contribute to the production of visual storytelling, including photo documentation, infographics and data visualization
contribute design research and outputs related to initiatives led by Recycling Alternative
Part One: GrIID on the Ground
This project will build on the report Mapping the GrIIDTM(2021) to provide detailed case studies of how macro patterns and policies described in the report land for SMEs and non-profits working on the ground.
These case studies will become a core asset in engaging new SMEs to participate in the GrIID, as well as providing context for the formation/formalization of GrIIDs in Vancouver and elsewhere.
Map by Christa Clay
Profiles of 5 GrIIDTM organizations will include:
Photo documentation and visual storytelling of products, services and operational practices that contribute to the GrIID
Infographics and data visualization that quantify benefits of a circular approach through the metrics of share-reuse-repair models; product life extension; renewable and/or regenerative sources of energy and material; upcycling or value-added recovery systems; social impact hiring and local jobs; and GHG emissions.
Interviews with owners and staff about the operational benefits and challenges of working within a circular economy framework
Profiling specific affinities or partnerships within the GrIID that demonstrate benefits of this approach (i.e. co-location of United We Can and Recycling Alternative)
Photo by Zahra JaliliInfographic designed by Christa Clay
For this studio project, I decided to frame my research through different aspects of agency that I find relevant to my design practice. This period of time has largely been spent in transport, pushing for personal deadlines, and in celebration of my new legal in Canada. It has been a time of reflection and meditation on my practice, intention, and direction moving forward. This project was the first in a long time that I tool myself outside of my current conditions and environments, and strove to incorporate the messier, less defined aspects of my practice, and what that looks like outside of BC.
Translation | Function | Process | Knowledge
Function
I have always had a preference of making things that I consider to be practical or functional. I make things I need, tools, or objects that might be useful to someone. Pots, spoons, bowls, brooms, furniture, wallets, not to mention edibles — salsa, pickles, jams, beer, cider, the list goes on. I make things that are meant to be used, shared, weathered. Things that I imbue with care, with precision, with intention. It is this aspect of my practice that I decided to work with arbutus wood for the first time on the lathe. I had a very special small amount of spalted arbutus from my family’s property. It is spalting in a completely unique way, similar to the crystallization of snowflakes, a rare breed. I’d been intimidated by it, but felt the time was here. This is my favourite kind of tree — arbutus — and I wanted to learn how to work with it thoughtfully and knowledgeably.
Of the three blanks I got, one was the most viable, and it was remarkable to behold. Not because of the shape or form, but the color patterns in the wood — the marbling and melting striations — were a thing to get lost in, like looking at the milky way on a cloudless night. This was not my doing, but the natural process of decomposition had started in the wood. Not enough to compromise the structural integrity, but just enough to evoke an aesthetic metamorphosis.
arbutus bowl inside – unoiled
arbutus bowl outside – unoiled
I’ll keep a long story short but the bowl and a set of arbutus spoons carved by my partner made it to their best possible home in Texas to some dear friends. One of the most special connections I have been able to make in my woodworking practice is arbutus — native to the PNW, it grows in two little pockets of Texas. A dwarf variety, Arbutus xalapensis (aka Texas madrone), which I learned on this trip was also the favourite tree of those dear friends. This was a divine circumstance, where I didn’t need to explain much about the history of the wood, it’s environment, or my intention, it was already known. The process of the making, how and why those decisions were made, and offering it to someone else, allowed them the opportunity to treasure the gestures. To know how or why something came to be, how to care for it, and what it’s origin means, changes a persons relationship to that object. It is not a wooden bowl, it is a memory, a relationship, a member of the family.
arbutus spoons and bowl — photo by their new owner, Whitney Arostegui
Translation
Nearly half of the four week stretch of this project for me was spend away in Texas. It had been nearly two years since I’d returned, and so I gave my time to my family. Uncertain of when I would return, I chose them over work. I saw my grandmother for three days, took a day trip across the Mexican border for lunch with her, met my 15 month old niece Joanna for the first time, watched my friends talk about love and joy and marriage at a wedding celebration, and feel an overwhelming sense of belonging and relief I didn’t know I was missing. I was needed there, even if just for a while. I feel rehydrated, refreshed, tired, and full.
