Earlier this year, I responded to a call for exhibition proposals related to the theme of "Into the Wilderness". I'm not sure what happened first, the desire to create a large reef installation or this call for proposals, but the two seemed to unfold simultaneously. I had just begun a small sculpture made out of straws that were cut up and glued together like honeycomb. While making this straw piece, I thought of it as a work in itself, not as a miniature for a future installation.

After researching the location of the exhibition, San Pedro, CA, I realized the structure of a reef was crucial to the port city. The straw sculpture I had made began to feel like an unintentional maquette for this new project. I proposed to increase the scale of the work, and I had to choose a material with similar characteristics.

Being that my proposal commented on how personal indulgences contributed to the decline of critical environmental structures, such as reefs, I wanted to make this project completely recyclable. Every little thing needed to break down from this installation. I couldn't (morally) speak to an issue and then simply contribute to the same problem. This forced me away from plastic bottles. I proposed to create a sculptural coral reef out of leftover cylindrical toilet paper and paper towel rolls using a recyclable adhesive. Beyond the material constraints and overall reef form, I needed to set more limitations on the work. I decided to only use the rolls I would personally finish between the proposal acceptance date and the exhibition date.

I sent the email proposal off and waited anxiously for a reply.

After a couple of months, I heard back. My proposal had been chosen for a solo exhibition in the Project Space at the Angels Gate Cultural Center. There were 6 months until the show and the collection phase began immediately.

Given the technological advancements in the way people communicate and do business, is it still necessary that an artist reside in a city with a major gallery market? Throughout grad school, I was told that unless I was satisfied with regional recognition, I had to live in either Los Angeles or New York. (Perhaps I should have asked that person to back up and define 'success'...) I realize this may have been true in the past, but is the art market not advancing like every other industry? As an artist, you are required to submit information online due to the fact that most galleries/residencies/artist calls will no longer accept paper applications. Everything is done electronically, so why does it matter where an artist lives?

This spring, I traveled to Germany during the Berlin Biennale and concurrent Gallery Weekend. While I thoroughly enjoyed my experience, I noticed that a website, described as a "hybrid reality show", had been launched for those art enthusiasts who were unable to make it to Berlin. On this website, Virtual Gallery Weekend Berlin 2012, you create an avatar who can move from gallery to gallery viewing art. Beyond enjoying many different exhibitions, including the ability to stream video artworks, your avatar is able to chat with other art viewers and contact gallerists. While the software could use some fine-tuning, this site attempts to make art as far-reaching and accessible as the internet itself.

On view now is the first Los Angeles biennial exhibition, titled Made in L.A. 2012. Presented at the Hammer Museum, LA><ART, and LAMAG at Barnsdall Park, this exhibition takes an interesting approach to choosing the recipient of the $100,000 Mohn Award. While a professional jury is used to select the finalists for the prize, the competition is then opened to the public. Through an online registration, one is able to vote for a winner of the award. Five finalists were selected, and we are now awaiting the results. (The Hammer's Mohn Award was given to Meleko Mokgosi).

If the art world is as web-savvy as it appears to be, then why would an artist outside of LA or NYC be less desirable, less pertinent, or less 'successful'?

Sharing can be difficult. Especially for artists.

I tend to have studios that are tucked away and secluded. It gives me the freedom to create in a seemingly  private environment. My studio is it's own little world. I lose track of the hours and forget what I must look like buzzing around the room at a million miles an hour carrying objects that are as large as myself. The studio, to me, is a neutral zone. I come here to get away from everything else. Much like Native American cultures use dream catchers to keep out the unwanted dreams, I have a 'shit catcher' that keeps all the unnecessary crap from entering the studio door. No evil thoughts, no drama, no carnivorous bugs, nothing. Even treacherous people get stopped at the entrance. While this peaceful seclusion services my creative freedom, it doesn't exactly aid in getting the art out into the world. So, I'm going to try something different. I'm going to share.

I made the choice to rent my studio in a building that is full of artists with the hopes that I'd extend my connections; however, when I arrived, I managed to weasel my way to the very top floor, which is only half occupied and much quieter. Noticing my tendency to hide in the corner and run from any sort of attention, I have been making deliberate attempts to put myself out there by keeping the studio door open, going to gallery openings and studio mixers, etc.

I've cleaned out a corner of my studio. No, it's not for photographing or a new huge sculpture in the works. This is the space I will be sharing with a friend from graduate school. We will both be working in the space on our own independent projects. While I am very much a one-woman-show, meaning I'm extremely self-sufficient and require little to no assistance with the physical production of my art, I'm aware that I still need the help of others. By sharing the space, sharing resources, sharing connections, and sharing ideas, the hope is that we will both benefit in our own way. And then there were two...