Weather Systems, plates 1–4
Ana Ruiz · woodcut & letterpress
Four plates carved, two still fighting her. The arcs keep arriving bigger than the paper wants them to be.
This is the public face of the residency: who is here, what is being made, what is being tried, and what has accumulated. Nothing here is a press release — it is the working surface of the studio, shown while the work is still warm.
Everything in this portal grows out of one loop. Work happens; the studio notices; the noticing gets marked down exactly as it was — a sentence fragment, a hum, a photograph of a shelf — and then everyone goes back to making. Marks are never tidied into interpretations. The raw moment stays raw.
Click a name to step into their private workspace.
One featured piece per artist. The full bench — proof walls, glaze shelves, tape archives — lives in their workspaces.
Ana Ruiz · woodcut & letterpress
Four plates carved, two still fighting her. The arcs keep arriving bigger than the paper wants them to be.
Ben Okafor · stoneware
A full place setting for twelve, thrown and glazed. Resting while Ben decides whether the green is honest yet.
Cleo Zhang · sound, 22 min loop
The studio's own sounds — kiln tick, press thump, rain on the skylight — drawn as lines and played back as a room.
The residency and THERE are not two projects side by side. They meet in one room.
Finished and in-progress work leaves the bench and is hung in the Gallery. The Gallery is the shared threshold: on one side, the residency's tables, kiln, and press; on the other, THERE — its analyst's room, its living café, its quiet exhibit. A visitor who comes to look at the work can step through, and what they say in THERE comes back here and lands in the ledger as a raw mark, verbatim, like everything else the studio keeps.
Real pots, real photographs. Names and note fragments only — shorthand, as recorded.


Feb 18, 2026
Glaze ocean
dragonfruit clay · aqua · arctic blue · starry night/coastal blue · koke yellow · cream
In the Gallery: café serving bowl — crosses full, comes back empty.
Large bowl · speckled cream, pale blue
Glaze coastal whites
Two views — dark counter, wooden table.
In the Gallery: north windows, daylight.
Feb 18, 2026
Glaze seafoam
buff clay · swoops of cream · coastal blue · spearmint drips · spearmint inside · finished 2/18/26 · not for sale
In the Gallery: café shelf — in rotation.
Mottled blue-green-brown
Glaze seafoam
Held up to the light, both hands.
In the Gallery: café rotation — in hands, not shelved.
held · glazed · blues over brown
Glaze ocean
In the Gallery: café rotation — in hands.
Jul 15, 2023
Glaze coastal whites
speckled · aqua · cream on rim · finished 7/15/23 · not for sale
Two views — fired, filled · unfired, on the bench.
In the Gallery: café shelf.
Jul 15, 2023
Glaze seafoam
speckled clay · aqua outside · cream inside · arctic rim · starry night · finished 7/15/23 · not for sale
In the Gallery: the long table.

Feb 18, 2026
Glaze cosmic
50/50 or buff clay? · night inside · coastal blue out · cream · overlap both sides
In the Gallery: café shelf by the long table — in use.
bowl · for Francisco · given
Glaze ocean
bowl · for Francisco · given · blues, a horizon · a mountain held in it
In the Gallery: beside the letter — the bowl itself, kept in picture.
names drift — seafoam, cosmic, ocean, coastal whites
The rest of the record, hung on purpose — the glaze tests, the fails, and the uggos, kept and named like everything else. Below them, the shelves still in progress: glazed and waiting on the fire, bisqued and waiting on glaze, and two ideas not yet clay.
bowl · finished · 3 years ago
Glaze aqua + starry night
In the Gallery: the low shelf — tests, fails and uggos, kept on the record.
bowl · finished · 3 years ago
Glaze starry night + aqua
In the Gallery: the low shelf — tests, fails and uggos, kept on the record.
shallow bowl · finished · 3 years ago
Glaze cream and gold
In the Gallery: the low shelf — tests, fails and uggos, kept on the record.