While I was there, I was constantly catching people up on my last two years, my partner, puppy, job, grad school — and got a lot of practice talking to folks about ‘what kind of design I do.’ It cornered me into a space where I had to sideline academic linguistic gymnastics in the service of sounding accessible, digestible, translatable. I had to make sense to everyone, regardless of their experience in design or academia.
It got me thinking about the translation of meaning, intention, of practice. Sometimes all we can do as artist or makers is offer the made thing for someone to receive, to interpret. Anyone can take what they want out of it, intention is not a universal language. This is an aspect of my research I hope to incorporate into my practice and thesis writing. A practice mindful of translation, wherever the work or theory goes.
Knowledge
We are all a product of our surroundings, our mentors, friends, media, education, families, we learn from them and decide what to keep or what to leave behind. I had the opportunity to visit my grandfather’s old tool shed — inside houses farming equipment, and woodworking tools that are three generations old. I think it is one of the most beautiful thing about being an artist or designer, not to mention human, that we are not a phenomena, we are a product of our environments — chosen and given to us. Knowledge shared, discovered, embodied, or disembodied, it is inextricable from where we find ourselves now. I hope to always carry this with me in my practice, gratitude and graciousness for the mentors and inspirations along the way, without them I do not know where I would be.
My great grandfather, whom we lovingly referred to as PawPaw, was a man rich in material intelligence. Along with a farming opeation in Southern Texas, he was a carpenter and craftsman. I discovered on this trip that he also used to turn wood, and sought out his old tools. I found them. Six weathered, slightly corroded, Craftsman chisels and gauges. I carefully wrapped them and brought them back home, to restore and use. I only knew him for a few years, he died when I was very young, but I look forward to carrying on his craft through my design practice, bringing back those lessons that were lost to the wind, the ones no one else in my family caught, keeping it alive for a while longer after dormancy.
Process
I’ve been wanting to make a version of hempcrete with scotch broom for a while now, and finally found the right location and timing, back on Piers Island. This is where my research began with scotch broom last spring, and where I hope it will continue to evolve and grow.
The research myself and Chiara have done so far has been on scotch broom as material, in its raw form and as a source of cellulose for spinning — those explorations opened us up to the possibilities of using scotch broom as the fibre component of a bio-brick, a sustainable alternative to concrete for local building projects. We are still so motivated by the idea of a material we can use out completely for the betterment of the environment and community. I took this first proof of concept to the max, using broom from the island, processing it as before on its shelly beaches, and substituting store-bought lime for local oyster shells I harvested and crushed earlier this year. This material is 100% Piers Island. My long term goal would be to make a structure on the island, perhaps a small 10×10 structure (can get by without permits this way) once I get some larger scale testing done. Here is the first go, but certainly not the last.
stoming on broom at Biscoe Beach
post stomp
mixing in the ground oyster shell
pounding out the broom after the stomping — breaking down the fibres more thoroughly.
With this next project, I wanted to continue to explore the power of place based materials in their local communities. An idea I had was to reach out to all of my peers who had recently relocated to Vancouver. I wanted to make them something of consequence — something that came from this land, and something that was special to them.
I sent out a google form to those nine individuals with a couple of simple questions:
<<Please list three objects / tools that are the most valuable or important to you in your home? (For example: something you use to prepare food or to clean with — something you use every day or that you would use everyday if you had it. please no electronics! thanks!)>>
and
<<Is there anything from the above list that you had at your last home but did not come with you to Canada? Something that you find you are missing?>>
I assured them a surprise for their participation (sorry guys, it’s coming I promise), and anxiously awaited their responses. In hindsight, it was a bit presumptuous to assume that nine unique actors would provide me with one single object I could fabricate to accommodate them all. Through conversations with mentorship and peers, it became clear that I needed to reevaluate my approach. If I wanted to provide an offering of place, to hopefully provide a caring gesture in that spirit, I would have to decide for myself what the appropriate choice object would be.
