Katie Ford
is a visual artist who uses fabric and textile materials to create engrossing pieces through the manipulation of physical space, color, and light. By exploiting these qualities, and a combination of mediums and source materials, her work seeks to challenge an observer’s trust in their own perspective, inviting viewers to revisit and re-evaluate their relationship with a piece as their physical orientation to the art changes. Her work has been exhibited nationally, and supported by residencies with the Icelandic Textile Center, the Women’s Studio Workshop, Cabin Time, Have Company, and the Children’s Museum of Pittsburgh. In our conversation, she talks about her perpetual desire to discover new methods of creating with textiles, her latest collaborative exhibition, and the ever expanding zine exchange project she started alongside her good friend while living in the Hudson River Valley.
Signal to Noise (SN)
What initially drew you to working with fabrics? Did you have a vision for how you wanted to use fabric when you started, or was that something you stumbled upon?
Katie Ford (KF)
I initially learned how to sew when I was a kid from my mom's mom, so growing up and in high school, I would sew just kind of as a craft hobby and that sort of thing. It was always something that was familiar and relatively comfortable to me as a skill. Then after my undergrad, which had been in printmaking, I started using fabric as kind of a substrate for print as a way to make printed objects and printed installations.
SN
You started printing on the fabric?
KF
Yeah, I was doing silkscreen on the fabric. I went through a phase where I was really into making flags and banners and then would do installations with those, and so the fabric kind of just crept into my work through its usability as a way to bridge printmaking and object or space making, but it became pretty consistent. I didn't really think about why that was or it as a medium a whole lot, but I was using a lot of found and upcycled fabrics for a while, so things from thrift stores or clothing that had been cut up or bedding, that sort of thing. I think at that point was when I sort of became more aware of my interest in it as a material that relates to human use, and kind of it's something that, in my mind at least, it signals that there is human presence, and there's human interaction, and there's some sort of intimacy without having to show a person and without having to depict a figure. I've never really worked figuratively. It's not something that’s a big part of my work at all. Now that's really how I think about textiles, as something that's inherently connected to our bodies and the spaces that we inhabit, and a way to talk about that without making it super direct.
SN
Did you have a vision that was clear to you or did you think, “I like doing this and I'm just going to see where it goes,” and it evolved over time?
KF
I definitely didn't have a vision. I feel like I tend to not have visions in my art practice. It's not really the way that I work. I think of things first as sort of solutions to a problem, and then the more that material sticks around the more I sort of understand why I'm interested in it.
I would say the intentionality part for me is actually more tied to the planning, and the decision to continue working in fabric also relates to sort of logistical constraints. I've worked in other mediums and had to just throw work away when I switch studios or when I move, and working with fabric and working on paper allows me to pack everything up pretty easily. There are conceptual reasons, but there's also the reality of being a person who just keeps switching places. I've definitely made work and then just had it in storage for years, and then cut it up and made it into something totally different. So, it's something that can continue to get recycled instead of it having to immediately go to the trash.
Twin Realms installation view, 2022
Collaborative show with Lindsey Kennedy at the Lupin Foundation Gallery at the University of Georgia
SN
As you've become more and more experienced with using fabric, how has your creative process changed?
KF
I've gone through a lot of different phases of the way that I use it, and I think that each of those involves a certain amount of learning. I went through a while where I was doing a lot of dying and doing natural dyeing with plants. Each of those phases, I feel like, gives me a better understanding of the capabilities of the material and the options for how I can manipulate it into what the thing is that I want to make.
But sort of interestingly, I feel like where I am now the fabric that I'm using is becoming kind of hidden and obscured. I am doing a lot of digital printing of photo imagery onto fabric, and laser cutting fabric, and using printed fabric as a surface that gets wrapped around other things. It almost kind of takes it away from the draped, fluid connotations of the medium.
So, I think that a lot of the way that I use material sometimes has to do with finding the edges of how it can be used, sort of trying to force it to do things that are counterintuitive. With fabric, I think a lot about how it's this very soft, fluid medium that kind of resists rigidity and accommodates whatever shape it is forced into or whatever space it's trying to fill. And I feel like the ways that I am using it now are sort of setting up tension with that, the natural tendencies of it, and sort of talking about a line between structure and fluidity, and how to make things kind of unexpected. So, it's like growing out of the more traditional or core ways of using the material and finding ways that are more surprising.
SN
Is that an example of how you use it in a sculptural way, like you mentioned earlier?
