Bethany- Small World

Feb 12- Reflection

This project helped me think about making visual impact with minimal materials and abstract form. I really enjoyed working with a limited color pallet. I also feel like I pushed myself a lot by working primarily with formal elements rather than recognizable images as the focus. I think the light, color, and texture were successful. I think I was successful in creating an environment as well. There were different interpretations in the critique, but I was happy that most people viewed it as being peaceful, safe, alive, and reflective of nature.

The main thing that could be improved is touching up the bottom of the roof and painting on some white over the paper to make them cleaner. I didn’t think about seeing the bottom of the roof because I am always looking at it from above, but when you look inside you can see the bottom of the roof. I could also modify the yarn more to make even more texture. 

Artist statement

This work was made as a way for the viewer to step into an alien space of serene and stillness. Inspired by artist Shelia Hicks, I experimented with the ways draping fiber can be used to enhance a space. The viewer walks into a candleholder that has been transformed into a jungle of yarn. The fibers fall from the ceiling in a naturalistic pattern similar to vines. This creates the feeling that the space is like a foreign nature. The yarn could have grown from the ceiling. The limited color pallet lets the space remain muted and calm, but not naturalistic. The red and blue colors make the space mysterious and otherworldly. The darkness of the walls encourages the viewer to let their eye be drawn to the light catching on the falling fibers. One must look up to get the full experience of the room. 

I wanted to create a space that is quiet. There is mystery and beauty, but overall it is calm. Whether or not that calm feeling is pleasant or unsettling to the viewer is up to them. I chose this candleholder because it’s shape naturally draws the eye upwards, and it was important to me that the instillation primarily hang above. Being forced to look up at something is having to acknowledge your own position to it. I am small; I am below. Candleholders are also containers of light, and this piece ended up capturing that aspect as well. As the light catches on the falling yarn, it becomes a character of its own. The darkness surrounding  may end up seeming like a void and the yarn from above may go on for miles beyond what is seen. This piece creates expanse around the small viewer.

Feb 9 

This week I made a paper lid for my structure to cover up my new and  large light. I made a clay cone big enough to cover the light and cast it in paper and yarn. I then papered the inside with a darker color so the light doesn’t bleed in and added cardboard to the bottom so the light doesn’t bleed down either. I was debating between a pink or white light. I think I will go with the white because it picks up the blue well.

(Not the finished stairs)

I papered the inside as well. This made the color a deep red. Boy, was that difficult to do. There are only the two openings, so it was tricky to get my paintbrush in. I also glued down some of the dark red yarn to the bottom of the candleholder instead of using pompoms. This fits the colors better, and I like the look of the glued down yarn. It transitions into the wall color well. I think the dark walls make the focus on the yarn better and make the space feel bigger. Not using pompoms also keeps from weighing the room down.

White light

Purple light

Top down view of the papered inside with ramp and yarn

I finished the stairs by covering them in paper. This helped them blend with the outside more. I also got a little person to stand on the stairs.

February 2

 I started constructing my installation. I had a tea light to work around, but in such a small space it looks a little like a strobe. I am considering getting a dollhouse light instead. I deconstructed the tea light to sill use as a structure because I like the look of having a candle inside. I can easily insert a different light into it or attach the yarn to a working light. Either way would be a simple fix.

I chose yarn that I liked the texture of that semi fit within my planned color scheme. I ended up adding in purple yarn to the blue, but I like the way that looks for now. I laid all the yarn in tape strips and then attached it to the tea light. Originally, i tried to attach it to a cardboard circle that I would place on the top of the holder, but that wasn’t very easy to do. The yarn was hard to layer and it laid weirdly inside the holder. Instead, I layered the yarn on masking tape. This was a nice process, because I can easily make changes if I would like. It can be easily removed add layers can be replaced or trimmed. I then attached the tape to the tea light and trimmed the edges. Currently, the tea light fits by just sliding it into the top. 

