Saturday, October 19, 11:00-1:00pm $35 per person

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In correlation with our MYTH exhibition, we are hosting a Sketchbook workshop with artist Wren Ross. Born and raised in Utah, Wren graduated with a bachelor’s degree from the Rhode Island School of Design in 2006. Influenced by myth, allegory and the mark-making traditions of prehistoric peoples, her work seeks to create a space for introspection and dialogue in an ever-shifting political, social and environmental climate. Wren's work includes traditional materials, namely water-based drawing and painting tools, as well as materials found in the natural world, such as herbs, minerals, earth and salt. With a personal practice centered on empathetic engagement and intuitive mark-making, her body of work is firstly concerned with the ritual of noticing, and celebrates the mundane, the simple and the overlooked.


This hands-on workshop will introduce the art of keeping a sketchbook. The workshop will begin with a short introduction to her process and how she incorporates sketchbook documentation into daily life. This includes, finding a comfort zone with making a mess, utilizing the blank space as a habitat for experimentation, using a sketchbook as a place to honor finite noticing and to struggle through mental blocks.

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“These sketchbooks are always with me, and they contain at once everything important in my life, and almost nothing of actual value. They are a landing space for my stream of consciousness at any given moment (at a restaurant, in the car, waiting for coffee), and they are frankly without poise or grace. But they are very much alive, like corporeal extensions of me- like phantom limbs in reverse. The notebooks start out slim and tidy, and they only really begin to get good when they become fat, disorganized and inclined to sluff off lists, postcards, interesting trash and other bits when held carelessly. The sketchbooks are generous and patient, they absorb and contain and close up all manner of anxieties, dissatisfaction and failures. They develop a weight, a patina, they seem to have little beating hearts. At time I work in them every day, with thoughtful and deliberate marks. At other times I only open them to stuff things inside, to check a recipe for polenta I think I left there, to find a phone number I scribbled down while on the phone in the car.”