WRITINGS & PUBLICATIONS
KATIE STUBBLEFIELD: SEA CHANGE
Shana Nys Dambrot
February 2026 | Los Angeles, CA
"Nothing of him that doth fade But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange."
— William Shakespeare, The Tempest
Sculptures and installations by Katie Stubblefield operate within an ecosystem of post-modern material alchemy where the discarded debris of maritime labor and the skeletal remains of storm-ravaged forests are bound together through a process of radical re-contextualization. Her spellcast elevation of the damaged and discarded finds belongs to the legacy of Arte Povera and the foraging ethos of artists like El Anatsui, Louise Bourgeois, and Moffat Takadiwa—all for their own reasons finding transformational meaning in the detritus of timelines defined by their own ruination.
Within her Ghost Nets, suspended armatures of nylon mesh and found objects are punctuated by the neon glow of synthetic zip ties, creating a bioluminescent allure that speaks to Darwinian ingenuity. These structures hang as semi-functional snares or protective talismans, capturing the chaotic energy of the shoreline and holding it in a state of vibrating tension that mirrors the unpredictable architecture of a storm. The Brambles further her investigation into the microclimates of the Pacific, where the laborious binding of every rope and resin-slicked limb becomes a meditative performance of care for the physical remnants of a landscape that has begun to swallow its own history.
And in singular works like Comeuppance, the scale speaks to guardianship, wizardry, and matriarchy, metabolizing disparate elements into singular, cohesive monuments that suggest a world where the distinction between what is grown and what is manufactured has finally, poetically, mournfully dissolved. Stubblefield’s tactile, deeply embodied process provides a necessary, substantive weight that anchors the viewer in a world of half-lifes and brackish waters, offering a viscerally grounding alternative to the increasingly disembodied and speculative nature of our flattened, washed-up ways.
Comeuppance, 2019
BEAUTY IN THE COLLAPSE
Suzanne Alicia Walsh
September 2025 | Los Angeles, CA
“All perceiving is also thinking, all reasoning is also intuition, all observation is also invention.”
- Rudolf Arnheim
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.
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?
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.”
Downfall, 2024
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.
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 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 affects the brain.
CHECK OUT KATIE STUBBLEFIELD'S STORY
Voyage LA Magazine
January 29, 2024
Hi Katie, we’re thrilled to have a chance to learn your story today. So, before we get into specifics, maybe you can briefly walk us through how you got to where you are today?
I grew up in the old-growth oak and beechnut forest of a small town in Tennessee. Trees old enough to hold Civil War bullets surrounded and shaded me as I explored the depths of those woods. Though my artworks have taken many turns, stylistically and in media, the wild weather I experienced under those tree canopies has always informed my work. I think more broadly now, considering my adopted Southern California’s landscape and climate while looking at the larger global climate-influenced landscapes I see virtually.
One of my ongoing fascinations is with wind. Growing up, I was fascinated with the way I could track a gust of wind through the tree-canopies overhead, just by listening. Yes, I could see those trees, seriously 5-6 stories tall, swaying 10 feet or more in one direction or another…but I could also hear the wood. Trees that big creak and moan when they bend.
Fascination with tornadoes was a natural evolution. Wind becomes visible by scooping up the collateral damage it causes. I have been photographing these ‘crime scenes’ since Hurricane Katrina came ashore in the Gulf Coast. These photographs, as well as more recent forensic documentation, led to woodcut prints, sculptures and oil or acrylic paintings that now make up the majority of my artistic inquiry.
Can you talk to us a bit about the challenges and lessons you’ve learned along the way. Looking back would you say it’s been easy or smooth in retrospect?
I’m a compulsive worker bee. I may not know where my work is headed from time to time. I find that if I just keep making the work, I will end up where I feel I should be. It is intense to be in insecure territory as an artist, but I am learning to trust the process. One of my mentors, Linda Day, strongly encouraged me to “be a fool in the studio.” I try to follow her advice.
Dust Devil, 2024
Can you tell our readers more about what you do and what you think sets you apart from others?
I have been an adjunct professor at Coastline College in Newport Beach for eleven years. I currently write vocational curriculum and teach art survey classes for adults with intellectual disabilities and autism. Coastline’s Art Department values and supports the work that my students create. They allow us to create giant installed projects in their amazing galley every semester. Students share these creations with great pride.
If you had to, what characteristic of yours would you give the most credit to?
I’m tenacious and determined when I have a project. Okay, maybe obsessive is a better word. That works well for me.
I’m never completely comfortable with where I am artistically/professionally. I think this discomfort can be a productive place to work.