Third Ear, Second Skin is an upcoming featured installation at the 2nd Annual Atlanta Art Fair this September. Curated by Melissa Messina and featuring artists Krista Clark (Atlanta), Sonya Yong James (Atlanta), and Vadis Turner (Nashville) this special presentation brings together sculptural installations that push formal frameworks while drawing from organic and architectural abstraction.

Grounded in Messina’s longstanding engagement with the Southeast and in the lineage of abstraction championed by Mildred Thompson (1936–2003), this conversation tracks shared concerns alongside each artist’s distinct vocabulary – and the comradery and support that these artists share with each other. In connection with the project, Clark, James, and Turner have each been offered a 2025/26 residency with the Mildred Thompson Legacy Project (Atlanta) to further these investigations.

Melissa Messina: When I was invited to guest curate this project, Nato [Thompson], the artistic director, suggested we do two artists. I don’t really love that number because I think, particularly in this setting, it sets up a comparison. As humans, right?

When there are two things, we’re like, “this or that.” I really wanted to create a dialogue. And so, in thinking about why I would do a project like this and what I could bring to it, I really felt like it could be interesting to connect to the work of Mildred Thompson, who is a deceased artist, who lived in Atlanta for many years, went under-recognized for many years, and whose estate I manage. In thinking about who today is carrying on her legacy, in terms of a really unique abstract language, working with materials in unique ways kind of carving their own path, if you will, in the history of American abstraction, the three of you, Sonya, Krista, and Vadis, just came to the fore.

Having dedicated a good portion of my career to curating marginalized artists, particularly women — we all sort of understand, art historically, that when female artists hit middle age there’s often a lack of interest in their work. And I really want to buck that pattern, that rhythm, and use this opportunity to show three middle-aged women who have, for many years, been working at the height of their careers. It was also important to me that each artist be from the South. I thought about who could represent the region and their city — who is working in a way where they’re connected to the place they’re in. For Sonya and Krista, that’s Atlanta. For Vadis, that’s Nashville.

And yet, you each have your eye on the prize, right? A much broader sense of where your work can go, what dialogue it’s in, both nationally and internationally. So I will reveal in this interview that I asked the three of you: either all do it together, or I wasn’t going to do it at all. That was the ultimatum. I felt so strongly that you three would present beautifully together, that there would be a real opportunity to show the unique strengths of your languages, and yet, shown in combination, create an even stronger dialogue. Luckily, you agreed. So with that lengthy introduction, I’ll toss it back to you, what was your response to the invitation? Did you see an immediate connection between your work and the premise I set forth? Did you have any reservations? Has any of that changed in the course of this process?

Vadis Turner: I was a quick, absolutely, yes! I’ve known Melissa for a long time, but we haven’t worked on a project together in… what, 13 years? Since the show you did, Embedded Message in Virginia, which I loved being part of. I was thrilled for the opportunity to work with you again.

And, the other artists – I live in Nashville – we’ve never met in real life, but I’ve been following their careers. I mean, you want to follow the careers of artists you feel in conversation with, but I feel a special kinship to artists also working in the Southeast. It’s such an important time to be making work here, especially as women.

And I feel that between the three of us, we’ve shown at a lot of the same places, just not at the same time. So it’s been an honor to kind of fall into each other’s footsteps, I’m so glad I actually get to show with you and meet you this time.

Sonya Yong James: I love that. I feel the same way. Actually, I curated a textile show a long time ago at the Hudgens [Center for Art & Learning], and I included you in it. That was in 2013. I couldn’t even remember when it was — I looked it up this morning. I was like, when was that? It was 12 years ago. It just went like that, you know?

I remember at the time you were doing your ribbon paintings and living in Brooklyn, so I’ve been following your work for 12 years. Now I know you live in Nashville, you’re in the Southeast with us now, and I love that. Krista is definitely a comrade, a friend, and a fellow Atlanta artist who I love and admire.

And especially when Melissa said she was doing this project and we were going to be the three artists, I felt the same way. I was like, absolutely. I will do anything Melissa is involved with. I have a deep respect for her, as a curator and as a human being, for what she’s doing with the Mildred Thompson legacy, her new residency, all of it. So yeah, it’s an exciting opportunity to work together this September.

Krista Clark: I echo everything that was said and especially emphasize my “yes.” Melissa, anything you ask or offer would always be a quick yes. I have so much respect for you and for the work that you do, and also the care that you always bring to it.