KF
Kind of, yeah. I've always worked with fabric somewhat sculpturally, but for instance, when I laser cut the fabric, oftentimes I'm laser cutting grids or geometric structures out of it. Then I've done a number of sculptural pieces where I use resin or glue of some kind to freeze the fabric in a draped position so it seems like something that is fluid, but it's like, arrested. Then yeah, with the more recent sculptural stuff that I'm doing, where I'm wrapping fabric around steel structures and then bringing in epoxy clay and other kind of found materials, it's like using the softness of it but then it gets disguised in the fact that it becomes a surface. Or there will be moments where it breaks out of that where it'll be this rigid structure and then there's a section where it's like a bunch of fabric draping off of it. It's a little counterintuitive, it's interesting to see. I have a number of artist friends who also work with fabric, and I feel like the way that I work with it has gotten kind of weird or less of following the common associations with that way of working.
SN
Almost like you're creating an illusion.
KF
Yeah, I definitely think a lot about illusion for sure. Or like, moments of rupture in your understanding of what you're looking at or what the thing is made out of.
SN
Having seen your work in person, how your pieces fit together in a room or space is obviously very important to how they are presented. How the lighting in a room or the light coming into the room from outside, any natural light, changes the pieces. How do you think about those variables before finishing work in your studio? Or do you think, “I'm going to get it to this point, but it's not really going to be complete until I get it to where it's going to be shown,” and it's kind of open ended for you?
KF
It varies a lot depending on what type of work I'm making, but something that is always a question in my mind is if I want a work to be self contained or if I want it to have this sort of openness that interacts with the space around it or the light around it. I think that my works usually inherently have some element of interacting with light because of the way that I use color and transparency, and a sense of openness of form. In general, in my artwork, maybe in life, I'm very interested in ideas about space and environment and landscape, and how we move through and have relationships with the spaces that we're in.
It's something that I think about a lot and have thought about in various ways related to everything from city spaces and domestic spaces, to how we perceive color, to ideas about perception in general, and sort of like how we understand where our bodies are in space.
Twin Realm I, 2022
Collaboration with Lindsey Kennedy
Pigment print on chiffon, fabric 46” x 75” x 4.5”
Grid, 2022
Collaboration with Lindsey Kennedy
Pigment print on panel 36” x 45” x 1.5”
KF
So I think that when I make work, I'm really influenced by the rooms that I'm working in and the light in those rooms, and even unintentionally those things really come into how I situate the work in the room. Like where I put the viewer in relation to an object, and then bringing the work out of the studio, oftentimes that shifts. It's always kind of a question. It's hard for me to look at a piece, particularly something that is sculptural or is three dimensional in some way, in isolation. So typically when I'm making work and planning to show it, I kind of have certain decisions that are made in studio and then things get changed and tweaked in response to what's happening in the room where it's going to be living.
The show that you saw [“Twin Realms”], that was a collaboration with Lindsay Kennedy at the Dodd. One of the pieces that we made in that show was this big hanging fabric installation in the center that was essentially a six [foot] by twelve [foot] piece of fabric printed with this photo collage that we knew we wanted to have hanging in the center in some sort of way. But making the decision about how that shape actually existed was completely something that happened in the moment and was responding to where viewers entered the gallery and how we wanted to direct people as they moved around, or what we wanted to conceal behind it and what we wanted to be seen on the wall. So there's a lot of factors, but that sort of thing is very fun for me. I like thinking about the room.
SN
Do you have to consciously fight attachment to any in-studio characteristics of the work before it gets taken out and put into the world?
KF
I don't necessarily think of it as fighting those aspects. Typically, when I'm making things, I'm aware of the factors that may change or may be responsive to the site. A lot of my work recently involves transparent materials like transparent fabric and linear 3D structures, whether that's wire or steel rod. So, knowing that those are going to be in a gallery or in a different space than my studio, I know that directed lighting will cast shadows from these, like sculptural lines onto the wall or onto the floor. I know that the way the lighting is set up will either illuminate the fabric, or the viewer might be able to see through it, or it might seem to be illuminated from behind, or it might be more opaque from one angle than from another. Being aware of the factors that will change, even if I don't know how they will change, is, I think, the premeditation that I do. Then yeah, when they're going to that second site another round of decisions are made. It's hard to think through. It just happens. I mean, there is planning sometimes, but also it's nice when there're surprises.
