Manifesting Through Making
Late 2021 arrived with a peculiar combination of stagnation and explosion. Although divorce had finally concluded, it didn’t stop the acrimony, as I entered into what is called euphemistically “post-separation abuse” . My position at the university, once a source of intellectual engagement, had become routine and uninspiring. Yet in the midst of this professional and legal quagmire, my creativity detonated in an entirely new direction, sparked by an unexpected discovery that would reshape how I thought about art, intention, and the future I was determined to manifest.
The catalyst came in the form of Keri Smith's "How to Be an Explorer of the World: Portable Life Museum," a book I initially found while searching for ways to help my children navigate the ongoing challenges of COVID-19. But what started as a parenting resource quickly became my own creative bible. Smith's approach—encouraging readers to "document and observe the world around you as if you've never seen it before"—resonated deeply with someone who was actively trying to reimagine her entire existence.
The book was about "seeing the world; it is about listening and observing and collecting and searching for the stories of all the small/lost/broken/misplaced/misunderstood pieces of the world." This felt like a perfect description of where I was in my life—collecting the broken pieces of my old existence and trying to understand what story they might tell about what came next.
Inspired by Smith's exploratory methodology, I began creating what I called fusion mood boards—mixed-media pieces that combined found natural objects with ceramic elements. These weren't traditional mood boards with magazine clippings and inspirational quotes. Instead, they were three-dimensional collages that merged the organic treasures I discovered during walks with ceramic components I crafted specifically for each piece.
The process became ritualistic. I would venture out with my youngest son, both of us armed with collecting bags and the keen observation skills Smith's book had sharpened. We gathered smooth stones, interesting seed pods, weathered pieces of driftwood, feathers that caught the light just right, fragments of sea glass tumbled into perfection by endless waves. Each item was chosen not just for its beauty, but for what it seemed to represent about possibility, about transformation, about the kind of life I wanted to create.
Back in the studio, I would create ceramic elements designed to complement and enhance each natural find. Small sculptural forms that echoed the curves of shells, glazed pieces that captured the colors of sunset-washed stones, miniature vessels that could hold a single perfect acorn. These ceramic components weren't random additions but intentional anchors for the dreams I was trying to manifest.
Each fusion board became a meditation on a specific aspect of the future I was visualizing. One might focus on home—what kind of space did I want to create for my son and myself? Another explored community—what kind of people did I want to surround us with? A third investigated landscape—where in the world did we want to be when we were finally free from "the Monster," as I had come to think of my former husband?
These mood boards weren't just aesthetic exercises; they were tools of manifestation. Each arrangement was a prayer made tangible, a vision board that engaged all the senses. The texture of bark against smooth ceramic, the weight of stones balanced against hollow clay forms, the interplay of natural patina and deliberate glaze—every element was chosen to reinforce the reality I was determined to create.
Working on these pieces with my youngest son added another layer of intention. As we arranged objects and discussed why certain combinations felt right, we were essentially planning our escape, dreaming our way toward a life as far from the toxicity of the divorce proceedings as possible. His small hands would move ceramic birds next to real feathers, creating compositions that spoke of freedom and flight.
The timing of this creative explosion wasn't coincidental. As the divorce became increasingly hostile and my job offered diminishing returns on emotional investment, these fusion mood boards became acts of resistance. Each piece declared that despite the legal battles and professional disappointments, I was still capable of creating beauty, still able to envision a future worth working toward.
Smith's concept of creating your own "portable museum" resonated powerfully—"A museum is what YOU make it. You decide what goes in it, what is interesting, why it is interesting, how it could be displayed." In a time when so much of my life felt controlled by lawyers and court schedules and institutional bureaucracy, these mood boards were spaces where I had complete authority over meaning and arrangement.
This period marked the most dramatic diversification in my artistic practice to date. Where I had previously focused on single mediums—ceramics, or drawing, or a particular technique—the fusion mood boards demanded interdisciplinary thinking. I became a curator of my own life, a collector of symbols, a mixer of materials who understood that sometimes the most powerful art comes from unexpected combinations.
The process taught me to see connections between seemingly unrelated objects, to find meaning in juxtaposition, to trust that the right elements would reveal themselves when I remained open to discovery. These skills proved invaluable beyond the art-making process; they became tools for reimagining every aspect of my life.
Every fusion mood board was ultimately about distance—physical, emotional, and psychological distance from the destructive force that had dominated our lives for too long. The natural objects spoke of wild places where authentic beauty could be found without artifice or manipulation. The ceramic elements represented my own creative power, my ability to transform raw materials into something meaningful and beautiful.
Together, these elements created powerful talismans for the future I was determined to manifest. Each board was a small act of faith, a belief that by making beauty from broken pieces—both literal and metaphorical—I could create a path toward the fresh start that felt less like wishful thinking and more like inevitable destiny.
As Smith noted, "Imperfections are what make each artist's work unique." My broken marriage, my disrupted career, my battle with cancer, the ongoing legal warfare—these weren't obstacles to creating meaningful art but the very materials from which something beautiful and true could emerge. The fusion mood boards proved that sometimes the most powerful manifestation tools are the ones we create with our own hands from the fragments of our own experience.
