JOURNAL

Simon Keough, Artist, wears the Colorant Landon Jacket in their studio in Beacon, NY

Mokuhanga is a traditional Japanese woodblock printing technique that dates back to the Edo period, a technique used to create the famous Ukiyo-e prints. The process involves hand-carved woodblocks and the careful application of pigments onto washi paper, where each impression is created through precise hand pressure, creating delicate layers of color and transparency. Early printmakers used materials such as indigo for deep blues, safflower and madder root for reds and pinks, gamboge (a yellow resin) for golden tones, and mineral pigments such as azurite and malachite for vibrant blues and greens. These water-based colors were applied by hand, allowing artists to build subtle layers of transparency and variation rather than creating flat, uniform tones.

Simon wears the Colorant Kramer Shirt 

What drew you to creating a print-focused project?

My life has been focused on print-based projects. Or at least it was. I am returning to the basics, to my true love of making zines, after a time of doing more digital and commercial work. I also dragged out my first medium format camera and have been using it all the time. 

Many years ago, when I was in college, my friend Ralph and I started a blog where we reviewed magazines, art books, zines and really any printed things that we thought were cool. It was called Print Fetish and we did it for a few years before ending it in order to focus on our magazine Put A Egg On It. We made that beautiful magazine for 12 years. Side note about Egg, you can buy back issues of it at Colorant.

But back to Print Fetish… Ralph and I are working on starting it back up now. Both of us want to talk about all the gorgeous printed material that we love. And write longer histories about some of our favorites. And sell a select few titles and some chic office supplies. It’s on Instagram for now but we’re building a site and a shop for it. Eventually I want to start a small print studio to make zines and art editions for myself and others. It’s all connected. And fun!

Are there certain themes you find yourself returning to in your work?

I might have slightly different answers depending on the work… In my photography work, I think about the horrors and pleasures of being seen, the instability of home, longing and desire, and friendship.

What continues to keep your work exciting or challenging for you after all this time?

A long time ago, I was on a job with a friend where he was shooting video and I was taking pictures. We were in Tokyo making content for a brand and needed to go to a few places several times to get what we wanted. I expressed my boredom and impatience with this and he said, “This place is different today than it was yesterday and hey we’re different than we were yesterday too.” That really shifted something in me, I think. I am more comfortable with how I return to the same subjects and places over and over.

The practice of photographing myself remains exciting and challenging because I have such a fraught, weird, interesting, ever-evolving relationship with my own body and how I see it, how others see it, etc. I’ve been making self-portraits for actual decades now and it feels new all the time. ALSO! When my dad passed away and left me his archives of photographs, I discovered that he also had an extensive self-portrait practice and it has been a trip looking at them in relation to my own.

How has your practice evolved over time?

I would say that the older I get the more I value being slow and steady in my process. And making work for myself that is about the things I am obsessed with rather than what I think others might want to see. Also, I am less afraid to go deeper. I have been working on loosening up for years. Shout out to my therapist, Joanne!

In an increasingly digital culture, what does creating something physical and collectible mean to you right now?

I think it relates to my last answer and taking things slowly. There are many cool and strange things to be done in digital spaces and I enjoy looking at that. But for me, for now, I am liking getting back into tighter editing processes and getting obsessive about materials. The feel of paper, the smell of ink, the choice of size and binding and color. And the friendships and sense of community you find when you start to share what you’re making.

simonforbeskeough.com

@sfkeough

@print_fetish_

Simon in the Colorant Twilt Jacket

Michael Lombardo of The McGolrick Bird Club, wears the Colorant X McGolrick Bird Club sweatshirt during a Saturday birdwatch in Greenpoint, NY.

Sumac, Rhus typhina thrives in the Hudson Valley's soils and open meadows, making it a resilient and abundant dye source. It's vibrant red berries, bark and tannin-rich leaves can be used for both dyeing and tanning hides. The plant produces a range of earthy tones—from soft yellows and tans to muted grays—especially when used with iron mordants. Several bird species can be found throughout the year in Sumac bushes for nesting and shelter, due to its dense branching, open thickets, and fruit clusters that attract wildlife.

Let's start from the beginning, how did you come to create a birdwatching club in Brooklyn?

I’m an unlikely birder. No formal life sciences training. Suspicious of nature lovers. Historically bored on a hike. My people are city folk, artists, designers, addicts, skateboarders. Not that birders don’t overlap with these groups. They do. But when I found birding in 2019 and then tried to articulate my transformation to everyone I knew, everyone I knew was like: "Are you okay?" There’s this huge gap between what “normal” people think birding is and what birders feel. The very first time I decided to pay attention to birds—after being inspired by Jenny Odell’s book How to Do Nothing—it took me, like, a minute to notice a vividly beautiful bird I’d never seen before. But more than that, I went from not giving a shit about birds, even thinking birdwatching was goofy, to this visceral understanding that paying attention to them makes you feel more human—more alive. There are a lot of birdwatching groups and introductory outings out there, but they’re surprisingly cliquey, or mostly composed of avid birders. I started McGolrick Bird Club because I want everyone to have the experience I did.