My process of adding yarn strips

Photo of the inside

I am working on making stairs and a ramp as an entrance. I am making this out of cardboard, and I tried to keep the dimensions close to scale for a staircase. I also have some clay that I will use to make a little person.

I would love some feedback on what you guys think of the tea lighting. To me, it is too flickery, but I would love your thoughts. Would a dollhouse light be better? The other thing I am considering is painting wax onto the yarn. I think that could make it look less yarn-like, but it would definitely change the overall look. Also, do I still need the pompoms? Would that help flesh out the environment, or is it too much visual information?

Hi Bethany,

For your small installation, the flickering is not working. Remind me tomorrow to show you what we have in-house that you can use. There are two options. Small battery-powered lights and a remote control light that can change color. You would simply need to figure out how to install it so it disappears. The pom poms not being added should be dictated by the feeling you want to convey in the space. Are they simply visual or do they have a purpose? What about a different color cotton ball? I am not opposed to their elimination, but how connected are they to the idea?

January 25

For the small world installation, I am taking inspiration from Shelia Hicks. She is a fiber artists that makes long rope-like installations as well as ones that look like big pompoms. I want to combine these ideas into one installation.

Shelia Hicks examples

My found object is a candle holder, I think. I found it at Goodwill, and I like that it has two openings. I want to use one opening as a way to hang yarn and the other as a window, but I am not sure which one will be which. I would like to create more of an environment rather than focus on a singular object like Hicks does. 

My goal is to create a fun/whimsical environment for the viewer. I chose a color pallet of pinks and blues, but I might want it to be a little more muted in the final product. I want the viewer to feel engulfed in yarn.

I want to hang yarn from the top of the object so it forms a slight column that is dissected by strands hanging down independently. The base of my object has a rim that I want ot surround in pompoms that engulf the viewer. I want the top to be the focal point.

Option #1: Top view of object

In this option, the window would be in the top of the candle holder. The yarn would hang from the other hole, and the pompoms would be on the wall rather than the floor.

Option #2: Front view

In this one, the yarn would hang from the top and the pompoms are on the ground. I like this configuration better, but it is a little tricky to see inside this way. I would need to add lighting to help with visibility.

Some possible concerns I have for this would be that my space is non-adaptable from the exterior because it is ceramic. I am limited by the holes that exist. I also am worried about lighting. I don’t really know how to add light sources or what my options for that would be.

Bethany, this is a solid and thoughtful start, and Sheila Hicks is an appropriate and productive reference for what you’re interested in exploring. Your focus on fiber, accumulation, and softness is clear, and the desire to create an environment rather than a single object aligns well with the goals of this project.

The candle holder is an interesting found object choice, especially because it already contains multiple openings. You’re right to recognize that those openings are not neutral—they determine how the viewer can access the interior space. Thinking about which opening functions as entry versus window is exactly the kind of spatial decision this project is asking for.

Your instinct to create an engulfing, whimsical environment through hanging yarn and pom-pom accumulation makes sense conceptually. I’d encourage you to think carefully about how much fiber is necessary to create that feeling at a miniature scale. At this size, fewer strands, pushed further, can often feel more immersive than adding as much material as possible.

Between your two options, Option #2 feels stronger spatially because it emphasizes gravity and downward movement, which works well with fiber. If visibility becomes an issue, lighting can be simple and subtle—small LED tea lights or light bouncing off lighter-colored yarn may be enough. You don’t need to overcomplicate this.

Your concern about the ceramic exterior not being adaptable is valid, but also part of the challenge of working with a found object. Rather than trying to change the outside, focus on how the interior can be activated through material, density, and placement. Let the object’s limitations guide your decisions or you may need to find an object that would be more flexible.

As you move forward, ask yourself:

• Where does the viewer “enter” the space visually?

• Which opening matters most, and why?

• How can yarn and pom-poms define a sense of enclosure rather than decoration?