I thought making a piece of pottery, or possibly something carved by hand from wood, but did not feel that was quite right. I found myself on one of the Gulf Islands for reading week and was reminded of an old foe of mine — scotch broom.
“Scotch broom is an invasive woody shrub. It was first introduced to southern Vancouver Island in the 1850’s, and now grows prolifically throughout southwestern British Columbia. Broom is most often found in open areas such as meadows, forest clearings, roadsides and hydro corridors.
Broom changes the chemistry of the soil around it so that other plants can’t grow there. It spreads and grows quickly, creating dense monocultures. Broom is a particularly serious threat to the biodiversity of the Gulf Islands, eliminating native plant communities that birds, butterflies and othe ranimals rely on for habitat. Broom is also particularly flammable, increasing the fire hazard of a property.”
“Scotch broom is an invasive woody shrub. It was first introduced to southern Vancouver Island in the 1850’s, and now grows prolifically throughout southwestern British Columbia. Broom is most often found in open areas such as meadows, forest clearings, roadsides and hydro corridors.
Broom changes the chemistry of the soil around it so that other plants can’t grow there. It spreads and grows quickly, creating dense monocultures. Broom is a particularly serious threat to the biodiversity of the Gulf Islands, eliminating native plant communities that birds, butterflies and other animals rely on for habitat. Broom is also particularly flammable, increasing the fire hazard of a property.”
– Islands Trust Conservancy Website, British Columbia
This spindly, opportunistic invasive plant is everywhere on the Gulf Islands. It was brought over with the European colonizers to these lands because of its quite lovely yellow blossoms; however it has seeded itself uncontrollably on this land, along with many other invasive plant species. Scotch broom’s namesake comes from a traditional use for the plant (or so I’ve read) as a material for broom making. I’ve been curious to try this for myself, and was glad to have another reason to clear out some of the broom from the orchard on Piers Island, so we collected several branches to begin drying them out for the experiment.
Scotch broom hanging to dry, top right
Shortly after, we received an email that the Piers Island Invasive Species Committee was having a Valentine’s themed invasive species removal party! What luck! We threw on some thick garden gloves, grabbed the big clippers, and headed back to the orchard to really tackle it. Over the years, tree skirts have been cleared to open up the communal spaces to light and grass, leaving way for gorse and broom to fill in. They are so established in parts of the island that they have to yearly remove the plants, and burn the roots, only to have to repeat again annually. They are too aggressive to be eliminated entirely, maintenance of the problem is the best that can be done, otherwise they will claim all unshaded open land.
removing the invasive species party!
gorse and broom in the field
burn pile of mostly gorse and scotch broom
Talking to the organizer of the event, Charlotte, a full-time resident on the island, it came up that I was interested in exploring the opportunities to use invasive plants as a material in my practice. Immediately she began to suggest that I sell the brooms in the Piers Island Gallery (known colloquially as the PIG) and offered that it would be great to offer the brooms as an example to fellow islanders of the potentials of the material and an incentive to remove it.
This conversation struck a chord, as I realized the potential of such a project on such a small community of Piers Island. It’s a good place to start such a relational exercise, especially since that particular place means so much to me as I continue to deepen my relationships with its residents, traditions, and natural beauty.
Pulling and cutting away at the blackberry, scotch broom, and gorse (the latter being undoubtedly the most aggressively thorny of the bunch), I began to think of how pulling invasive species that were brought over amidst colonialism was akin to pulling out it’s continued spread on the native landscapes that remain (somewhat) untouched. It’s a satisfying mantra when you’re knee deep in thorns with a sore back. Also the towering burn pile of plants at the end of the day, along with coffee and chocolates, made it a satisfying exercise in more ways than one.
I made a prototype of a broom before it had dried with cotton string, just to see how it would go. Though a crude representation of what I hoped to create, I was happy with the potential.