I was showing some in process work earlier this week, and it's this sort of bread box sized sculpture made out of steel rods and fabric and some other stuff, and it had just been in my studio as I'd been working. I hadn't put it under gallery light. Then as soon as I lit it in the gallery space I realized that it casts all these shadows, but I also love that. I was like, “Oh, yeah, this makes it better.” Sometimes it's like I forget how things work too. I'm pleasantly surprised. We call those happy accidents in art. That's a technical art term. The happy accident.
Green Melt, 2022
Collaboration with Lindsey Kennedy
Pigment print on panel 36” x 45” x 1.5”
SN
You were talking about your show "Twin Realms" earlier. Tell me about that project and how that all came about.
KF
"Twin Realms" was a collaboration that I did with a friend of mine, Lindsay Kennedy, who's a photographer. We both are interested in moments of confusion, visual confusion and perception, and she was doing a lot of still lifes using fabric to kind of obscure objects. I think her work is amazing. So, we had talked in sort of a general way about collaborating early on but hadn't made a plan. We ended up writing a grant proposal to do this collaborative work together to get funds. Working together was really such an amazing collaboration. It was a lot of trading images back and forth and trading inspiration back and forth.
We would work on things kind of independently, and then come together and one of us would have an idea to share with the other person. So, all of the work in the show ended up being collaborative. It wasn't like her work, and my work, and then some work together. It was all stuff that we had made as part of this larger project that we conceived. The project really centered on our sort of intersection of interests around if we can trust the way that we perceive the world, and setting up situations that used almost exclusively analog methods of generating an illusion or generating an ambiguous space where the viewer thought they were looking at one thing and then maybe they come closer and they realize something else is happening. Make it like when you take a picture of something, it's sort of more packaged but it also maybe is further away from the truth.
SN
With her [Lindsay Kennedy’s] photography, was there specific subject matter that she was shooting for this specific project?
KF
It kind of operated in rounds, because the way that we conceived a lot of the work that we wanted to make was that it would be translated multiple times. So, she started shooting initially a lot of plants, a lot of foliage and taking a lot of photos that were super textural and kind of abstract, with the idea that we would then print those on fabric and then turn them into objects and then take more photos using the fabric and the objects.
You create these moments where you're recognizing that something is familiar, that you can tell that there's something that's plant-like or something that's water-like, or you know, that it's a photograph, but then, because of the distortion of the fabric and the draped material, when it's rephotographed and then sort of visually flattened, it becomes more unclear. We were really sort of chasing this space that's between seeing something and being able to understand what it is.
SN
Do you feel like that confusion of perception was the reception y'all received?
KF
I think so, yeah. I feel like we did that fairly successfully. When we had the opening and other people were finally seeing the work, it was sort of validating because we knew exactly what had gone into the photograph. We knew how all of them were made, but there were definitely ones where people really didn't know what it was or what had happened. It's really easy to forget sometimes how much pre-knowledge you come in with as the artist, and other people don't have that context.
Ingesting Future Ghosts, 2023
Silkscreen, monotype, acrylic paint, and pigment print, and collage on paper 11” x 14”
SN
Is it interesting getting to hear all the different interpretations people have?
KF
Yeah, totally. One of the images, which was a studio photo with printed fabric as a backdrop with a metal grid that I had bent and spray painted into this form. A lot of people thought that it was a digital drawing on top of a photo background, and I feel like that one particularly, a lot of people thought was digital because of the way that this flat white paint just further flattened when it was photographed.
I feel like we talk a lot about how you shouldn't make work for other people. As the artist, it's your job to make the work that is most expressive of your own viewpoint, because that's the only thing you can do. But especially when you're thinking about perception and how people see things, it does feel really exciting to know what a viewer's experience is.
SN
With what you said about the intention being focused on playing with people’s trust of perception, it's not that you're making it for other people, but you're making it to see what their perception of it is, and do they trust what they're seeing.
KF
Yeah. Or to create a moment where people aren't sure and then they question their own perception. You become aware of this default way that you move through the world, where you just understand what's going on, or you think you understand what's going on, and then setting up a moment where you don't and maybe that makes you sort of question your own abilities.
SN
Was there a moment or a specific piece where, as an artist, you said, “Okay, I get what I'm doing. This is me and it's starting to click, this is the direction that I want to go in.”?
KF
I think the answer is there isn't one piece. I’ve had those moments with particular bodies of work or a particular period, and it's kind of a recurring thing because I'm always chasing something different and I'm interested in so many things. I feel like in my practice, the thing I experience is that I go through phases of working through the tough period where I kind of hate the work. Like, I think it's kind of bad and not knowing where it's going for kind of a long time. Then inevitably something clicks and I can sort of see where it wants to go and I feel excited about it. I think that's just sort of how my process works. I feel like I have to move through a lot of sludge in order to get to stuff that I'm interested in.