mug · finished · 3 years ago
Glaze coastal blue + cream
In the Gallery: the low shelf — tests, fails and uggos, kept on the record.
bowl · finished · 3 years ago
Glaze starry night + autumn
In the Gallery: the low shelf — tests, fails and uggos, kept on the record.
bowl, inside · finished · 3 years ago
Glaze starry night with aqua and coastal
In the Gallery: the low shelf — tests, fails and uggos, kept on the record.
bowl, inside · finished · 3 years ago
Glaze starry night with aqua and coastal
In the Gallery: the low shelf — tests, fails and uggos, kept on the record.
bowl, held · finished · 3 years ago
Glaze starry night with aqua and coastal
In the Gallery: the low shelf — tests, fails and uggos, kept on the record.
mug · finished · 3 years ago
Glaze aqua with cream
In the Gallery: the low shelf — tests, fails and uggos, kept on the record.
mug · finished · 3 years ago
Glaze bluegreen
In the Gallery: the low shelf — tests, fails and uggos, kept on the record.
mug · glazed · 7 months ago
Glaze experimental
In the Gallery: the glazed shelf — waiting on the fire.
bowl · glazed · 7 months ago
Glaze smaller bowl
In the Gallery: the glazed shelf — waiting on the fire.
bowl · glazed · 7 months ago
Glaze bowl
In the Gallery: the glazed shelf — waiting on the fire.
cup · bisqued · 4 months ago
Glaze untitled
In the Gallery: the bisqued shelf — waiting on glaze.
bowls · bisqued · 4 months ago
Glaze layered ocean
In the Gallery: the bisqued shelf — waiting on glaze.
mugs · bisqued · 4 months ago
Glaze seafoam 2
In the Gallery: the bisqued shelf — waiting on glaze.
mugs + bowl · bisqued · 4 months ago
Glaze cosmic 3
In the Gallery: the bisqued shelf — waiting on glaze.
bowls · idea · 56 days ago
Glaze untitled
In the Gallery: the idea shelf — pinned up before it’s clay.
mug · idea · 2 months ago
Glaze untitled
In the Gallery: the idea shelf — pinned up before it’s clay.
Printed triptych card · the blue bowl, painted
Already crossed — left the studio, given away in thanks. “Por cuidar el lenguaje, el trabajo, y la relación.”
Trials run in the open, including the ones going nowhere.
Can the wood-stove ash become the glaze? Batch 3 crawled in the kiln. Batch 4 goes in Thursday.
Ben Okafor · week 6 of 8Overprinting new plates on failed pulls instead of fresh paper. The failures are starting to hold the new work up.
Ana Ruiz · week 3 of 4A single mic left running for a full week, then mined for the moments nobody noticed at the time.
Cleo Zhang · week 2 of 3Straight from the ledger — unedited, uninterpreted, exactly as marked.
the red is wrong. not wrong-wrong. it's — it's shouting over the ochre. carve the arc back and let the black do it
press thump, paper slide, a long pause, then the rack creaking
batch 4 came out — the ash glaze held on the tall one. held! there's crawling on the small bowl but the tall one is — yeah. yeah that's it
kiln at 1180 by the cone not the readout. trust the cone
Four seasons in. The studio keeps everything, including the false starts.
Two artists, one borrowed kiln, and a rule written on the wall on day one: mark it raw, keep making. Twenty-one works finished; the ledger starts at mark #1.
A twelve-seat table built from the old floorboards becomes the studio's center — meals, crits, and grant paperwork all happen on the same surface. First nonprofit collaboration: a neighborhood print night that has run every month since.
A regional arts grant funds the kiln outright. A for-profit test — selling seconds and misprints at the winter market — pays for a full season of clay and paper. Two doors, both still open.
This portal. The studio's working surface becomes visible from outside, while each artist's workspace stays their own. The ledger passes 100 marks.