The broom is taking much longer to dry out completely, so I’ve had to make the first half with still green material. I’m going to wait on the rest until it is brown and dry, to compare the pliability and difference in resistance. I’m looking forward to seeing how that goes!
This experience went a different way than I planned, but I am eager to make more brooms, keep up the relationships with the islanders, and the conversations about place based materials. Particularly with communities who recognize how those materials can serve a greater service to the land and it’s inhabitants.
first broom with copper wire attemptfour of the five brooms I made from green scotch broom broom in action! helping me clean the mess that the broom making process created at my desk
This semester, I have found myself immersed in conversations of place based practice and design. Coming from last semester, this feels like such a timely and energizing transition into building my research frameworks and overall practice.
While last semester, I primarily worked with natural materials — wood ash, cedar bark, arbutus, oregon grape root, etc — I wanted to push myself to find ways to use other materials from the places I inhabit. I’m interested to work with place-based materials for their capacity to connect communities to where they are. I believe that this in turn, can be a means of promoting local making, industries, and an overall more sustainable and circular local economic system.
I worked through a couple of avenues that I could explore this work. Essentially two roads — one that focused more on my experiences and frustrations with our current system, and one that focused on a population in Vancouver that often gets ignored, the downtown east side of this city.
In that vain, I have spent more time in that neighborhood of Vancouver since I began my work at Sole Food Street Farms — a social enterprise urban farm hybrid that provides agricultural education and employment to individuals who have high barriers to employment. Last season, we were able to divert a considerable amount of fresh produce from our farm to the DTES. I coordinated and delivered most of that produce. That and my parter’s workplace in railtown had be spending a lot of time walking and driving around this neighborhood.
Trying to think about what the materials of the DTES are, I thought of garbage and debris, and I thought of the industry of the neighborhood. What opportunities for material reimagining and reuse are in a specified region such as this?
Coffee roasters and breweries are numerous — as is their waste. Coffee roasters throw away the burlap bags that carry the unprocessed coffee beans from far and wide. Spent grain makes up roughly 85% of the byproducts of brewing — and also the majority of which goes to compost or the landfill.
There is a discrepancy in if residents of the DTES would connect burlap or spent grain to their homes, but nevertheless those are resources that are already there. I wanted to think about if there ways to use those materials (or others in the neighborhood) to serve that community.
This opened conversations about co-creation, participatory design, and really recognizing the needs of the neighborhood.
This really blew up my scope, to a scale I’m not sure I’m prepared to tackle. But that in mind, I wanted to get my hands on one of those proposed materials.
I had some burlap form an east side roaster from my work (we use it to winterize the farm), and sought to make something useful from it. At risk of making something a bit too DIY / crafty, I jumped in anyway. I made a simple bowl and a simple tote bag.
I’m interested in finding an opportunity to work with short-term housing facilities in Vancouver. Wouldn’t it be something to create some kind of place-based welcome package for recipients when they move into a new space? Housing-first models of addressing homelessness and addiction are 85% successful after six years, versus the 60% efficacy of treatment first. What if we could offer for example a package — perhaps a locally made welcome wagon from makers (ceramic piece, wooden spoon, urban farm gift card, local coffee, etc). Would that support their process of building lasting connections to the places and communities that they inhabit?
Would it be valued?
Would it make a difference?
Who would support this?
Who would be the makers?
Interviews, surveys?
I’m looking forward to exploring this further and finding opportunities within the conversations I’ve been engaging with at Emily Carr through Fibreshed and the Place Based Grad Collective.
I did not tell Chiara about this photo, so… surprise!
Chiara and I have been working towards a collaborative action, and we figured no time like the week she moves here, huzzah!
We both share a passion for the exploration of materials. Mostly, natural materials. What they can do when manipulated, how we can help bring out hidden expressions within them, and how these findings can show us deeper meaning and opportunity for the material.
We talked about materials we were both familiar with but could try to revisit again, milk glue, linoleum, ceramics, wood ash….ASH! That was the winner for now. Something we could both get our hands on (figuratively, not literally of course. Ash is caustic and must be collected and handled with care).