So it was definitely — timing was scary. But anything Melissa Messina is going to curate or head, it would be a definite yes. And I appreciate highlighting three women, and embracing middle age as well.

MM: Well, I am really moved – a little bit verklempt right now. That was really touching. Thank you. And I did not mean to set that up to get all of those compliments back in return, but I love the three of you dearly. And again, echo what you said — that I have been following your work for a very long time, and in many cases hadn’t gotten the opportunity to work with you in as great a depth as I would like to. So this is a fantastic opportunity to do that, and to really shine a light on the work you’re doing.

Like I said, each of you to me have a deep connection to the place in which you are making. And I know that’s really… you know, it’s been challenging since COVID. I mean, it’s always been challenging, but especially since COVID, where people can live, where they can be successful in making their work. When I get asked by younger artists, “Should I move to New York? Should I move to LA?” my answer is never canned. It’s like — well, what will that do for you? Will that feed your practice?

And I know each of you have been making in different parts of the world. But I’m curious, what is your connection? How are you thinking about your practice in response to the city that you live in? That it’s in the Southeast? And yet, you also have an incredible knowledge of what’s going on in the art world. I think you really understand how your work is operating within that larger dialogue.

So I’m just going to toss it out to whoever wants to take that. How are you, in this middle age — god, I hate that phrase — in this phase of wisdom in your life, how are you thinking about your work in relation to the Southeast and to the broader, “art world”? I might put the pressure on Vadis to answer this first, only because I remember, you know, from our conversations — we’ve all had them in various places and ways, over coffees, food, drinks — but Vadis, you and I had a pretty deep conversation about that in your studio when we were picking work for this. So if you don’t mind, I might start with you.

VT: I would start by addressing my perspective as a woman in middle age. Something we talked about in my studio — you said, “What do you know about that now, at this age?” And what I know is that I have a lot of work to do. And I’ve never felt more confident that this is what I’m supposed to do.

At the same time, I don’t feel like I’m panting anymore. I don’t feel that desperation to beat down all the doors. I’m ambitious, I’m not lazy, I’m not waiting for everybody to knock down mine. I mean, I wish they would, but that’s not how it works.

I feel I have a lot to do, and I feel really good about what I’m doing, as twitchy and strange and other as it seems to be in Tennessee. And I segue into that because I’m making this work much like you all are — although you’re in a swing state — but Nashville is this blue dot in the middle of a very red state that national politicians don’t even bother to campaign in. It’s kind of considered a lost cause.

When I left, I was living in New York and making my work in New York. I felt like I left the city maybe with my tail between my legs. Professionally, you know, I wasn’t going to give up, but it wasn’t really working for me. And to my delight and surprise, when I moved to Nashville, the work really started to blossom. It’s supposed to be made here. It’s supposed to be made in conversation with, in response to, and in some opposition to the cultural landscape in which it’s created.

And I’m speaking specifically to traditional gender roles, which, in my perspective, seem more set in place in the South compared to the North or other regions. And I think maybe that’s the best place to hold for now. Does that hit on the things we talked about that day?

MM: Absolutely.

SYJ: Yeah. I love that. I’m very deeply entrenched here. I mean, this is my community. I grew up here. My family’s here. I just have a real history here. And although I’ve often considered not being here in the Deep South — I don’t know, I just… I’ve just always stayed here.

Being here too, it’s kind of — I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s always afforded a lot of time and space, which I know I wouldn’t necessarily have in a lot of other places. Atlanta’s changing a lot, like everywhere else in the world, but I don’t know, I kind of feel the same way. It’s just a real sense of place, a real sense of history, and again, just deeply entrenched here. A lot of what I work on is based on those memories of being here. And I feel very – I feel very held here too.

MM: Wow, that’s really beautiful.

KC: Yeah. I like that, I can relate to that. So I guess I enter this always feeling like an outsider. I grew up in the North, and someone told me a little while ago that I’m now “old school Atlanta” or “OG Atlanta,” because I’ve been here since ’95, but I grew up in Vermont. And it took me a while to really acclimate to those two very different worlds.

It hasn’t been until fairly recently that I felt like, okay, this is home. Accepting that and embracing that. And in terms of thinking about my role in the South, I guess I’d still say it’s in that in-between space, which my work will probably always occupy in some way. Looking at it as an outsider, but also making this new history of my own.