Three open ways the work connects to the world — and the garden door at the back, open again.
The door in the private wall stands open. Past the gate: the food beds by their painted signs, the residents strolling the paths at their own pace, and the far beds — marked, roped, and kept apart.
The studio steps outside: neighbors' events at real times and places, recipes pinned as written, and the pantry — open again, lightly stocked, and honest about it.
Events go up as listed by their hosts — the time and the place are the listing's own. Saturday, October 17 is a full day within a few blocks of the studio.
309 & 315 25th Street — between C and D
Ceramics · paintings · knitwear, out on the sidewalk. The board's first pin — the one that started it.
Pinned from the neighborhood flyer
20th Street between J and L · Market Square, 20th & K, Sacramento
Local produce, prepared foods, artisans and crafters. Every Saturday, year-round, rain or shine — this pin is this week's, but the market is every week's.
Source: Midtown Association · exploremidtown.org
Four Sacramento history locations — free bus between sites
Open houses at all four stops for American Archives Month. Ride the bus, see the records, argue about what the city kept.
Source: City of Sacramento · Sacramento City Express, Oct 14, 2026
2574 21st Street, Sacramento
A community market: local vendors, handcrafted goods, vintage, art, and food.
Host: Sol Collective
Recipes go up the way marks do — as written, quantities by handful and all. Nothing gets tidied into a cookbook.
lettuce with jamones — a head of “RIVER” from garden Bed 2, leaves torn not cut, jamones over the top, oil if there’s oil. quietly ingested at the picnic table; marked here so it isn’t only quiet
market soup, feeds the long table — everything from the saturday market that looks tired by tuesday. big pot, water, salt early, beans if there are beans. ladle it into the speckled bowl and carry it over still steaming
café lemonade — lemons, sugar less than you think, cold water, ice last. stir it with whatever's clean. handwritten notes on the side, optional but encouraged
stone fruit jam, small batch — the soft ones from the market box, sugar by handfuls, lemon at the end. jars go to whoever brought the fruit
The pantry is open again. The shelves are not full, and the panel says so plainly: what is here is here, and when a shelf runs low it runs low, out loud. The idea underneath hasn't changed — potters have run it for decades: bowls made and given, a supper served in them, the bowl going home with its eater, and what the supper raises going to the pantry.
Rice, beans, oil, salt. Jars from the garden when the garden gives. Bread on market days. A short shelf — honestly short.
Stocked · lightlyThe shape is kept — one supper, cooked off the recipe board, every seat with a handmade bowl that leaves with its eater. No date yet; the pantry being open is the news.
Shape kept · undatedThe speckled bowl — first in — stays on the low shelf with the tests, the fails, and the uggos. Not a tally and not a launch: just kept.
1 bowl kept · not countingMissing something the shelf doesn't have? Ask, and it can be brought in — by helicopter 🚁, or by burro 🫏. The burros are the cheapest: the original supply line, still walking supplies in the way they have always come. Asking is asking, not a promise — loads arrive when they arrive.
coffee — the jar by the press is down to grounds
Caught something mid-making? Mark it now, exactly as it comes — a fragment is fine. It is kept verbatim in the ledger below. No tidying, no summary, no interpretation.
Ambient capture listens to the room while you work and drops raw fragments into the ledger on its own — the noticing you didn't have to stop for.
Newest first. Nothing here has been edited after the fact.
The room where the residency and THERE meet. Work is made in the studio, hung here, and lived with in THERE — and the meeting runs both ways: what visitors say and hear in THERE returns to the studio as raw marks in the artists' ledgers.
The real hang. Names and note fragments, as recorded — nothing here is for sale.


Feb 18, 2026
Glaze ocean
dragonfruit clay · aqua · arctic blue · starry night/coastal blue · koke yellow · cream
Hangs at: the long table — café serving bowl.
Large bowl · speckled cream, pale blue
Glaze coastal whites
Two views — dark counter, wooden table.