Preliminary research found so many uses for wood ash — soap, ink, gardening, pest control, leavening, the list goes on and on.
At risk of being overwhelmed with options, we jumped in. Chiara used her ash (which came from the burning of graveyard crosses — an interesting German burial fact is behind that one), as ink. She also tried some casting and moulding with it. We will see if it dries in time before her flight out on Saturday!
One of the main reasons I was so excited to return to ash was because it was where I started in my practice. So, I took my two buckets of wood ash collected from my dear friend’s wood stove in Whistler to the ceramics shop. Cranked on the ventilation system, dawned an N95, safety goggles, and a book on ash glazes from the VPL, and got to work. After 1.5 hours of sifting, I called it. My poor hands are not used to my new climbing hobby. I managed to finish half of the ash, sifting it through three different sizes of mesh before mixing it into glaze.
The beautiful thing about ash glazes is the ambiguity. I do not know how these will turn out. This is my first time sourcing ash from my buddy Jon’s cabin. The mineral componants of the ash are comprised of the variety of wood burned, plus anything they’ve thrown into the fire, matchsticks, newspaper, cardboard, sweepings from the floor, anyone’s guess! The two things I do know, are that the result will be a representation of that place, and that it’s likely to be some shade of brown/green because thats kind of how these tend to go.
I tried my hand for the first real time creating glaze recipes through adaptations of what I’ve read can work. But each source of ash is different and unpredictable. When it is unloaded from the kiln, I will update this post.
This is only the beginning of this action. We are so excited to continue these explorations through the break and beyond. Rather than ending, it feels like studio is only just beginning.
One of the research methods that was introduced to us in our research seminar course is called “The Love Letter and the Breakup Letter.” The idea is that the exercise of writing such a letter to an object lends itself to unique insight about one’s relationship with the letter’s subject — that it can inform the reader of an emotional and complex set of information about that object. It holds the potential to reveal how such objects connect with the human world (and humans themselves) even if it is inanimate, or man-made.
This concept really compelled me — the action of sitting down to write down how you feel about an object or a project, being honest in its strengths and its flaws. I wanted to do it. I thought about bringing in friends, to ask them to write such a letter to an object in their life, one of love or one saying goodbye. Instead, I decided to use this opportunity to reflect on the semester. I needed to confront my feelings about these exercises, as trying as they were at times.
As there have been nine actions that have preceded this point, nine letters were written.
Next I folded them as carefully and deliberately as they were written, and sealed them as I do all of my written letters — with a wax seal and stamp gifted to me by my mother nearly ten years ago. I used red wax for love, black for break up, and gold for somewhere in between I suppose.
Taking the time to do this was very much deliberate. These actions informed me and affected my life these past few months. I owe them respect and reflection.
Now they’re here, scanned, immortalized on the screen, and inked on paper, a part of both my virtual and physical studio. I hope to take these lessons forward, I certainly saw the connections between actions that meant more to me than others. Actions where I ended with a physical object and actions where I tried something new, gave me more satisfaction and confidence. In this I know how to anchor my actions moving forward, and for that I am grateful.
Throughout this semester I have felt torn. The nature of this class and exposure to campus and peers has indeed inspired me to make, but I have mostly felt motivated to make things for myself and for my household. This distracted me constantly. I made lists of things to make after the semester, hoping that compartmentilization would be my friend.
Shelving unit for kitchen, darn all socks, make oven mitt, turn a rolling pin, carve ceramics tools, build a better loom, sewing projects that have piled high, learn how to build chairs, build a stool for ceramics wheel, repair bat system, convert electric kiln to soda, search for lathe tools… the list goes on and on.
I didn’t think it was wise to spend time on these when I had school and work to prioritize. But it kept bothering me. I am driven to make things that are functional in nature. Experimenting without a clear goal in mind was not working for my creative juices, and so I listened to myself.