This is a promising direction. Focus on clarity, restraint, and letting the material do the work, and you’ll be in a good place.

Madelynn Kulmus - Small World Installation

2/15/26

Reflection

Creating this small world installation became much more vulnerable than I initially expected. Choosing the foam cooler as my container made the piece become personal, but as I continued developing the piece, I realized I was not just building an environment, I was externalizing something I live with every day. The cooler represents preservation and protection, but it also represents isolation. Living with a pacemaker means my heart is constantly monitored, assisted, and regulated. There is comfort in that technology, but there is also a quiet awareness that my body requires intervention to function “normally.” The cooler mirrors that duality: it safeguards what is fragile, yet it is sterile, clinical, and confining.

During critique, several people immediately recognized the drawn lines on the interior walls as a heartbeat pattern. That response meant a lot to me because it confirmed that the internal rhythm reads clearly without explanation. At the same time, the feedback pushed me to think about how I can intensify the sensory experience. Suggestions like adding subtle red or warm internal lighting, incorporating a faint heartbeat sound, or physically connecting strands of yarn to the drawn pulse lines made me realize that the piece can become even more immersive. A heartbeat is not just visual, it is auditory, rhythmic, and felt. Introducing those elements would deepen the emotional weight and make the chaos more embodied.

The comment about unwinding some of the yarn so that it reads less like “craft material” also resonated with me. Right now, some strands still feel controlled and neat. But anxiety and cardiac instability are not neat. Allowing strands to fray, tangle, or even coating some in wax to create hardened, rigid textures could better reflect the unpredictability and tension I associate with my own experience. The suggestion of spackling the cooler’s rough edges is also important for a finished and polished piece.

Ultimately, this piece reflects the chaos of living inside a heart that doesn’t fully trust itself. The miniature scale contrasts with the magnitude of that feeling. Inside something small and contained, there is overwhelming density, movement, and pressure. That contradiction feels honest to me. This installation allowed me to translate an invisible condition into a physical space, one that feels alive, unstable, protective, and fragile all at once.

Documentation

2/9/26

Written Statement 

For my small world installation, I chose a foam cooler as the found object to serve as the gallery space. This choice was intentional and deeply personal. Foam coolers are commonly associated with hospitals, medical transport, and the preservation of organs, particularly the heart. Because I have a pacemaker, the cooler felt like a more honest container than my original idea of using a sugar dish. While the sugar dish felt delicate and domestic, the cooler carries a clinical weight and emotional gravity that aligns more closely with my experience of anxiety and medical monitoring. It represents containment, protection, and fragility all at once, functioning as both a vessel and a barrier between what is inside and the outside world. The cooler becomes a stand-in for the body itself, designed to preserve and safeguard what is vital, yet also isolating and restrictive. This duality mirrors the experience of living with a medical device, where safety and surveillance coexist with vulnerability and anxiety.

The artist I was most inspired by for this project was Chiharu Shiota, while also drawing influence from Sheila Hicks. I was especially drawn to Shiota’s use of entanglement, webs, and dense layers of thread to explore memory, emotion, and the body as a space of containment. Her installations often overwhelm the viewer both physically and psychologically, turning internal and invisible states into something spatial, immersive, and unavoidable. Through her work, I learned how repetition and accumulation can create emotional pressure, and how yarn can act as both a connective and a restrictive force at the same time. Influenced by Sheila Hicks’s approach to fiber as a sculptural and expressive material, I applied these ideas by layering yarn in my installation to suggest heartbeat rhythms, anxiety, and internal systems that are constantly active, monitored, and largely unseen.

My work activates an already-existing space by transforming the interior of the cooler into an environment rather than a container. The hanging yarn introduces movement as it responds subtly to air and viewer proximity, while the red colors immediately signal urgency, vitality, and the body. The heartbeat patterns drawn along the walls further animate the space, making it feel alive, rhythmic, and unstable rather than static.

