Studio Notes · Jan 2025
Kolam protective threshold design from Tamil Nadu (South India).
ON MY MIND
Protection.
A recent visitor to my studio asked about the meaning behind several burdock motif pieces on my wall, a symbol of protection found in Turkish kilim rugs. Our conversation prompted me to research the history of this motif, and one search led to another, eventually immersing me in a treasure trove of cross-cultural patterns designed specifically for protection at thresholds. One particular design, the kolam from Tamil Nadu (South India), caught my attention due to its general resemblance to its Turkish counterpart.
I encountered a discussion of kolam in the context of protective threshold designs in Alfred Gell’s Art and Agency book, published in the late 1990s. Gell explores it as an example of “art as a system of action, intended to change the world rather than encode symbolic prepositions about it.” Kolam, much like other intricate designs like labyrinths, knots, etc., is an example of a tradition of inscribing complex and visually puzzling designs in order to protect the sheltered from attack by “evil spirits.” The idea is that these spirits become so absorbed in solving the pattern—“glued to the surface,” in Gell’s words— that they lose track of their original intent to infiltrate. The waylaid spirits simply get distracted and lose by attrition.
Through my research, I also discovered that Tamil women freehand-draw kolam using white powder, like rice flour or lime, every day at dawn. As the day goes on and the patterns are walked over, they are erased, only to be redrawn at the next sunrise. The agency these women exercise through this practice creates a protective interface, actively mediating against hostile forces. What a way to consider the possibilities for art in action!
Plaster mold of a burdock motif signifying Protection in ancient Anatolian kilim rugs.
WITH MY HANDS
Burdock.
One of my most cherished objects in the studio is a hefty plaster mold of the burdock motif, one of the many symbols signifying protection in Turkish rug patterns. The thorns of the burdock plant were believed to imbue the body it latched onto with a protective shield. This, like many other variations, is another example of the concept of nazar, or protection against "the evil eye."
As a coaching student at Karen Singer Tileworks studio in 2019, I cast this mold early in my creative exploration. I made several molds of motifs to produce multiples quickly and efficiently, with the intention of creating a larger tiling composition. When pressing a mold, instead of inscribing a design on the clay each time, the pattern is impressed directly onto the surface. Pressing molds is a satisfying and useful task—one of many skills I learned from Karen.
But my work didn’t go very far in the direction of tiling patterns with single, repeated units. I have been drawn to making one-of-a-kind wall pieces where each composition ends up being different. Furthermore, I discovered earlier this year that I enjoy and, in fact, feel the need to freehand draw most of the geometry I create in a repetitive and slow manner, producing individual variation. While I could be using the computer to generate patterns and laser-cut templates, I employ a strictly analog methodology. As I discovered in my own Devotion Series — which emerged from a daily studio ritual —I find it more sustaining to make work that belongs in a collection while holding the possibility for difference and coexistence of multiples within itself.
I can relate to the Tamil women who freehand kolam patterns daily, letting their bodies inhabit the time and space needed to retrace the design. With this way of working, the surface becomes activated and an embodiment of the process. What might seem “inefficient” actually transcends any comparative metric. The hand and lines draw forth together a pattern imbued with agency and power in the moment. I think we call this “flow” in modern times.
Nazar beads hanging on a tree, overlooking the valley of Göreme, Turkey.
FROM THE HEART
Threshold.
When I read the description “glued to the surface” in Gell’s writing about how evil spirits are thwarted from entering a protected space through the use of distraction, it landed differently for me in the year 2025 than it probably did the readers of the 1990s. Today, I cannot help but see a tragic irony in how we are all, to some extent, struggling with feeling trapped at the mesmerizing surface level of our personal devices of distraction. Especially given the political hand-over we are witnessing these days in the U.S., it feels as though the “evil spirits” are not only inside; they have utter control over the patterns of mass distraction which keep us shut out of our own spaces, from the personal to the political to the sacred.
I am afraid we are in an era of a fun-house of these visual puzzles—disorienting, exhausting, and keeping one superficially busy trying to work it all out. While I wonder how I can keep the unwanted out, the more important question for me is how to invite the most needed in. In other words, how do I maintain control of my own attention? This is tricky because my reluctance to be entangled in the attention economy seems to conflict with the vital need to be connected, to be seen (or even be “discovered!”) as an artist, and to enjoy the fruits of technology as an educator.
I am a very late adopter of social media, specifically Instagram, and use it only as a platform to disseminate my artwork. I never became an ardent or consistent user. But here I am still contemplating that while it doesn’t cost me a lot of time or energy, it still feels like it takes too much. I am drawn to reading personal accounts/”how-to”s on leaving social media —#leaveIG—which seems to remain a fringe resistance movement in practice at best and another flavor of dieting/detox culture at worst. And, given the current political backdrop, I can’t help but wonder if there is a harmless way to partake in these platforms anymore.
So, what instead? I still remain puzzled but think perhaps my modest monthly email practice is as an ample and protected portal for authentic engagement for now. If there are any of you out there who want to share how you are grappling with this conundrum, please reach out. I’m inviting you in.
Until next month, hoşçakalın!