“There’s a detailed complexity and a lush nature in the materials, a titillation, a delicacy and an endurance that I’ve always associated with the femme. I’ve always eschewed men even in my attempts to emulate them on occasion.”

Interview by Brooke Hailey Hoffert

Could you tell us a bit about yourself and your background? Where did you study?

I’m CARO, a multidisciplinary craft artist working in the mediums of metals, embroidery, and lace. It’s a mouthful as an introduction. I grew up in the Midwest, that salt of the earth, starting off in jewelry and learning metals at the age of thirteen. I went to study Art History in Rome when I was seventeen. I then transferred schools to continue metalsmithing and received my Bachelors in Studio Art. I worked in New York City as a tassel maker and a bench jeweler for a few years and launched a jewelry collection before enrolling in an embroidery school at École Lesage in Paris. After which I started my studio practice as we know it now. When the pandemic hit I picked up lacemaking, studying under Elena Kanagy-Loux at Textile Arts Center in Brooklyn. Currently, I’m based in Los Angeles, California. 

What inspires you to “recall a sense of the sacred” with your practice?

Hmm. I suppose I should define what I believe to be sacred before I go about expounding on my need to recall it. To me, the hand is sacred. I’m kind of fascinated by this idea of “homo faber” which proposes that man – and I am using the universal “man” here – has the capacity that he does because of our invention of the tool. And, if we look at this anatomically, it is with the tailbone that man stands erect on two feet, allowing the hands their freedom. From there of course we find fire, we pick berries, and we hammer copper into pots. In essence, we create.

So what I am recalling is the beginning, the connection to the hand - its pace and its knowledge. And to me, that is sacred. That is worth upholding.

How does your queerness interact with your art?

I’m not sure queerness interacts with my art as much as it does my life. And in that way, of course, it filters through. I am queer and femme, though I did traverse some years quite masc when I first came out and was seeking proximal power - access really.

Metalsmithing is seen traditionally as men’s work. Embroidery and lace, as women’s. So there’s a dichotomy or a blending of the binary there in the mediums and their fields. A queerness, I suppose.

Mostly though, my work feels divinely feminine. There’s a detailed complexity and a lush nature in the materials, a titillation, a delicacy and an endurance that I’ve always associated with the femme. I’ve always eschewed men even in my attempts to emulate them on occasion.

Haha. Shall my answer to this question just be a love letter to women?

In terms of iconography, however, I think my only glaringly queer work is fico. That was created as an ode to my coming out in Rome and my first infatuated dreamy love with a woman named Rose.

Tell us a bit about how you spend your day / studio routine? What is your studio like?

My days vary, but I start with coffee and a cig. I like a good breakfast, eggs with spices or herbs, fresh bread or potatoes.

The studio I go to depends on the nature of the project. I first walk through the process in my head. I tend to switch between metals and embroidery-like chapters because they necessitate different conditions. Metals are messy and dirty. It’s hard to keep the space clean. Embroidery, on the other hand, requires a pristine environment; even the natural oils from your hands can stain silk. Besides the obvious reason that it takes time to switch between mediums – think scrubbing showers – I like to get in the flow of each, which takes a beat, so I prefer long stints. I consider my practice a kind of durational performance.

I often take dance breaks. I mean a proper stretch and barre, pirouettes, etc. I grew up dancing and sort of desperately wanted to pursue it professionally for a while. It helps me be in my body, but it also aids while I’m working long hours so I don’t injure myself.

What artwork have you seen recently that has resonated with you?

Well, I have to tell you about the last work that lifted me out of my body in such a manner that even now I can feel the aftershocks, and that would be Joseph Yaeger’s Sphinx without a secret. I cannot explain the glory of the texture, mess, detail, smear, drip, feeling of it, and honestly, it would be a fruitless exercise to attempt it. Run, sprint to see his work in person if you have a chance.

Louise Giovanelli’s work as well. Drops my jaw. Every time I’m in front of her work I feel like crying. It’s so good. I still think about Jenna Gribbon’s recent solos at Fredericks & Freiser, as well as Danielle Mckinney’s at Fortnight. Aryo Toh Djojo’s at Sow & Tailor, and Chloe Wise’s at Blouin Division.

For knockout group shows, I feel like I’ve seen two perfect curations in the last year: Jack Siebert and Caio Twombly’s “I DO MY OWN STUNTS” presented with Spazio Amanita at a sound stage in LA, and Louis Meredith Wise’s curation of “The Gaze” at TJ Boulting in London.

What motivates you to create?

This question feels almost sly in its unassuming largesse.

I don’t think I’ve found the answer to this one. Motivation seems far from the mark of why I create. The best I can say is that I consider myself a steward of craft and the knowledge it contains. I am compelled. I have a compulsion.

Is there anything new and exciting in the pipeline you would like to tell us about?
I have an introductory segment coming out on the podcast Slow Stories, talking about the importance of slowing down and why it’s integral (in my humble opinion) to almost everything. My body of work here / hold which addresses the subject of transience is on view until November at the Moulin de Gréoux in Maussane-les-Alpilles, France. I’m also making some work for Fredericks & Mae which you’ll see come December.

Website

All images are courtesy of the artist
Date of publication: 03/11/22