Scale plays a crucial role in how the work is perceived. Although the installation is miniature, the density and layering of the hanging yarn makes it feel overwhelming and heavy, echoing the emotional weight of anxiety. The miniature figure inside the space emphasizes vulnerability, yet it also suggests the possibility of interaction and navigation within this internal landscape, complicating ideas of power and control.

The viewer’s entry into the work is visual, psychological, and conceptual. The small door functions as a literal and symbolic threshold. Its placement transforms the cooler into a believable room, inviting the viewer to imagine entering the space mentally rather than physically. This doorway encourages intimacy while also reinforcing the sense of confinement, mirroring the experience of living inside a body that is constantly monitored and emotionally charged.

2/02/26

This week my project shifted in a major way, both materially and conceptually, and while the change initially felt frustrating, it ultimately will make the work more honest. I decided to abandon my previous found object and instead build the installation inside a foam “medical” cooler. This decision came from our in class discussion and reflecting on what emotional state I am actually trying to communicate. While my earlier object held personal history, it did not inherently evoke anxiety or stress. In contrast, the foam cooler immediately connects to medical spaces and how fragile the body is.

The change in object is directly tied to my own lived experience; I have a pacemaker and ongoing heart issues, medical environments are a constant source of anxiety for me. The cooler feels loaded with associations to organs, hospitals, and clinical care, making it a much more appropriate vessel for a work centered on bodily tension and internal stress. This shift clarified my conceptual direction and grounded the piece in something deeply personal rather than symbolic at a distance.

The shape and scale of the cooler present a challenge, but one that feels productive rather than limiting. Because of its box-like form, every cut and opening has to be intentional. I struggled to determine where the entrance should be until Ashley suggested placing the door on the side. That decision immediately clarified the spatial logic of the piece. The styrofoam material allows for precise cutting and makes it possible to hide pins and structural supports, which gives me more freedom to manipulate the interior without taking from the visual experience. With the entrance positioned on the side, the cooler begins to mimic a gallery space, one that feels deceptively large and overwhelming once the viewer peers inside.

Materially, I am working with string as the primary interior element. After reviewing my drawings with Ashley, we chose the idea in which string descends from the entire ceiling of the cooler. These strands will be arranged in layered heartbeat patterns, referencing my own ECG rhythms. The repetition and variation in the lines echo both the visual of medical monitoring and the unpredictability of my heart. This approach is influenced by Chiharu Shiota’s use of thread to suggest emotion and internal states, as well as Sheila Hicks’ hanging fiber works. Unlike their large-scale installations, this piece compresses the material into a tight, enclosed space, heightening the sense of pressure and containment.

What still feels unresolved is how to physically construct the heartbeat patterns on the walls and in the hanging strands. I am unsure how thick each string should be, how dense the patterns need to become, and whether the strands should stop at the floor or continue to pool and scatter across it. These decisions will affect whether the interior feels readable or too overwhelming. I plan to begin measuring and testing string weights in the cooler space over the course of this week. 

This is the right shift. The medical cooler is a much more appropriate object for what you’re trying to communicate, and it carries anxiety and bodily fragility without needing explanation. That honesty strengthens the work.

Placing the entrance on the side was a good spatial decision. It gives the interior clarity and allows the cooler to function as a compressed gallery space rather than just a container.

At this point, the concept is in place. What needs to happen now is material decision-making. The questions around string thickness, density, and where the strands end won’t resolve through thinking alone — they need testing.

Your next step is to make a few focused tests:

• choose a few string thicknesses-PLAY 

• build a short section of the heartbeat pattern- a trial on wax paper or printer paper?

• hang a small grouping to test density and weight

Let those tests guide the final decisions. This piece will be strongest if it feels controlled and intentional rather than overloaded. Commit to the material and move forward from there.

