Points of View

Rituals of Making

Three artists describe the rhythms that spark their creativity.

By Kandy G Lopez, Horacio Casillas, and Hong Hong
February 29, 2024

Spring 2024

Essays

Free To Read

Photo by ShootmeJade

Kandy G Lopez at work in her studio.

It’s in the Eyes

by Kandy G Lopez

My first step in any piece is inspiration. That usually comes in the form of a photograph I’ve come across on Instagram or a person who stops me in my tracks and makes my heart beat frantically. Readings also inform my work, because the words create pictures in my brain that I add to the visuals in my sketchbook.

Once I know what I’d like to create, I start with a clean slate. I schedule a morning to organize my studio and color-code my threads and yarns. OCD sets in. I pick up the pieces of leftover yarn and thread from the floor in my kitchen or studio space.

If I’m working at my kitchen table, I’m planning to create a small, intimate piece. This usually happens when I get overwhelmed and exhausted with the laborious nature of my 8-by-5-foot fiber paintings. The small ones are a break for me. They are also a challenge. My mind switches from yarn to thread, from bigger holes to very tiny ones. Depending on the size of the holes in the plastic canvas, I have to pull the strings apart to get three strands instead of six. The thinness of the strands gives me the ability to create sharper details. It’s easier to manipulate the curve of the eyes with smaller thread. It’s like switching paintbrushes.

If I’m working from home, it’s usually after my husband has put our two kids to bed. The night is quiet, the dogs are settled, and I wind down by making myself a cup of Bustelo coffee, which is like hot chocolate to me. Once the table is cleared and I’ve set my podcast or music—usually hip-hop or Bad Bunny—I think about my color choices. I usually have five colors picked out at a time. I run out of black and burnt sienna constantly.

If I’m working on bigger pieces, it’s typically in the studio. I’ve cleared my desk as much as possible and set the yarn balls in their place. I’ve printed my image on an 11-by-17-inch piece of paper and pinned it to the wall, and precut my hooking mesh and hung it so it’s ready to draw on. I use Expo dry erase markers to make my figures. I love measuring and editing. It’s another challenge—the game is to try to get it all correct on the first go. I fail every time, but feel satisfaction when a limb is correctly placed.

I make sure my ladder is nearby so I can get to the high spots on the mesh, and I have water or, again, coffee as a snack. At times I purchase M&Ms or a Dunkin’ donut, especially if it’s past 8 p.m., because I know I’ll be at the studio until 11 or midnight and I need the sugar boost.

Once the image is sketched in, I pick out yarns for the skin. I pray that I have all the colors I need. I go through a lot of browns and blues. It depends on the light within the image and the person’s complexion. Once that’s set, I thread at least three colors: black, off-white, and brown.

My ritual is to start with the eyes. Eyelash line first, then iris, then pupil, then whites. There are pink and gray shades within the eye. There are browns and highlights within the iris. After that, I work around the eye socket to get the eyelids, eye bags, and eyebrows. This usually takes 30 minutes to an hour. I try not to get too caught up in the details, and focus on the shapes and colors that make the person unique. Each eye is different, even right to left. The eyes create the connection with the viewer. It’s important that my subjects look directly at the camera so their presence is felt.

Then, at some point, I look at the clock and know it’s time to wrap things up and snuggle in bed with my husband.

kandyglopez.com | @kandyglopez

Afro-Caribbean multimedia artist Kandy G Lopez creates ultra-vivid portraits in fiber, stained glass, and oil. Her fiber portraits, made of thread and yarn, are as intricate as her oils, but with a three-dimensional quality that makes her subjects look as though they might step or dance right off the mesh canvas. Born in New Jersey, Lopez is a professor and program director of art and design at Nova Southeastern University in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. She makes art at home but also keeps a studio on campus.

Photo by Kandy G Lopez

Lopez expertly rendered Rohan’s bold shirt pattern in yarn.

Photo by ShootmeJade

Kandy G Lopez at work on a fiber painting.
Photo by Roman Dean, courtesy of ACA Galleries, NY

Lopez’s Lamenting Luis, 2023, 50 x 60 in.
Photo by Roman Dean, courtesy of ACA Galleries, NY

Kandy G Lopez’s Jeremi, 2023, yarn and acrylic paint on mesh canvas, 60 x 50 in.

Photo courtesy of Horacio Casillas

Horacio Casillas at work in a studio at the University of North Texas.

Balancing Inspiration, Interpretation, and Execution

by Horacio Casillas

As creatures of habit, we are often trapped and tormented by the repetition of the vices we can’t seem to shake, yet in our habitual nature we find solace in the repetition of virtues. Like everyone, I have good and bad habits when it comes to working in the studio.

At the heart of a craftsperson’s rituals lies the initiation. My most peaceful and productive days are the ones when I practice my best habits: getting up early, going to morning Mass, and doing my morning prayers. These rituals orient my mind, body, and soul toward God. By quieting my mind, assuming a posture of humility, and surrendering to the difficulties the day might bring, I open myself and my creative work to endless potential.

One of my worst habits that usually ruins the flow of the day is spending too much time on social media. The world is often so loud and divisive, I can’t hear myself think. As much as Instagram and other platforms can be a source of inspiration and fraternal connectedness, for me they do more harm than good. If I’m going to be creative, I need to clear my head and look to the Creator, the author of beauty, for inspiration.