Hangs at: the north windows, daylight.
Feb 18, 2026
Glaze seafoam
buff clay · swoops of cream · coastal blue · spearmint drips · spearmint inside · finished 2/18/26 · not for sale
Hangs at: the café shelf — in rotation.
Mottled blue-green-brown
Glaze seafoam
Held up to the light, both hands.
Hangs at: the café, in rotation — in hands, not shelved.
Printed triptych card, built around the blue bowl
Already crossed — the bowl, painted, given in thanks. “Por cuidar el lenguaje, el trabajo, y la relación.” The Gallery keeps the picture; the card is gone.
bowl · for Francisco · given
Glaze ocean
bowl · for Francisco · given · blues, a horizon · a mountain held in it
Hangs at: beside the letter card — given, and kept here in picture.
held · glazed · blues over brown
Glaze ocean
Hangs at: the café — in hands, in rotation.
Jul 15, 2023
Glaze coastal whites
speckled · aqua · cream on rim · finished 7/15/23 · not for sale
Two views — fired, filled · unfired, on the bench.
Hangs at: the café shelf.
Jul 15, 2023
Glaze seafoam
speckled clay · aqua outside · cream inside · arctic rim · starry night · finished 7/15/23 · not for sale
Hangs at: the long table.

Feb 18, 2026
Glaze cosmic
50/50 or buff clay? · night inside · coastal blue out · cream · overlap both sides
Hangs at: the café shelf by the long table — in use.
names drift — seafoam, cosmic, ocean, coastal whites
The same stretch of wall on this side — the record doesn’t get prettier for crossing. Tests, fails and uggos below the beauties, and under them the shelves still in progress: glazed, bisqued, and two ideas not yet clay.
bowl · finished · 3 years ago
Glaze aqua + starry night
Hangs at: the low shelf — tests, fails and uggos, kept on the record.
bowl · finished · 3 years ago
Glaze starry night + aqua
Hangs at: the low shelf — tests, fails and uggos, kept on the record.
shallow bowl · finished · 3 years ago
Glaze cream and gold
Hangs at: the low shelf — tests, fails and uggos, kept on the record.
mug · finished · 3 years ago
Glaze coastal blue + cream
Hangs at: the low shelf — tests, fails and uggos, kept on the record.
bowl · finished · 3 years ago
Glaze starry night + autumn
Hangs at: the low shelf — tests, fails and uggos, kept on the record.
bowl, inside · finished · 3 years ago
Glaze starry night with aqua and coastal
Hangs at: the low shelf — tests, fails and uggos, kept on the record.
bowl, inside · finished · 3 years ago
Glaze starry night with aqua and coastal
Hangs at: the low shelf — tests, fails and uggos, kept on the record.
bowl, held · finished · 3 years ago
Glaze starry night with aqua and coastal
Hangs at: the low shelf — tests, fails and uggos, kept on the record.
mug · finished · 3 years ago
Glaze aqua with cream
Hangs at: the low shelf — tests, fails and uggos, kept on the record.
mug · finished · 3 years ago
Glaze bluegreen
Hangs at: the low shelf — tests, fails and uggos, kept on the record.
mug · glazed · 7 months ago
Glaze experimental
Hangs at: the glazed shelf — waiting on the fire.
bowl · glazed · 7 months ago
Glaze smaller bowl
Hangs at: the glazed shelf — waiting on the fire.
bowl · glazed · 7 months ago
Glaze bowl
Hangs at: the glazed shelf — waiting on the fire.
cup · bisqued · 4 months ago
Glaze untitled
Hangs at: the bisqued shelf — waiting on glaze.
bowls · bisqued · 4 months ago
Glaze layered ocean
Hangs at: the bisqued shelf — waiting on glaze.
mugs · bisqued · 4 months ago
Glaze seafoam 2
Hangs at: the bisqued shelf — waiting on glaze.
mugs + bowl · bisqued · 4 months ago
Glaze cosmic 3
Hangs at: the bisqued shelf — waiting on glaze.
bowls · idea · 56 days ago
Glaze untitled
Hangs at: the idea shelf — pinned up before it’s clay.
mug · idea · 2 months ago
Glaze untitled
Hangs at: the idea shelf — pinned up before it’s clay.