That’s informed, too, by living in a historically Black neighborhood and owning a home there, feeling a responsibility to that community, being aware of what my own agenda is. And also, I would say I feel very much held in Atlanta as well, by the opportunities. I don’t think I would have had this elsewhere. I lived in New York, and it’s hard to be seen, even though the opportunities are endless. Here, I feel thankful for the access, for the community we have in the Southeast and in Atlanta.

SYJ: Yes, definitely.

And Sheila said, “Here, you’re preaching to the choir. Go take your politics with you.” And that really moved me. It was like — okay, if I’m saying all these things in my curatorial practice in New York, it’s a drop in the pond. But if I say them in the South, in a complex city like Atlanta, with this very rich history but also this eye toward the future — what could I say, and what impact could I make?

And I do feel like in the “art world” there have been moments for different geographical places in the country. And I feel very strongly that now is the moment for the Southeast. I’ve been curating here for over 20 years — almost 25 — and I’ve never seen as much external interest in what’s going on here, in Atlanta and in the region more broadly.

That was another reason I was very excited to do this project at a fair — where the audience is mixed. There are people who’ve never collected a piece of art in their life, and there are people flying in from different parts of the world to see the work. That feels like a real opportunity to make a statement.

And I realized as you were responding earlier — the three of you are not only dealing with abstraction, but with the body in abstraction. The body in space: how it’s affected by architecture, by place, time, politics — and, in many ways, the female body. Some of you more directly than others. I don’t want to force that onto anybody, but I see it quite a bit in the work.

That’s another reason I thought you’d be fun to show together at this fair — how can we instigate the space a little bit? How can we manipulate how it feels to be in an art fair setting? Krista, maybe you could start by talking about that relationship in your work. And if I’ve missed the mark, correct me.

KC: No, I think — I always have to remind myself that the body is very much part of the work. Because the perspective is always coming from the body — how the body moves, how it experiences space, the landscape, the built environment. Always thinking: how are we occupying that space? And it’s the body that’s occupying it.

Even though, when I’m making the work, I’m not thinking about the body. I’m thinking about materials and construction. But it’s absolutely informed in the same way my work is always informed by drawing. Drawing directs how I approach the work. And the body does too.

I kind of forget it’s always there, always informing how I respond to making the work. And going back again to scale — how we move through the work — that’s really what it comes down to.

MM: I think that’s a question for all of you — the language of abstraction based in how the body moves through, and responds to, space.

VT: Yes, for me too. I’ll back it up by saying — the big picture of my practice is to encourage the misbehaviors of domestic materials. And I think that’s a place where all our work really starts to talk to each other.

For me, I mine the domestic sphere for materials that have the potential to speak in some way, and I subvert them — make them do something they’re not supposed to do. I use a lot of textiles, like Sonya — used bed sheets, used curtains. I also use structural materials, like Krista — mineral wool, concrete. I know those aren’t exactly the materials you use, but I feel like there’s a nice dialogue about material between us.

And then I put it all in the context of the grid. The grid — a linear system, largely dominated by men throughout history. Pairing these domestic materials, often associated with women’s work, with the grid — that gives me an opportunity to feminize the grid. To turn it into the body.

And then the challenge is — how do I activate that form? How do I put in female characteristics, or tell stories of outcast women, through composition? How do I make the grid sensuous, frenzied, furious, shrieking, hysterical? That’s the work ahead.

And, you know, talking about textiles being gendered — I mean, the world is really into textiles now. I see it everywhere. Twenty-five years ago, that was not the conversation we were having. It was all – textiles are craft, they’re gendered, they’re marginalized. We weren’t invited to the table. Now I can’t go to a museum or gallery anywhere without seeing textiles. And I love that.

Textiles are technologies — they’re engineered, structured, designed to solve problems. They provide warmth, shelter, help us carry things, cover us.

And I love working with bed sheets. It’s such an intense material — embedded with meaning. You’re born in them, you sleep in them, you’re sick in them, you die in them. You’re in contact with them every day. And, you know, textiles are exhausting work. I did a 12-hour day on the loom the other day, warping two looms. It’s meditative, you have to focus, but then time slips away. And it’s physical labor too — invisible labor that doesn’t always show in the finished work.

MM: Yeah, thank you for helping to push those boundaries. You have been working in that vein, and your work has really helped make textiles more visible. So thank you for that.

I also loved how all of your answers made me feel very assured there’s a beautiful lineage between your work and Mildred’s — thinking about the ways she pushed materiality, and the way the body is implied in that work.

