Rae Tribbick

I am a ceramic sculptor and poet. I create a mix of figurative sculpture, assemblages and vessels, which I view as a form of self-portraiture. My artwork is normally unglazed, sometimes pit-fired, and often integrates natural elements and raw found objects. I am neurodivergent and navigate a poor short-term memory and aphantasia, meaning my mind’s eye is foggy and grey. Throughout my life, making art has been my essential way of processing and understanding a sometimes intense internal experience.

​

Ever since I was little, I have been a collector of fragments: rocks, feathers, dried flowers, photos and broken pieces of pottery. Today, my sculptures mirror this lifelong habit, and I view the composition of fractured sculptural  parts as an ongoing, fluid process of curation and collection. I arrange, rearrange, and alter these elements over time, photographing each temporary composition before it shifts into something new. These photographs act as the visual memory my mind cannot hold, capturing individual moments that stand out or resonate.

​

As materials go, I think clay is the closest thing we have to the concept of memory. It is incredibly malleable. You can add to it, subtract from it, and easily change its shape—yet it remains fundamentally the same material you started with. Like the natural elements I weave into it, clay is made of the earth, and to the earth it will return.

​

Humans have worked with clay for thousands of years, and it is often said that the medium itself holds a memory. There is even a debunked but beautiful myth in archaeoacoustics that if ancient pottery were played like a vinyl record, we could hear the voices of the past. This idea captivates me, and is part of why I see vessels as self-portraits of their maker. It also makes me wonder if, many years from now, someone might unearth a broken piece of my own work, and if that fragment might spark a brand-new collection, myth, or idea just for them.

​

Ultimately, my work centers on whimsy—not as a distraction, but as something vital in a world obsessed with productivity. As both an artist and a teacher, I use these fragments of nature, play, and imagination to help people reconnect with the parts of themselves that get lost under pressure and burnout, engaging with life’s mess as a starting point to dream up something new.