Pick a piece to see how it lives on the THERE side of the wall.
In THERE, Ana's plates hang on the café's north wall, in the same light they were carved in. Visitors sit with their coffee inside the weather she made — the storm arcs at the scale of a room, not a page. When a visitor leaves a prompt about the prints in the analyst's room, the five readings keep circling back to the red that shouts over the ochre.
THERE's rooms, kept here in words only — each with its own rules.
A traditional analyst's room: a visitor brings one prompt, and it is answered five ways. No lectures, no explanations — the room, the chaise, and the five voices. Gallery pieces furnish it: Ana's prints are what you look at from the chaise.
The lively side of THERE, where people come and go. Ben's vessels are on the table in daily use, Mark has his tab on the wall, and at the music-or-silence door, Riri is starring now.
The café, as it stands in THERE.The funder-facing case, kept quiet on purpose. The Gallery carries its catalogue entry — the same works, the same history — but no door is cut from here into it. Its restraint is its power, and the residency's noise stays on this side of the wall.
Look, don't walk through — by design.leave a mark on your way out
The latest responses that crossed back through the Gallery into the studio ledgers — verbatim, like every mark.
stood in front of the storm one a long time. it doesn't look like weather it feels like the moment before weather. nobody in the café was talking loud
ate soup out of the green bowl in the café. ben — the green is honest. tell him a stranger said so
sat in the listening corner and heard the kiln ticking in the recording and the real kiln through the wall at the same time. couldn't tell which was which. didn't want to
Not an estate garden and not a display — a reclaimed lot where the neighborhood grows food together. Raised beds from scrap lumber and cinder block, tomatoes tied to sticks, one picnic table in the middle where the work and the eating happen on the same boards, and a harvest that goes to the long table and the block before it goes anywhere else. The garden has residents of its own, who stroll the paths at walking pace and are part of the place. And at the far end, past a rope, sit the far beds — contaminated, plainly marked, and kept apart from everything that feeds the table.
Every food bed speaks for itself: on its guide card below, colored chips say when to plant it and when to pick it, in the bed’s own words. The colors mean the same thing on every bed — this board is the key.
The far beds wear none of these colors. They are not food, and the colors will never pretend otherwise — they keep their plain Contaminated mark, and that is all.
They live here. The garden makes room.
The garden is lived in. Its residents stroll the paths at walking pace — never hurried, and never hurrying anyone — in the early light and again at dusk. They are part of the garden the way the tests and fails are part of the gallery wall: kept, not counted. Nobody tallies them, nobody scores them, nobody shoos them off the path. If you meet one between the beds, the custom is simple: step aside, say good morning if it feels right, and let the stroll go on.
Five food beds, the far beds set apart, and the corner. Status kept honest, the way the ledger keeps everything.
Staked to sticks, fruiting hard. The first bed you meet coming through the gate, and the one everybody checks on the way in.
Harvest: open — pick what’s ripe, and mark what you took.
The fullest bed in the lot. Cut-and-come-again rows that feed the long table most nights of the week.
Harvest: open — take what the meal needs.
Slow to start, generous late. The peppers come on just as the tomatoes are finishing, so the table never quite empties.
Harvest: open — they keep coming until the cold nights.
Vines doing what squash vines do — out of the bed, down the path, into everybody else’s business. Nobody is stopping them.
Harvest: open — check under the big leaves first.
The shared seasoning bed, planted thick on purpose so there is always enough to take a handful without asking the bed’s feelings.
Harvest: open — handfuls, freely.
