works made on the loom become time capsules for me. I often remember what I was thinking during particular sections of the work. This piece holds the conversations I had with fair visitors, as well as the chats with neighbors passing by my garage. I suppose seeing someone weave in their garage isn’t a common sight—I highly recommend it.

I vividly recall the curiosity of folks and their questions: How does the loom work? Do I work from a sketch? And, of course, the ever-popular, How long does it take?

At the fair, I had a notebook on my table with the prompt: "What do you love about Minnesota?" While many people were happy to engage with me directly, others quietly approached the book and wrote their thoughts without speaking. I expected plenty of comments about nature, state parks, and the lakes, but I was delighted by how many mentioned the people as their favorite part of Minnesota.

I want to extend a big thank you to Jim Clark and the staff of the Fine Arts Center for making me feel welcome, cared for, and for giving me the opportunity to share my work with visitors. I couldn’t have asked for a better experience. Thanks also to the state fair transportation crew for making it easy to get where I needed to go. A heartfelt thanks to the Weavers Guild of Minnesota for the loan of the loom and to all the members who stopped by with curiosity and support. Finally, thank you to everyone who braved the weather to come out and visit with me.

Join Me at the Great Minnesota Get-Together: One-Day Artist Residency!

I am honored to announce that I have been invited to participate in a one-day micro artist residency at the Minnesota State Fair through the Studio: HERE program. This program showcases twelve artists over the twelve days of the fair, providing a unique opportunity for the public to engage with the creative process.

On August 26, from 9 am to 9 pm, I will be in the Fine Arts Building, experimenting and making new work. As part of the event, there will be a special exhibition featuring artists participating in Studio: HERE, including my newest work, Solace.

Studio: HERE aims to reveal the hidden labor of being an artist and offers the public a chance to interact with artists about their processes, work, and experiences. I look forward to sharing my journey and connecting with visitors at this exciting event.

Solace

28.5" h x 27.25: w x 1" d, Linen, cotton. Handwoven painted linen with reclaimed fabric rag rug structure and fabric scrap and linen yarn fringe. 2024

Reflecting on Two Years in Minnesota: Transformation, Healing, and Joy

When my husband and I first began planning our move to Minnesota, I often wondered how it would change my work. What I did not anticipate was how deeply Minnesota would change me. As I reflect on our second anniversary here, I'm struck by the profound impact this move has had on my life.

Shortly after we moved, I realized that the chronic pain I had endured since 2011 had vanished. It happened overnight. My neck, shoulders, back, and arms were pain-free. I woke up one morning and realized that for the past several nights, I had slept through without waking up multiple times due to numbness, tingling, or stabbing pain. It was simply gone. The pain didn't return, even as I unpacked and repacked boxes for our final move. I heard a quote: "You only know how much pain you are in when it is gone." This resonated deeply with me.

 Over the years, I had sought help from various experts and doctors, who tried different treatments without lasting relief. Looking back, I wonder how I managed to get through grad school with such a demanding workload while dealing with this pain. My high pain tolerance muscled me through, but it came at a high cost. Despite numerous trips to physical therapists, relief was always temporary. It wasn't until after grad school that I read "The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma" by Bessel van der Kolk. The book's thesis—that our bodies hold memories and trauma, manifesting as physical pain and illness—made sense to me, though I didn't fully grasp its meaning until my pain returned alongside old memories.

With the pain gone, I had more mental space to settle into a new state, new routine, and learn my way around. This relief lasted about six months before the pain slowly began to return, accompanied by resurfacing memories from my prior career in education and childhood. Moving away from a place filled with both wonderful and painful memories was freeing. There are no ghosts from my old life in my new home. Starting over was unexpected, but I am grateful for the opportunity.

Last summer, I began working with a therapist to better understand what was happening. We discussed my heritage, past events, and how they have carried forward. This work has been hard, painful, and rewarding.

Reflecting on my past five-year plans from college and art school, I realize that none of them came to fruition as expected. Things turned out better or worse, but ultimately, I made it through. I've had moments of regret for wasted time or missed opportunities, which is such a human response. Recently, my therapist mentioned that much of human development focuses on early years, as if we stop developing past a certain point in adulthood. Nothing could be further from the truth. We continue to grow, learn, and make leaps forward in later adulthood. I don't wish to return to any earlier age of my life.

One of the best changes brought by our move is how physically active I've become. I've always liked walking, but now I've added lake swimming, kayaking, and biking to my routine. There are countless opportunities to get outside here. The osprey, loons, and swallows have all returned, and it's like greeting old friends. Recently, my husband and I sat by our local lake, listening to the loons calling to each other. It felt magical, like encountering mystical creatures.

Back in January 2023, I wrote about a Finnish proverb I found on artwork in Duluth: “Minä istun iloissani ja annan surun huilata,” translated as “I sit here contented while sorrow catches its breath.” Finnish scholars later told me it was mistranslated and should be something stronger, like "delight." I've finally embraced those stronger, deeper feelings. My new life is filling me with endless delight, and I'm learning to stop anticipating the other shoe dropping. Sorrow is part of life, and some of us have walked with it for a long time. But now, in Minnesota, I'm learning to embrace joy and let sorrow catch its breath.

Minnesota’s Many Delights