Emiquon National Preserve Artist in Residence

As soon as I heard about this artist-in-residence program, I started filling pages of my sketchbook with ideas. I thought about the pieces I could make, how I feel at Emiquon, and how to bring science into my art.
The easiest part to explain was how I feel at Emiquon. I’ve always felt most grounded and at home in nature—especially in the trees or on the water. As a child, I ran barefoot through the swampy land near the Suwannee River in Florida. I hated shoes. My mom tried to keep them on my sisters and I, but one of my clearest memories of kindergarten is being forced to wear canvas tennis shoes for P.E. I remember how claustrophobic they felt on my feet.
But we didn’t just play near the water—my dad also loved it. He’d take us out on the river and to collect crawdads for fishing.
When my family moved to Illinois, we found ourselves near the Mississippi River, which became our new haunt. Later, when I took a teaching position at Cuba High School 14 years ago, my husband and I began kayaking all around the area. I’ll never forget the first time I drove down the hill and saw the water and marshes of Emiquon. It didn’t feel like the Illinois I knew—it reminded me instantly of my Florida childhood. It just feels special when you come down that hill. I knew I had to kayak it. And we did.
So I knew exactly how Emiquon feels, but I still had to translate that feeling into a body of work. Most of my art explores what it means to be a woman in modern society, and many of the sketches I made were for functional pottery. I wanted to create objects you might see in a home while honoring the nature, beauty, and magic of Emiquon.
At first, my idea grew into an entire dinner set, for three reasons:
The connection between Mother Nature and food has always been deeply tied to women and their role as nurturers across millennia.


Table service brings the diversity and richness of Emiquon right into the home.


The kitchen table is a gathering place, just as Emiquon is for thousands of geese, ducks, and other animals each year.


But after learning more about the program—and realizing my own limitations—I scaled the project back. Instead of a full dinner set, I focused on a few key pieces: a couple of vases that tell stories, serving bowls showing the diversity of wildlife, and the snapping turtle serving bowl.
In these works, I used doilies to create texture on both the turtle and the bird feet. The texture is perfect, but what I really love is the connection: doilies, the home, and women—all woven into the surface of these pieces.
Of course, the process came with struggles. I had to return to school to fire my pots, only to find that the kiln was broken. I pivoted to a different kiln, which forced some surface decoration changes I wasn’t entirely happy with. Although the kiln was eventually repaired, it wasn’t in time to fire my two largest pieces. My turtle bowl was damaged in the process, and my heron bowl is no more.
Even so, I truly enjoyed this journey. My husband and I spent hours kayaking, hiking, walking, and driving through the preserve. I feel like I could keep making Emiquon-inspired art for a very long time—and maybe someday I’ll complete that whole dinner set.
For me, this body of work is both an ode to Emiquon and a longing for the wildness of childhood—a woman dreaming of turning feral.