Her work could be very architectonic, but when you look at the way she pieced wood together, for instance in the Wood Pictures that I know Vadis loves so much, there’s an implied labor of the body. And I think that exists in all of your work.

Before we move on, Krista, I want to toss it back to you — because I don’t think we gave you the chance to talk about materiality in your work.

KC: Sure. Listening to both Vadis and Sonya… so, going back to the idea of thinking about space and how we move through space, something you said really resonated with me. And of course, I should’ve written it down.

But it made me think — the objective of my work is to disrupt space. I usually think of that as the materials disrupting space. But it’s really about how the body interacts with the materials, how they disrupt each other, and how they disrupt our relationship with the space they’re in.

And that disruption — for me, it’s about claiming space. Going back to what Sonya was saying. Because I, as a Black woman growing up in Vermont, very much just wanted to get through and not be seen.

Even though I never really acknowledged that — because I try to leave that discomfort in the past — it is about claiming space personally. And as a Black woman, taking those gestures — leaning in, grabbing onto the power of that, and yes, claiming space in that way.

In terms of materials — I started off as a 2D artist. I came to working in space pretty recently in terms of my practice. I’m not formally trained in sculpture, whatever that means. But what I like about that is, since I don’t really know the rules, I can make it up as I go. For better or worse. It allows me to discover materials.

things down — oh, that’s amazing, I want to follow that thread.

We’re talking about materials. And so much of our practices are rooted in materials — the poetry of materials. When I hear the word “material,” I think about touching it. Craft is accessible to touch, but art you’re not supposed to touch. And I think all of us are inhabiting that in-between space, in different ways.

We’ve been talking about disturbances and misbehaviors. There’s this discomfort, this disorientation, that I feel in Krista’s work. And in Sonya’s work, there’s messiness, these intimate discoveries. It’s all swirling together.

And I also regret not saying earlier — when I talked about feminizing the grid — that’s also about thinking of the grid as a body. How can I turn the grid into a body, into a feminine body?

MM: I love it. The word that keeps coming to me, as the three of you are speaking — and it connects to Mildred’s work — is line. You’re all dealing with line. Whether in 2D or 3D, whether it relates to architecture or the body. Drawing.

That was Mildred’s practice too. Even though she had so much gusto — as the three of you do — with materiality and experimentation and wanting to push limits, not play by the rules, she still always worked from drawing.

I think the three of you embody that. To me, the common denominator is line work — drawing in space.

That wasn’t so much a question, but it leads me to this: in thinking of claiming space, I’d like to give a little space here for you to talk about influences. Legacy.

Krista, you and I talked about female artists. You know, when Mildred was coming up, in reading the limited scholarship on her work, critics would often justify her success by comparing it to a male abstractionist. And not that there’s anything wrong with that — she herself would’ve told you Kandinsky and Klee were influences. But art historically, there’s always been this justification when women’s work can “hold up” to men’s. (I’m saying that sarcastically, for the editor of this interview.)

So I’d love to hear who’s influenced you, and whose legacy you feel you’re carrying. If you want to talk about Mildred, wonderful. But I know there are many others you’ve each looked to.

KC: So, Melissa, when you were in the studio, I mentioned the artist I’m obsessed with right now is Phyllida Barlow. I bought, like, five of her books.

It’s been wonderful looking at her work because I had been looking at so many male artists. And her work has really given me permission to lean into the playful aspects of my own; That it doesn’t have to be rigid.

I’ve always loved minimalism — for better or worse — but it’s such a male-dominated world. And I always felt like I didn’t have permission to claim it. With Phyllida Barlow it’s just been so refreshing — because in all the best ways, anything goes. The way she works with materials, what she allows to occur — it’s been wonderful for me.

The other artist is Seher Shah, who was trained as an architect. Her use of these really simple gestures to block out space — not just space, but also histories — that’s something I always reference in my work.

VT: I got really excited hearing what you said, Krista. Good for you for putting yourself in that place — saying, “I’m nervous to talk about this, because of all these macho rules.” That’s exactly why it’s important.

I mean, having it all worked out is overrated. This is a crazy way to make a living. If we’ve got it figured out, then what’s the point? And if we’re going to play by the rules, what’s the point? There’s no creative experience in that, no challenge. So I love hearing that.

I do also want to talk a little about Mildred’s influence in my practice — especially the wood wall grid sculptures she made. They really hit home for me. Because, as Melissa was saying earlier, the positive shapes of the wood are worn, misshapen, irregular. The grid becomes human because of the wear, the soft edges.

