Rafaella Mcdonald

Rafaella McDonald’s practice centers on the co-constitution of human and non-human worlds, a concept that resonates deeply with my own work. Her use of natural processes, such as burying her diptych Sand Dune, a Dog, and a Knot in Motion in the earth to allow microbial growth and environmental interaction, mirrors my own approach of embedding yarn in the ground to create crochet pieces shaped by the natural world. McDonald’s engagement with the soil, climate, and biotic matter speaks to the material agency explored in Jane Bennett’s Vibrant Matter—a notion I also draw on as I use yarn, dirt, and natural processes to craft spaces of fluidity and transformation.

Her approach reflects a profound engagement with what she refers to as the “unknowable,” turning toward animals and non-human entities as collaborators. 

This echoes a strain in my practise that has been exploring yarn or microbial matter, possess vitality and can guide creative outcomes. In my work for a post human class I made fabric from crochet and buryied in the ground. The tactile materials of crochet become active agents, much like McDonald’s reactive dyes and mould lines that capture the imprint of the earth. Both practices embrace an openness to unpredictability, allowing external forces to contribute to the final artwork and reflecting a shared interest in the instability and flux of life forms and materials.

Jacqueline Surdell’s practice, deeply rooted in the physicality of labor and the histories of industrial and craft-based work, resonates with my own exploration of body, labor, and material agency in art-making. Surdell’s fusion of manual labor—represented by her Polish grandfather’s work in steel mills—and conceptual labor, influenced by her Dutch grandmother’s plein-air landscape painting, informs her dynamic and tactile practice. Similarly, I approach my work by merging the repetitive labor of crochet with the conceptual exploration of neurodiversity, identity, and material agency.

Surdell’s reimagining of the woven canvas as a space of undulation and growth parallels my use of yarn and crochet, where the medium itself is expanded beyond its traditional associations. Both our practices challenge binary categorizations—Surdell explores the intersection of painting and sculpture, while I investigate the boundaries between craft and fine art. Her works, with their swollen tendrils of bound rope, collapse the division between rigid and fluid, masculine and feminine, industrial and domestic, much like my own pieces that use crochet as both a form of self-regulation and a metaphor for the fluidity of identity, especially within queer and neurodivergent experiences.

The labor-intensive process that Surdell undertakes, using materials that demand physical engagement, echoes my own bodily relationship to crochet. As a disabled artist, I am conscious of how my body moves through the act of making, much like Surdell’s attention to the performance of labor. This shared focus on the body—how it interacts with material, how it is shaped by labor, and how it exists within societal frameworks—connects both of our practices. Her work’s connection to the histories of power and labor through the materials she uses, such as rope, mirrors my engagement with yarn and other tactile materials to create inclusive, sensory spaces that challenge rigid societal norms.

Looking forward, like Surdell’s expansion of her practice into more three-dimensional, body-responsive works, I too aim to create pieces that embrace the body, literally and figuratively. Using bright, vibrant colors and exaggerated forms, I plan to evolve my work to react to and “hug” the body in a similar way, bringing a more immersive, sculptural dimension to my crochet practice. Both Surdell and I are driven by the material's relationship to labor and the body, seeking to create works that transcend traditional boundaries and evoke both personal and collective histories of labor, power, and identity.Our art gallery showcases the works of talented artists from around the world. We aim to provide a platform for artists to showcase their creativity and connect with art enthusiasts. Our collection includes a diverse range of contemporary art forms, from paintings to digital art. We strive to inspire and engage our visitors with thought-provoking exhibits that challenge traditional notions of art.

Amelia Briggs' textile-based works and paintings, with their focus on organic forms and the exploration of psychological boundaries, resonate with my own artistic practice. Her pieces evoke a sense of natural growth—rooted in anatomy and botanical structures—while being constrained within subtle limits. This duality between freedom and restraint is something I also explore, particularly in how crochet’s repetitive, stimming motions provide a sense of personal regulation, yet can symbolize a broader resistance to societal constraints, particularly neurotypical or rigid cultural norms.