Artist Inspiration

Sheila Hicks

1/25/26

This week, my project shifted largely because of feedback and the found object I chose. I originally planned to build my miniature installation inside a Red Bull can. It felt convenient and familiar, but during class Ashley pushed me to challenge myself further and consider an object with more history and intention. That comment stalled me for a while and I struggled to find something that felt both old and meaningful.

Then I visited my family in Rawlins and I remembered a set of antique tea-making utensils that belonged to my great grandmother. Among them was a small sugar dish made of porcelain. Unlike the Red Bull can, this object carries a sense of ritual, care, and memory. Choosing it felt personal in a way that also made me more nervous. I am now working with an object that already holds meaning, and that has forced me to slow down and think more carefully about every decision I make inside it.

Because the dish is opaque, the viewer must look down into the opening to access the interior space. This creates a private viewing experience, as if the audience is peering into something that is usually closed or protected. The interior feels contained, and the lip where the lid rests has become a critical spatial threshold. Right now, that edge feels both important and unresolved, as I am still deciding how to activate it without overwhelming the small scale of the piece.

My connection to Chiharu Shiota has been guiding these spatial questions. I am deeply drawn to her use of red thread to suggest memory, entanglement, and emotion. I want to bring that sensibility into my work, but I am still testing how it should exist inside this object. I am currently torn between two options. The first is to have red thread emerge from the bottom interior of the dish and connect to the lid, so that when the lid is lifted, the thread is physically pulled along with it. This option emphasizes interaction and tension, making the act of opening the dish feel charged. The second option is to fill the interior with thread and create a delicate balustrade around the lip where the lid is meant to sit, suggesting containment, protection, or even obstruction.

At this point, I am unsure which direction best works with the object and the emotional weight I want the piece to carry. I am questioning whether the work should invite movement or resist it, and whether the lid should feel activated or restricted. 

Artist Inspiration

Chiharu Shiota

Madalynn, this is a thoughtful and meaningful shift, and it’s clear you took the feedback seriously. Moving away from a familiar object toward something with personal history and ritual was a brave decision, and your writing shows that you are slowing down and thinking carefully about the space you’re working inside.

The sugar dish is an intimate container, and the way the viewer must look down into it creates a private, almost protected viewing experience. That impulse is working. At this scale, it’s important to remember that a “room” doesn’t need walls, floors, and ceilings in a literal sense. A room can be defined by thresholds, edges, and how the viewer enters visually or psychologically. The lip of the dish where the lid rests is already functioning as a threshold, and you’re right to focus on how that edge is activated.

Your connection to Chiharu Shiota is appropriate here, especially in how you’re thinking about memory, tension, and containment. Both options you’re considering—the thread pulling with the lid, or the thread forming a barrier around the interior—are viable, but they do different conceptual work. One invites interaction and creates tension through movement; the other resists entry and emphasizes protection and containment. I’d encourage you to choose one clear spatial action and push it further, rather than trying to make the piece do both.

As you move forward, keep asking yourself:

• Where does the “room” begin for the viewer?

• What moment defines entry?

• Does the work invite access, or does it hold the viewer at a distance—and why?

This is a strong start, especially for a first installation project. Focus on clarity rather than complexity, and let the scale of the object do some of the work for you. You’re asking the right questions; the next step is committing to one spatial decision and seeing it through.

Katie Campbell-small installation

• Why did you select your specific found object as a gallery space?

• What did you learned from the artist you studied?

• How does your work activate an already-existing space?

• How does scale (miniature) alter meaning, intimacy, power, or perception?

• What kind of “entry” does the viewer experience (visual, psychological, conceptual, sensory)?

2/11/2026

Statement: 

I chose a baseball helmet as the gallery space for this installation because of its unusual shape and the meaning it already carries as an object meant to protect. A helmet is designed to shield the head from impact, which immediately connects to ideas of safety, pressure, and vulnerability. I was drawn to the way the helmet naturally creates a small, enclosed interior that asks the viewer to look inward rather than outward. In this piece, the helmet also acts as a symbol of God’s protection, representing the way faith can shelter us from the chaos, anxiety, and stress that exist around us while still allowing moments of calm to exist inside.