The weed plants died. All of them. The bed is bare soil and a sign with no name earned — kept on the record exactly like the tests, fails, and uggos on the gallery wall: not hidden, not replanted over, not explained away.
Status: fallow. Nothing planted here until the soil rests and the house decides, out loud.
Two beds at the far end of the lot are contaminated. They are marked, roped off, and kept apart from the food beds — nothing from them is picked, cooked, or carried to the table. They stay on the record like everything else here: named, not hidden.
Sparse, grey-green, and quiet. Whatever grows here stays here.
Status: set apart. Looked at, kept on the record, not eaten from.
The same, further down the rope. The garden does not pretend these beds are something else.
Status: set apart. Looked at, kept on the record, not eaten from.
Two regular visitors, neither of them scolded. The garden routes them instead.
The garden’s standing principle, stated once and plainly: security by layout, not by vigilance. The beds are placed so the garden defends itself while nobody is watching — nobody here stands guard, because the layout did the work first.
He pees where he pleases, and the garden does not scold him — it routes him. The food beds sit raised, a good height of scrap lumber and cinder block, so the harvest grows above a small dog’s splash zone, and what he waters is the path side of the bed, not dinner.
One corner is his on purpose: a short log, clearly his — the sanctioned pee post. Dogs like a vertical and a habit; the garden gave him both, in the corner furthest from the food.
Kept by: height and habit. Nothing is fenced against him; the beds are simply up, and his corner is simply his.
Squirrels don’t eat the garden so much as excavate it — a newly sown row reads to them like a map of buried treasure. So fresh rows wear a flat mesh blanket, laid right over the soil, until the seedlings are up and rooted; then the blanket comes off and the bed is its own again.
Pots carry stones across their soil, so the burying reflex finds no purchase. The strong-flavored herbs — thyme, oregano, rosemary — mostly guard themselves; squirrels will rob a tomato and leave the seasoning standing. And the garden keeps one guard: a motion sprinkler by the path, startling and entirely harmless. It jumps, it sprays, it waters. That is the whole arsenal.
Kept by: mesh, stone, and surprise. The vulnerable week is covered; after that, the plants are grown enough to be left alone.
What each bed grows, what it becomes on the table, and when to put it in the ground here in Sacramento.
New to growing things? Start here. This guide is the garden teaching what it knows — bed by bed, the way someone at the picnic table would tell you. Nothing to keep up with and nothing to win; just what grows, what it turns into for dinner, and when it goes in the ground. Each card ends with the bed saying, in color, what time it is for it right now — the key to the colors hangs at the gate, up top.
Tied to sticks and climbing. This is the bed to learn on: tomatoes forgive a beginner almost everything except forgetting to water.
Chopped tomato salad — rough-cut tomatoes, torn basil from VERDE, salt, oil, and a heel of bread torn in to catch the juice.
Start seed indoors in February, or buy starts. Set plants out from mid-March to May, once the nights stay mild — and bury the stem deep; it roots all along it.
Cut-and-come-again rows. Pick the outer leaves and the bed keeps making more — the friendliest bed in the lot.
Lettuce with jamones — leaves torn, never cut, ham laid over the top, oil if there’s oil. The same dish is pinned on the recipe board; this bed is where it starts.
Lettuce likes it cool here. Sow seed a quarter-inch deep from September through March, a short row every two weeks so a fresh one is always coming. When it bolts in the heat, that’s the season ending — not a mistake you made.
In no hurry at all. They sit green for weeks, and then they turn all at once.
Blistered in a dry pan with salt and oil, eaten with bread — or chopped raw over the tomato salad from SOL.
Peppers want heat and a head start: seed indoors in January, or buy starts. Set them out in April and May, after the nights warm up. They’ll fruit until the first cold nights of fall.
Vines with no respect for edges. Plant it once and spend the summer stepping over it, happily.
Shaved squash salad — the youngest squash sliced thin as paper, lemon, salt, oil, and a handful of VERDE herbs over the top.