Amelia’s works also engage with tactile and visual textures, combining soft materials with shiny, plastic-like surfaces to create a sensory experience. In a similar way, I use bright colors and exaggerated forms to evoke a sense of immersion, drawing the viewer into a tactile relationship with the work. Both of us use these materials to examine the contrasts between fragility and strength, softness and sharpness, ultimately creating pieces that invite the viewer into a world of sensory exploration while commenting on deeper emotional or psychological tensions.

Additionally, like Amelia’s flat, two-dimensional works, which at times lack the depth and polish of her three-dimensional pieces, I find that my crochet practice truly comes to life when the work moves off the surface and into space, embracing a sculptural, embodied form. Both of us seem to gravitate towards expanding the physical presence of our art, pushing beyond the flat canvas to explore how objects, materials, and forms can inhabit space in ways that engage the body and mind. This shared interest in the dynamic relationship between art and space connects my work with Amelia’s, as both of us use form, color, and materiality to explore the boundaries and freedoms within human experience.

Lara Merrett’s exploration of the relationship between painting and architecture, especially in her large-scale, site-specific works, connects deeply with my own interest in how art can transform and interact with space. Merrett’s ability to manipulate the rigid structure of the canvas while creating fluid, immersive environments resonates with my approach to crochet, where I use the flexibility of the medium to invite touch and engagement. Her work encourages the viewer to navigate and physically engage with the space, much like my practice, which incorporates communal and participatory elements. In both cases, the physical interaction becomes part of the artwork's life, bridging traditional boundaries between artist, artwork, and viewer.

One striking difference, however, is in our materials and how they respond to light and space. Merrett’s use of color and light creates ethereal, almost translucent works that amplify the surrounding environment, drawing viewers into a vibrant interplay of light and shadow. In contrast, my own pieces, constructed from heavier materials like canvas or yarn, tend to absorb or block light, creating a denser, more grounded experience. This material difference has prompted me to reconsider how I want my audience to feel within the spaces my work occupies. Merrett’s practice raises questions about how the materiality of a work can shift the atmosphere and emotional response of a space—a concept I might explore further in my own practice, potentially lightening my material choices to create new sensations and interactions.

Ultimately, both Merrett and I share an interest in how art can transcend traditional formats, but we achieve this through different material approaches. While she amplifies space through the play of light and color, I explore the tactile and sensory dimensions of materials like yarn and fabric, often with a focus on community interaction and embodied experience. Her work challenges me to think more critically about how my materials might either open or close spaces for engagement, and how I might transform my practice to invite a broader range of sensory experiences.

Hickman’s influence from outsider art also plays into this connection, as both of us seem to reject overly polished, high-brow artistic traditions in favor of work that emphasizes the raw, process-driven nature of creation. His restrained palette and minimalistic shapes force attention toward the fundamental qualities of the materials, which mirrors my own interest in how the tactile process of crochet invites contemplation and an embodied engagement with the work. Both practices reflect a rejection of excess and a celebration of labor as a meaningful, almost sacred, part of the creative process.

Though I generally find myself uninterested in the work of many traditional male artists, Hickman’s pieces transcend this bias, particularly in their focus on labor and the reverence for the ordinary. His burlap works and my crocheted forms seem to engage in a dialogue about material, time, and care—speaking to the deeper connection between labor-intensive art and the human body. Where his work uses the roughness of burlap to create a kind of material tension, my pieces emphasize the softness and fluidity of crochet. Together, these approaches highlight how different textures and materialities can evoke distinct emotional and physical responses, while still sharing the central theme of material transformation through repetitive labor.

Ultimately, Hickman’s work encourages me to further reflect on how I can expand the range of my materials and consider how they shape the experience of space, texture, and interaction. His ability to find depth in simplicity and to elevate overlooked objects speaks to the potential of my own practice to evolve—perhaps pushing me to consider how roughness and restraint might enter into my own work alongside the softness of yarn.