From studying Cornelia Parker, I learned how powerful it can be to work with everyday or charged objects and transform them without erasing their original meaning. Her use of suspension, containment, and stillness showed me how a moment after an event can be just as meaningful, if not more powerful, than the event itself. I was especially influenced by how her installations hold fragments in a paused state, creating tension through quietness and allowing the viewer to focus on space, scale, and detail.

This installation activates the helmet’s existing space by turning its interior into a small atmospheric environment. The ventilation holes, which are normally used for airflow, are repurposed to allow light to enter and shift the color and mood of the space. Light becomes the main material, creating the illusion of a calm rain at sunset through warm oranges, pinks, and purples mixed with cooler tones. Reflection and subtle suspended elements help suggest rain without relying on literal movement, keeping the scene gentle and still.

Working at a miniature scale changes how the piece is experienced. Instead of physically entering the installation, the viewer must slow down, lean in, and look closely through a small opening. This creates an intimate and personal experience, encouraging focus and reflection. The entry into the work is visual but also emotional and psychological, as the soft light, color, and suggestion of rain are meant to create a sense of calm. Overall, the piece invites viewers to pause, reflect, and notice the small moments of beauty, faith, and protection that often go unnoticed in everyday life.

2/1/2026

 I have started on my mini installation. I have carved out a piece of wood for my base. I have started to papier-mache the inside of the helmet. I used pastel colors. Specific colors are pink, orange, blue, and yellow. I need to buy some dark blue to let it fade out and blend better. This method that I am using is very successful so far, and it looks like a sunset. I have also started my raindrops. With this, I tried to make each drop separate, which made them look bigger than I would like. So what I did was tap down the bottom, then let them drip down as I use a UV light to stop them in place before they all fall to the bottom. I was wearing safety gear and did this outside with good ventilation.

I still need to finish the paper mache on the helmet. I need to make a lot more raindrops. I am good at adding some clouds using stuffing or cotton balls from my house and painting them pink and orange. I want to make a ramp or stairs up to the installation, as well as some benches inside, made from Sculpy.

My explanation of my idea and the helmet's concept is confusing, so here is another explanation. This installation is about slowing down and noticing the small moments of beauty that are often forgotten in everyday life. The calm rain and sunset inside the baseball helmet represent a pause from the chaos that can surround us. Light is central to the piece, reflecting my faith and the way God paints the sky with warm sunset colors as a reminder of His presence.

The baseball helmet functions as a symbol of protection and shelter. It represents God’s presence, protecting us from the chaos and pressure around us and holding the storm at a safe distance. Inside the helmet, the rain becomes gentle and calm, suggesting peace and reassurance rather than chaos.

Some concerns and questions are about what I should paint my base. Should I do gray and create a sidewalk, go green like a park, or something else? I was also thinking about adding green bushes to the sides, but I don't know about it. I still need to know how I will handle the light.

Also, I am adding some pictures to show my inspiration.

This is a strong start, and your process sounds thoughtful and intentional. The pastel sunset palette inside the helmet is working conceptually and visually, and your instinct to deepen the blue so the color fades more naturally is a good one. The fact that you’re testing, adjusting, and responding to scale with the raindrops shows solid problem-solving. Your safety awareness and controlled process are also exactly what I want to see.

The helmet's symbolism of protection and shelter is clear, and your explanation of the rain shifting from chaos to calm is compelling. Keeping the storm contained inside the helmet is a smart way to reinforce the idea of pause, care, and reassurance. Light as a metaphor for faith and presence feels appropriate here — just make sure it stays subtle and supportive rather than becoming the main spectacle.

