Rae Tribbick

Artist Statement

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I am an artist based in Lancaster.  I create a mix of figurative sculpture, assemblages and vessels, which I view as a form of self-portraiture. My practice references heritage crafts and ancient peoples, creating work that evokes a sense of being grounded and connected to the earth, our histories and our roots. My ceramics pieces are often glazed in the rich greens of growth, or left earthy and unglazed.  Much of my work integrates natural elements and raw found objects.

 

Over the years I have had to learn and relearn who I am, and how I connect to the world. I now like to think of my life's work as a practice in taking malleability seriously; Not as a distraction, but as something vital in a world obsessed with quick results and productivity. As both an artist and a teacher, I use 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.

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The Memory of Clay & Archaeoacoustics

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​Ever since I was little, I have been a collector of fragments: rocks, feathers, dried flowers, photos and broken pieces of pottery. Today, my work mirrors 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.

 

Humans have worked with clay for thousands of years, and it is often said that the medium itself holds a memory.  I agree, and as materials go, I think clay is the closest thing we have to the concept of memory, and how memory is linked to identity. It's 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 until fired.

 

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.​