I have traveled a lot in the past five years, and the thing I appreciate most about going to new places is being able to visit different churches. A few of my favorite churches are the Cathedral of Saint Paul in Saint Paul, Minnesota; St. Joseph in Macon, Georgia; and St. Lucien in Spruce Pine, North Carolina. As much as my desire to create comes from the Lord, a lot of my design inspiration comes from the aesthetic of Byzantine, Gothic, and Baroque architecture.

Because of my travels, I’ve had many different workspaces. One of the rituals I enjoy most is one of the most important: setting up a new workspace or studio. As a maker, I spend close to 90 percent of my time in the studio. For me, it represents a sacred space, much like the chapel I find consolation in. So I spend a good amount of time making sure it’s peaceful by finding the best place for all my tools, considering the direction I’ll face when I throw on the wheel, and taking into account where the windows are and where the sun is coming from.

Photo courtesy of Horacio Casillas

Morning Glory holy water font, stoneware, fired to cone 10, 18 x 11 x 7 in.

Along with having an efficient setup, continual maintenance is also important. My most productive days start the day before, when I’ve cleaned up my mess—my work table is decluttered, my tools are washed and laid out, and my wheel is spotless. This allows me to use my time more wisely and be creative in the morning, when I feel most energized. As the day goes on, I’ll drink hot tea, mostly green tea but sometimes chamomile, depending on whether I need some caffeine. Either way, it’s calming.

Throughout the day, I usually listen to music, most often Texas country (I know, for the most part I’m alone in that boat, ha ha). But I also listen to rancheras and other old-school Mexican music, and when I feel like I’ve lost focus, my go-to is Gregorian chant.

Making sure my space can facilitate productivity is a gesture of my openness to co-creation with the Creator. This is something I will always have to work at, because by no means are all my ideas divine revelation. The number of failures I’ve had is proof of that. But in the sphere of artistic expression, the act of creation is not just technical; it is a balance between inspiration, interpretation, and execution.

One of my final rituals at the end of the day is to take a step back and contemplate how the day went. Did I work collaboratively with God? Did I work productively? How do I prepare for the next day? Do I focus on something, or should I walk away entirely?

horaciocasillas.com | @horacio_casillas_jr

Born in Chandler, Arizona, and raised in Jalisco, Mexico, artist Horacio Casillas makes holy water fonts for use in the Catholic church, elaborately carved clay jars, and other ceramic works. He is currently taking a break from his Texas-based artistic practice and serving in an orphanage in Honduras.

Photo courtesy of Horacio Casillas

Horacio Casillas’s Rose Window Vase, red clay, terra sigillata, underglaze, fired to cone 5, 11 x 8 x 8 in.

Photo by Tom Peckham, courtesy of Tusen Takk

Hong Hong with 内/Interiors, 2023, hand-formed paper made with water from Lake Michigan, sun, repurposed paper products, fiber-reactive dyes, and fallen foliage, 92 x 131 in.

Summer to Fall

to wake, to walk a distance, no speaking, darkness, unravel, open, walk around, accumulate, submerge, stir, bend at waist, lift, wetness, weight, to pour, to spill, to turn, to lower, to empty, to walk back, to reach, to lose balance, some light, a few birds, squat, touch, pinch, push, lean, the sky, the ground, to walk again, to accumulate again, to submerge again, to lower again, to pour again, to spill again, to empty again, to lose balance again, the sun burns, feel for thinness with fingers, press against thickness with palms, to empty one last time, to gather, to sweep, to turn away, and then to return

The process begins outside, in darkness, as movement. It is physical. I cannot see, but I remember.

December 2021, in notebook: My dad took out several large bags from the back of his closet. I opened one. It was filled with hundreds of bracelets, each made of knotted paracord and then carefully wrapped in layers of red embroidery thread. No one knew he was doing this. Not my mom. Not his own mother. He told me that he made the bracelets in the early morning, before the sun rose. He couldn’t see as well as he once did, but his body knew the necessary movements: where to tighten and then loosen, when to turn and in which direction. I am just like my father.

November 2023, in an email: the same sequence of movements are repeated. but the gestures are like memories in that they are not static. they transform each time i revisit them. something new is born. i go back to the past in order to connect more fully to the present and the future.

I enter into time.

—Hong Hong

honghong.studio | @honghongstudio

Each summer, interdisciplinary artist Hong Hong travels to faraway and distinct locations to make paper under the sky. These environmental investigations map interstitial relationships between landscape, temporality, and the body through cartographic, symbolic, and material languages. Born in Hefei, Anhui, China, Hong currently lives in Massachusetts.

Photo by Justin O’Brien, courtesy of the artist

Hong works on an in-process environmental pour in Hartford, Connecticut, in 2018.

Photo courtesy of Hong Hong

A completed environmental pour in Leland, Michigan, in 2023.

Photo courtesy of Hong Hong

Hong’s 家/Home, 2023, comprises hand-formed paper made with water from the Atlantic, sun, repurposed paper products, yarn, fiber-reactive dyes, ink, graphite, thread, and fallen foliage, 97 x 122 x 38 in.

Photo courtesy of Hong Hong

Debris from the external surroundings fell into and became part of 家/Home.

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This article was made possible with support from the Windgate Foundation.

Kandy G Lopez was featured in The Queue.

Read the interview

This article was made possible with support from the Windgate Foundation.

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