A few gentle suggestions as you move forward:

For the base, I’d encourage restraint. A neutral or softened gray could function well as a “world outside” without competing with the interior color and light. Green or bushes may start to pull the piece toward decoration rather than focus. Let the helmet remain the emotional center.

With the raindrops, variation will help. Not every drop needs to be large or dramatic — smaller, quieter drops may actually reinforce the sense of calm you’re after.

The clouds sound promising. Keep them minimal and integrated so they don’t overwhelm the interior space.

For the interior elements (ramps, stairs, benches), think carefully about scale and necessity. Ask yourself whether each element adds to the feeling of pause and shelter, or whether the suggestion of space might be enough.

For lighting, simple is best. One soft, warm light source that enhances the sunset colors will likely be more effective than multiple lights. What if you used a desk lamp over the helmet? What does that look like?

Overall, you’re on a good path. Focus on clarity, scale, and restraint, and keep trusting the quieter moments in the piece — that’s where its strength is.

 

1/24/26

Found Object Installation:

For my found object installation, I found a baseball helmet. I chose it because it had a weird shape and looked different and eye-catching. Inside, I want to create a sunset rain scene. In this piece, I want to focus on the small beauty we love but often forget. There is so much going on in our lives today with school, jobs, clubs, hobbies, etc. I know I have a lot of anxiety towards these things, and it can cause me to forget the small things in life. I am also following my path with light, faith, and God as I did last semester. God paints the sky with beautiful oranges, pinks, and purples, and I want to mimic that. I also see the baseball helmet as being a protector. The helmet is protecting us from the bas storm around us and only lets it sprinkle on the inside. 

I plan to create raindrops and puddles with resin (or another material if I can't use resin). The baseball helmet has holes to allow airflow when worn, but I want to use them to change the color of the inside. I am going to use colored paper and lights to make the inside glow like an actual sunset. I am also going to create a wooden or cardboard base at the bottom and a wall at the front with a peephole. I also want to create a smell when it is about to rain or is raining.

Some concerns I have are if I need to do anything to the outside or leave it as it is. Another concern is how I will set up the lighting without showing the wires.

Katie, thank you for laying your thinking out so clearly here. It’s evident that you’re working through ideas that matter to you, and I can see consistent threads across both proposals: nature, light, faith, protection, and moments of quiet or guidance within chaos. That emotional clarity is a strength.

At this stage, I want to encourage you to slow down and choose one direction, and then deepen it rather than expanding outward. Right now both ideas are carrying a lot of elements—movement, scent, light, narrative, symbolism—which can quickly turn the installation into an illustrated scene rather than an immersive spatial experience.

For this project, the found object must do conceptual work, not just contain the idea. Whichever direction you choose, ask yourself: how does the object’s existing form, history, and physical limitations actively shape the experience? For example, if you are drawn to protection, shelter, or guidance, how does the interior space of the object control light, visibility, access, or intimacy? I’m less interested in seeing every part of the story explained, and more interested in how the space feels to encounter.

I also want you to think carefully about why this idea wants to exist in miniature. One of the strengths of working small is that it allows you to create environments or sensations that would be impossible, overwhelming, or impractical at full scale. Miniature asks the viewer to peer in, slow down, and focus. What can you do at this scale that you couldn’t do in a room-sized installation? Let the smallness intensify the experience rather than turning it into a diorama.

Finally, this project must be in dialogue with a specific installation artist. Once you identify your artist, use their strategies—how they activate space, control the viewer’s entry, or use restraint—to help you simplify. You may find that choosing fewer elements (for example, light and form, or repetition and scale) and pushing them further will make the work stronger and more immersive than adding multiple sensory effects.

There is a lot of heart here. The next step is refinement: choosing one idea, grounding it in the found object and artist reference, and letting scale, space, and restraint do more of the work.

Artist Inspiration:

 Yayoi Kusama

Andy Goldsworthy

Rafael Lozano-Hemmer

James Turrell

Tomás Saraceno

Cornelia Parker