And it’s also very much drawing. Those irregular seams, those little wobbly diagonals — they’re expressive. The grid becomes human.

And going back to materiality — it feels like touching when you look at it. What a privilege it was for us to be part of the residency program, to live with those works in her space. Huge influence for me.

And then I definitely need to mention Harmony Hammond. For me, those muscular fabric wall works, those wrappings — often grid-based, pulsing, hulking forms.

Barbara Chase-Riboud too. The bronze pieces sitting on top of soft textile bases — operating in ways you don’t expect. Standing in ways you don’t quite understand. I’ve started working with metal, and that textile-metal dialogue makes my heart swell. And Eva Hesse — I can’t not mention her. Her bravery. Her willingness to take on experimental mixed media. Muscular forms, but messy forms too. And I just think — there’s more energy in a knot than there is in a clean line where you know exactly where it’s going.

MM: Sonya, how about you?

SYJ: I love all that. And I agree — it takes attrition to live this life. It is a privilege, being an artist. We work from the head and the heart. We problem-solve every day.

Gosh, I have so many influences, I could go on and on. But sometimes I just revisit some of the old ones I’ve always loved. I love Chiharu Shiota. How can I not love those huge installation webs she makes? A real inspiration.

And then a friend recently gave me a book about Ruth Asawa. I don’t think about her often, but revisiting her — I love the materiality, and I love the sourcing of the material. She was inspired by visits to Mexico with Josef Albers, watching villagers crochet wire into baskets. I really love that kind of craft — that kind of inspiration, drawn from culture, from what you have access to, and making something of it.

The first time I went to Mexico was in 1997. For a long time I couldn’t go back, but in recent years I’ve been able to do residencies there and visit more. And that’s influenced me a lot — the craft, the artists, everything that’s happening there.

MM: I love all the names you’ve each mentioned. There’s such an energy in this conversation. And I love the idea that, when this is printed, your names will appear alongside those masterful artists in somebody’s Google search.

So — let’s talk about the projects you’re presenting at the Atlanta Art Fair. As you know, my curatorial practice is very collaborative. I consider myself an artist-curator. I want to hear what the artist wants to do.

Obviously, there are rules and regulations, things we have to disrupt and disturb — as is the theme of this interview. But I so enjoyed our studio visits, talking through how you wanted to approach the presentation.

An art fair isn’t a museum, and it’s not even a commercial gallery. It’s its own unique beast, with parameters, with all this visual noise around you. And we talked about wanting this project to look very different from a commercial booth.

So, Krista — why don’t you start? You also have a very large exhibition opening at the exact same time, and in our studio visit we talked about how the two connect.

KC: Okay. So — I’m currently installing a show at The Athenaeum at the University of Georgia. It opens September 13th. That’s their designated contemporary space, and it’s beautiful.

As I tend to do, I’m showing drawings and sculpture, because I like to see that conversation. But my challenge for this show was to make freestanding sculptures. I’ve been trying to will the materials into defying physics, but luckily everything seems to be coming together.

The show is titled Assembly. The sculptures sit between being architectural moments and being read as standing figures. For the fair, I want to push that further. At The Athenaeum, they’ll be vertical structures. But for the fair, I want leaning gestures. That’s a movement I hold onto. Leaning lets me play with scale too — possibly larger.

I’m excited to share the booth with Sonya, and with Vadis, to have that conversation.

SYJ: I can’t wait for your show in Athens. Thinking about my own work for the fair — I’ll continue with the Shapeshifter series I’ve been working on recently with horsehair. But I’m also meeting with my fabricator tomorrow, and I think I’m going to really try to push to do Totem as well.

MM: Fantastic.

SYJ: Yeah, I really want to go for it.

KC: Go for it.

MM: Breaking news!

SYJ: (laughs) I mean, the deadlines are intense, but this is what I love to do. It’s really the only thing I think about. So I’m going to keep working, hopefully pull things together this weekend, and then come up for air in September.

MM: Are you thinking about a third piece?

SYJ: Honestly, there are four in progress. It’s very labor intensive — of course, all of our work is. I’ll just keep working and edit later. See how things live with Krista’s work, how it feels in the space we’ve been talking about.

MM: I love that. We talked about needing to be nimble in a situation like this. You come up with a plan, bring the work into the space, and then the work tells you what it wants to do.

And Vadis — you and I talked about specific pieces, but also some alternatives, keeping that nimbleness in mind.