Sow seed straight into the bed from April through June, once the soil feels warm. One plant takes a whole corner — give it the corner before it takes it anyway.
The seasoning bed, planted thick on purpose, so there is always a handful to take without asking anyone.
Table salsa verde — parsley, cilantro, and whatever else is thick that week, chopped fine with oil, vinegar, and salt. It goes on everything the other beds make.
Parsley and cilantro go in now, in the fall, and again in early spring. Basil waits for warm nights — May. And mint lives in a pot of its own: it does not share a bed.
Bed 2 · “RIVER” — the hinge
The garden’s end of the garden ↔ kitchen hinge: this exact salad is pinned on the recipe board on the community board. Picked here, cooked there, marked in both places.
Fall · from the neighborhood trees
Persimmon sliced over chicory leaves with toasted walnuts and a sharp dressing — the bitter leaf wants the sweet fruit. Chicory goes in the ground in August and September, so the heads are ready when the persimmons turn.
Winter · ahead of us
Fennel shaved thin with orange and grapefruit, the fronds over the top. Fennel seedlings go in during September and October; the bulbs fatten slowly through the cool months and meet the citrus in winter.
Mid-October is a real planting moment here: the heat breaks, the nights cool, and the fall garden takes off. If you’ve never grown anything, start with the radish and the lettuce — both of them forgive.
Garden marks go up like every other mark — raw, verbatim.
weed bed is done. all of it. nobody water the corner out of pity — bare soil is the honest state now
first red ones off SOL today. two split on the vine — ate those standing at the bed, which also counts as harvest
a resident crossed the top path at first light, slow, coat over one arm. nobody counted. nobody needed to
took a head of RIVER in for lunch. lettuce, jamones, nothing else needed. quietly ingested, now not quietly — marked
GOLD has reached the path again. GOLD does not care about the path
Watered something, ate something, noticed something — mark it as it happened. Pick the bed by its painted sign.
From garden to board: what gets picked here gets cooked off the recipe board on the community board — the lettuce already has. The garden and the board are one loop: pick · cook · pin · mark.
A residency can't live on studio air. These are the three doors the portal keeps oiled — each one a different kind of relationship with the world outside, each one walked through at the artist's own pace. Set into the wall at the back is a fourth door — to the Secret Garden 🥬 🥦 🍅 — and it stands open.
Foundation and public funding — the slow, structural money.
Two-year operating support for small residencies. The portal's accumulated history — every work, experiment, and mark — is the application evidence.
A replacement press bed and a second kiln shelf set. Ana's and Ben's workspaces both feed the shared equipment list.
Funds exactly what this page is: keeping a working studio visible to its neighborhood. Small grant, fast turnaround.
The work leaves the studio, and comes back changed.
Running since Season 2. Residents take turns leading; the library keeps a growing wall of community prints. Ana leads the next session.
Students spend a morning in the studio; artists spend a morning in the classroom. Cleo's room-tone piece becomes a listening exercise for fourth graders.
Ben throws the serving ware for the trust's annual dinner; the dinner feeds the neighborhood the studio sits in.
Small, honest experiments in selling — learn fast, risk little, keep the data.
The Season 3 test that paid for a season of materials. Imperfect work, plainly labeled, priced to move. Running again this year with all three artists.
Ana's overprint proofs as an edition of twenty. The public window doubles as the shop window — what you see here is what's for sale.
Cleo plays the building back to an audience of twelve, in the building. A test of whether attention itself can be the product.
The door at the back of the studio — open again.
The garden is on the other circuit — a shared lot, not a grant or a test. The door stands open, and the garden through it is the Secret Garden now.
Inside, as they were: five living food beds listed by their painted signs, the residents strolling the paths at walking pace, the far beds — contaminated, marked, and kept apart — the corner weed bed, died and fallow and kept on the record, and the guide for beginners growing alongside the beds.