I started a new part time job this month, helping out a women in Kitsilano that owns and rents out seven properties, she sent out a call for a ‘garden helper’ and I answered. It has been clear to me for a while, but now evidently so, that I needed a tool belt. One that I could modify for the tasks of the day, whether it be gardening, ceramics, woodworking, foraging, etc. I built the belt from supplies at a leather shop in town, and got started with the attachments.
My household has inherited a sewing machine from the 60s this winter, one that I did not know needed maintenance. My hard and fast instincts to throw these ideas into action were foiled by this machine that kept screaming at me to get it serviced.
the very beautiful but very in need of repair machine
A borrowed machine and several trials and errors with thread tension, I’m happy with the result.
The canvas I used in this project is a large swath I bought over a year ago at a recycled fabric sale. I bought it with the intention of dying it and making an apron for my partner. That plan never came to fruition… but instead that same fabric served the role of drop cloth many times, it was the fabric I used to dry my cedar paper, it was the swatches I dyed for action four, it covers boards I use for wedging clay, and there is still so much more to spare.
I try to give thanks to this seemly endless bolt of cloth by doing right by it — by making things that matter to me, for a reason, and appreciating where they came from.
In a time filled with so much uncertainty, restrictions, and increasing amounts of rain, I have been reminded of a zine from years past. It was very small production, and the creator’s website is now gone, but the sentiment is snug in my memories. It was about promoting methods of self care. It included examples of what works for others and sought to encourage all of us to listen to ourselves and to take care of ourselves.
I wanted to bring this back into my practice. Taking care is often easier said than done. So I reached out to the class, got a few responses, but will continue adding to this document.
One method I remember so clearly that I saw on the original zine was to drink a glass of ice water.
To this day, if I feel myself getting stressed, worked up, or tired, I’ll fix myself a tall glass of ice cubes and water, and feel the worries wash away for a while. It’s possibly not the best long term solution, and I’m not suggesting that it’s one size fits all, but it works — try it.
I wanted to make this fast, I didn’t want to overthink it. Though I did end up spending more time than I anticipated scanning sketches and notes to include on my page. I started converting images of my handwriting and sketches into vector form. Digitizing my work is new to me, but I look forward to doing more of it. The computer registers what it sees, and interprets it uniquely. It doesn’t quite look the same, but it brings smooth edges and empty spaces where they weren’t before. It took ink from my pen and morphed it into pixels. I’m just used to doing things the other way around.
I do consider this a living document, please send me more if you feel so inclined and I will update the document.
cclay@ecuad.ca
And thank you to all contributors and collaborators 🙂
Here, I explored self-sufficency through the action of building my own loom and then weaving.
Jumping off of that last action, I decided to explore another area of interest I have always wanted to understand — weaving. I’d read that a simple lap loom was very simple to put together, so I went to the wood shop and made quick work of it.
Without spending too much time researching weaving methods, I jumped in. I used a tapestry weaving guide I have access to for a little guidance, and found myself attracted to freestyle methods of weaving. I went to the yarn store and wished I had enough time to dye some myself, but instead settled for three spools of 100% wool yarn. I picked colors that reminded me of warmth, and went home, shuttle-less, but ready and willing to get started.
This quickly showed me the value of planning a textile, as I managed to literally weave myself into a box. How would I fill it in? The home-made shuttle I had was great, but not narrow enough for this pickle I’d put myself in. The puzzler in me felt this as a challenge. I had a blank page to fill in with whatever I pleased. I thought about free weaving and sought to bring roundness and fluidity to the sharp lines of warp in front of me.
Knowing now that weaving doesn’t need to be this arduous or taxing, I have tried to enjoy the obstacles I’ve given myself in this project. I’ve spent countless hours this week unknotting yarn, poking short threads through tight weaves with a chopstick, and reminding myself to have better posture to relieve my back aches.
There are many improvements I would make to this loom design, and next time I probably will. But it’s sometimes nice to do something that is tedious and difficult. I’ve come to have a relationship with this woven piece, wishing I could high-five each section as I complete it as if we were working together to fill in the gaps.