VT: Yes. And I was smiling at what you said earlier — when the work bites back. You think you’re in charge, but the work has other ideas. At this stage, you just roll with it, brace for the surprises, and enjoy them.

So, we have a couple of maybes in the mix. But what I think is definite — in my area, which will be adjacent to Sonya and Krista if I understand it right — I’ll show a short but dramatic progression of my practice over the past three to five years. Three large works.

It’ll move from flaccid to rigid, and from wall-bound to freestanding. The oldest piece, from 2020, is leather — a sagging, limp leather grid. Aggressive and sensual, with a hard/soft contrast.

The next is a window arching from the wall, informed by Danae, the tragic heroine from mythology. And the last will be a freestanding textile sculpture informed by Circe, the outcast sorceress.

So — getting textiles to stand up on their own. Betraying their intended form. Bed sheets no longer soft or horizontal, but standing, fierce, emboldened.

MM: Krista and I talked about her pieces being a continuation of her show. You and I decided the opposite for yours. You also just put up an installation at the Zuckerman Museum. Let’s talk about the difference.

VT: Yes. And I’m so glad to be showing at Zuckerman now, and at the fair.

The Zuckerman piece is 25 feet long, a large grid made of satin ribbons gilded with metal leaf. Each intersection has a bow. But the bows don’t behave. There’s turbulence — almost an invisible current blowing them out of shape, making them fall out of line. As a Nashvillian, I’m excited to have these two projects up in Atlanta simultaneously. A lot of Atlanta love.

MM: Speaking of that, Vadis — you also have something coming up in Nashville that’s pretty big. Are you allowed to talk about it?

VT: Yes. This spring I started my first outdoor sculpture series, based on Venus as a reclining nude. So I take that traditional form, but I turn her into an emboldened grid. I stand the figure upright. It’s made of braided bed sheets and dining plates cast in aluminum.

So it goes back to that Barbara Chase-Riboud conversation — the textile becoming metal. And more Atlanta love: the foundry I work with is in Atlanta.

The first Venus is now on view in East Hampton, at LongHouse Reserve, and it’ll be up for two years. The next Venus is being cast right now, for a presentation outside the Frist Art Museum in Nashville at the end of January.

SYJ: That sounds wonderful. And we’ll have a lot to talk about when we finally meet in Atlanta. I love Greek mythology — I’ve often referenced Persephone, Cassandra, even Arachne in my work. I’d love to talk to you more about those references.

MM: Sonya, this is your second time working with the Art Fair. You did a gorgeous installation in Seattle. Do you want to talk about that? And do you have anything else on the horizon you want to share?

SYJ: Seattle was a great experience. As for what’s next — nothing quite confirmed, so I can’t say anything yet. I wish I could. Let’s knock on wood.

MM: I love a cliffhanger ending. Go ahead, Vadis.

VT: Melissa, would you share what you have on the horizon?

MM: (laughs) Oh my goodness. I’m glad you haven’t heard all the hammering outside. For the past several months, we’ve been renovating the downstairs of Mildred Thompson’s home.

As you know, the residency is upstairs, in her former studio. But we had foundation failure. Three years ago I was told I had three years to fix it — so here we are. We ripped out the kitchen, down to dirt and studs. We’re expanding: a new kitchen, an ADA-accessible bathroom, making the downstairs usable for programming. And we’re building a big, beautiful screened deck so we can all sit around a table and talk about welding and mythology.

I can’t wait to invite you all back — individually and together. I think I’ve said “I love it” a hundred times in this interview, and I meant it every time. I love the three of you so much. I admire your practices deeply.

Thank you for saying yes to this project, and for all the kind words about my practice. We’re going to blow this out of the water. Talk about taking up space — we’re the first thing everyone’s going to see when they walk into the fair. They’ll have no choice. And I’m grateful to be doing it with you.

easy work. Nobody’s going to put it in their purse and walk out with it.

These are rough economic times, especially for artists. And I’m grateful that even though it might have been easier, financially, to do smaller, more sellable pieces, you chose to go for the conceptual. To push boundaries. To flex those muscles.

I hope what this does — speaking of visibility — is give you a platform. That the way you feel held in Nashville and Atlanta grows and continues, and that you’re held by the broader art world, the international community. I hope it brings you more success and more attention for the very hard and incredible work you’re doing.

Third Ear, Second Skin curated by Melissa Messina is on display at the 2nd Annual Atlanta Art Fair, September 25 – 28, 2025 at Pullman Yards.