I'm not someone who is able to have the whole idea coalesce and then I execute the idea, but I feel like that's what you're chasing as artists, right? That moment where you're like, “Yes, I'm excited.”
SN
I wanted to ask you about “Reciprocal.” What is that project?
KF
“Reciprocal” is a collaboration that I do with my friend, River, who is one of my close friends from when I was living in the Hudson Valley in New York. The main thing that we do is organize zine exchanges, where anyone who wants to participate makes a small self-published publication, book, magazine, whatever you want to call it, and then they send us some copies. We shuffle everything together and then everyone who participated gets ten zines from other contributors. We started doing it when River had a store that was kind of like a mishmash of antiques, and plants, and an art gallery, and community space, but one of our big friendship connection points is that we both really, really love organizing creative things. We love getting people together, we love making people talk to each other.
We organized the first exchange in person, I think in 2018, and it was just really fun and weirdly a way that I met a lot of people that I'm now friends with. We are currently wrapping up our 6th one. We're not in the same place anymore, but over the years both of us have realized, independently and together, that making space for creative interaction and generating structures in which artists can interact and meet each other, enabling that kind of community and that kind of exchange is really important to both of us.
It's cool. We have had about 50 people participate for the last, maybe, four rounds, and it's all over the place. It's gotten to the point where most of the people participating are not people that we know. It feels really exciting because there're people who participate really consistently and have done a bunch of them, and then every time they're like, “I have a friend in Pittsburgh,” and so she'll participate, and then the next time she'll tell three of her friends, so then there'll be four people in Pittsburgh. Seeing it kind of creep out, it's really fun. Getting all of the packages and seeing all of the zines just fills my heart with joy.
SN
Is there a person that creating your art would not be possible without?
KF
My uncle, David Ford, and then my mom's mom, my granny, were both sort of artists in my life from when I was a kid. My granny went to the Kansas City Art Institute. She worked as an illustrator at Hallmark, which is based in Kansas City where I'm from. She's the person who taught me how to quilt, and there was just a lot of art and drawing in my life from spending a lot of time with my grandparents. Then sort of in a very different way my uncle was very involved in the Kansas City gallery scene and is a self-taught artist. He's a painter, but also makes sculptures and these performative immersive installations. I think particularly when I was in middle school and high school, seeing the work that he was doing and just being kind of in the best possible way, overwhelmed by it. Overwhelmed by the sensory experience of his work, and seeing the way that he had built his life to really prioritize his art made it feel like that is a thing that's possible. So, I do really think that having these people in my life who I saw as artists in a pretty core way gave me some sort of belief that this is a life path that isn't foolish or unreasonable, which is kind of important. Instead of like, “No, don't waste your time, you're never going to make any money.” Kansas City has a pretty great art scene, and going to a lot of gallery openings and knowing a lot of adults who were working artists, and maybe had other ways that they were also making money but that is how I understood their identity, was as an artist. When you have the model for something it feels that much more possible.
SN
What is one record that you think everybody should listen to?
KF
Oh, damn, you're going to ask me a music question?!
SN
I know you like music!
KF
I'm going to do a friend shout out on this one. I'm going to say that everyone should listen to Ben Seretan's "Cicada Waves," because it is, I think, a really important part of what got me through with my first year of grad school. I think that a lot of the recordings he did while he was on a residency in the Appalachian Mountains. There's a lot of piano, and a lot of cicadas, and a lot of layering. Very soothing. I could say someone famous, but who wants that?
SN
What is a band or artist that you think more people should know about?
KF
An artist that I've been really into as of late is this person, Lukaza Branfman-Verissimo. I don't know how I found their work originally, but they do a lot of things. They do sort of socially engaged work that uses a lot of text, and they do paintings, and they do textiles. But the way that I understand their practice is that it’s about creating radical spaces for the types of interactions that we want to be having between humans and in communities.
I recently watched an online discussion between them and this writer, Legacy Russell, who I really admire, and they were talking about the internet. Rather than sort of accepting that the internet is this black hole of toxic traits and despair, [they were] thinking about the potential of alternative space for relationships and interactions that can be generative, and redefining, and radical, and justice oriented, and meaningful, and loving, and all of that. I just got really amped on it. I think it's really inspiring to see people making work that is smart and reflecting on the world, but is also hopeful.
Interview by Griffin Hans
Edited by Griffin Hans