“All perceiving is also thinking, all reasoning is also intuition, all observation is also invention.” 

- Rudolf Arnheim

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Katie Stubblefield is an artist who engages directly with the fragility of human nature, particularly with man-made infrastructures, the manufacturing of power —literal and imagined —and their inevitable collapse. Her work is expansive, starting with exhaustive research into natural disasters, fault lines, global warming, and conspiracies of all kinds, pulling in deeply personal narratives along the way like a hurricane. In this way, Stubblefield’s process is similar to her subject matter, a force of circular energy that becomes more and more powerful as it collects material, childhood memories growing up in Tennessee, the humidity, and the inherent curiosity that comes from living near murky bodies of water and colliding pressure systems, both natural and human-derived. What truths can be discovered by the decay of a thing? There is no better way to observe the lifespan of an idea, how it pulls apart and begins to degrade, than in a place where time moves more slowly than in other places. 

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It is essential in the appreciation of Stubblefield’s artistic practice to understand that science and emotion are one and the same. For instance, the Theory of Relativity is more than a way to explain the perception of time; it is the underpinning of her understanding of the world around her, the idea that energy is everything. In her most current body of work, Collateral Damage, the cathedrals of energy take center stage. Meticulous renderings of power plants are layered on the front and back of repurposed sheets of plexiglass, which become windows into a world where multiple events are happening simultaneously. These layered manifestations of time and place have been created in part so that the viewer can be an active participant in the phenomenon of relativity. We are watching two power systems rise as well as decay, with little indication of which we are observing. In these works, a question is embedded that the artist does not seek to answer. Are we, as the viewer, to respond in awe to the forces of technology and innovation, or are we being asked to quiver with the anxiety that these forces are at any moment susceptible to collapse? 

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Regardless of the question Collateral Damage introduces, it is clear that the artist is more invested in the process of asking than the answer. Starting with materials and technique, the work holds evidence of a staggering investment of time and energy by way of renderings that are immediate and irreversible. There is no mistake in the materials Stubblefield chooses; although they are salvaged, they are not without intentionality. Giant sheets of plexiglass, scratched from prior use and discarded, never to degrade, are the perfect foundation for mark-making that is also “permanent.” A Sharpie marker is the gold standard in highly accessible, widely utilized, indelible mark-making. The combination of discarded plastic given a second life and the intentional use of a marker that can be found in every garage, classroom, desk drawer, and back alleyway provides the work with a false sense of accessibility. There is little hint of the massive amounts of research, planning, and firsthand experiences that go into each composition. These are not only portraits of power plants, they are also stories of investment, hope, heartbreak, and longing for shelter against the forces of an expanding universe that refuses to give up its secrets.

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It is the tenacity with which humans continue to live on the earth in the places we decide, whether it be in the sprawling suburbs of the California desert under constant threat of widespread fire, the plains of Kansas pulled up into swirling cyclones, cities slightly below sea level, homes hanging from cliffs, or high-rises designed to sway as the earth shakes. Regardless of how many times our innovations fail us, we are game to try again. Hope springs eternal, and the consequences of that wishful thinking are the collateral damage that Stubblefield references in the work. Returning to physics as a means of organizing the world when human inclinations become too baffling to be believed, these works are moving investigations of power and loss, hope in the face of crushing realities from which no one is immune. We are connected through natural disasters. There is comfort and community in our fragile state. 

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--Suzanne Alicia Walsh 

September 2025 | Los Angeles, CA

 

Suzanne Alicia Walsh is a second generation arts and culture writer with 20 years of experience as a gallery director and curator. She has been the Director of saltfineart in Laguna Beach for 15 years. Having recently gained a Masters of Science in Clinical Psychology, Walsh uses her knowledge of mental health practices to inform her writing on art and music with an emphasis on how creative expression positively effects the brain.