Laurie Feinswog

Sometimes when I sketch, I sketch very intentionally. I have an idea that I want to engineer, a construction problem that I want to solve. How can I create a feeling of expansion or motion? How can I make the figuring in a stone tell a story? 

Other times I sketch without intention. Intentionally without intention. Forms and structures emerge. Elements group and distribute themselves in familiar patterns and systems. I am absurdly consistent in my shapes and textures when I draw this way. 

I am comfortable with these patterns. These patterns are my visual memories.

I spent most of my life in school. I studied physics, astronomy and applied math. I go to every geology lecture I hear about. Essentially my whole life I've been exposed to graphical representations of equations, depictions of laws of motion, colorful displays of particle collisions, topological maps, and beautiful images of stars exploding and galaxies colliding. 

I think that's why whenever I create a piece of jewelry that I think is abstract it turns out it's really not. It always turns out to be made out of physics.

Like if I were sitting in front of a bowl of mashed potatoes, there's a really good chance I'd start making models of orbital dynamics and interstellar nebulae. 

I CAN'T HELP IT.