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:
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choose a few string thicknesses-PLAY
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build a short section of the heartbeat pattern- a trial on wax paper or printer paper?
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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:
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Where does the “room” begin for the viewer?
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What moment defines entry?
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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.