What's a typical birdwatch like with you?

I start by greeting people, especially first-timers. I hand out spare binoculars as needed and introduce people to one another when it feels right. Then, I say a few introductory words—regular attendees teasingly refer to this as "the sermon"—aimed at reminding everyone that birding isn't what people think. It isn’t about ticking species off lists, it isn't asocial obsessives and cute retirees in bad outfits, and it definitely isn’t Pokémon Go. Birding is about reawakening your senses, being alive to the everyday sacred, practically inhabiting a Mary Oliver poem, and—perhaps most exhilarating to my inner skater—enacting an anti-establishment/punk rage against our dominant phone culture machine.After the intro, we loop the park for an hour and a half, senses on, noticing whichever species are around. Along the way, we pause near active flora and—usually right after we see an especially surprising or beautiful bird—just hang out. At the end of each walk, we collectively recall the names of species we noticed, then hang a bit more or go on with our weekends.

Is there a birding spot that feels like a hidden gem to you?

Birders call spots they regularly birdwatch “patches.” Historically, my favorite patches are off the beaten path, small, and devoid of other birders. But perhaps most crucially, they have some kind of magic quality—a secret garden energy that I can explore and tend and get to know. Birding such places inevitably leads to lore and heartbreak that feels personal. I dig that. In New York City, that’s surprisingly empty places, like Randall’s Island, or small urban parks like McGolrick, Cooper, or Marsha P. Johnson. These places aren’t considered major birding hotspots, so I can get my introvert on while easily encountering uncommon birds and catching a vibe.

What's your favorite part about leading birdwatches? Any moments that really stuck with you?

My favorite part is helping first-timers go slack-jawed in awe for birds that are surprisingly common, incredibly beautiful, and easy to miss—like the Northern Flicker. Northern Flickers are big, Yayoi Kusama-spotted, pink- or golden-winged woodpeckers. They’re findable almost everywhere in the U.S., yet virtually unknown by the general public.

If you could be any bird for a day, which one would it be, and what would you do?

A Hooded Oriole! That species sparked and solidified my knowing that I would birdwatch for the rest of my life. Hooded Orioles are present year-round in Baja California, but can be found in Los Angeles and San Francisco every Spring/Summer. They’re vividly beautiful, and they hang out in fan palms, where they construct elaborate woven nests. I’m a Los Angeleno by birth and I love a hot day under palm shade.

What's a common bird that people often overlook, but you think is actually amazing?

There are so many :) Most people notice House Sparrows—the small brown birds you can find everywhere in U.S. cities. But there are other sparrows, often overlooked, who are truly beautiful. My favorite is the Swamp Sparrow—it has warm grays and cinnamon browns that are almost burgundy, and its eye markings kind of give cat-eye makeup. Go to a park with a pond or lake and find a Swamp Sparrow, reader!

Can you share some tips for beginners who want to start birdwatching?

Head to your nearest park and commit to spending just 30 minutes being present. That means put your phone on airplane mode and maybe bring some binoculars if you have them. Go look for places in the park that birds like. Follow your gut. Fall back into a wide-open visual awareness that takes in as much of your surroundings as possible. Pat down the world with that soft awareness, especially trees and bushes. Let movement and anomalous shapes catch your attention. Don’t strain. At the same time, deeply listen to your surroundings. Follow birdsong or ear-catching sounds. Use your two senses in tandem to locate as many birds as possible. If you want to begin learning species names, take iPhone pictures when possible. At a later time, upload those to iNaturalist and click "What did you see?" Or use the Merlin app’s Sound ID feature to Shazam birdsong. Don’t stress and don’t try too hard. Remember that you are a human animal whose brain was designed to notice and make sense of the world. You’ve got this.

https://www.birding.website/
@mcgolrickbirdclub

photos by Louisa Belk & Colorant

Laura Sansone of New York Textile Lab, wears the Colorant Ellis Shirt in Mallorca and Bronwyn Dress in Guava at her home and dye garden in Putnam Valley, NY.

Marigold (Tagetes) has a long and rich history as a natural dye, valued for its vibrant gold-yellow to orange hues. Indigenous to Central and South America, marigold flowers were cultivated by the Aztecs, who used the plant not only for ornamental and medicinal purposes but also as a dye source. The bright pigments extracted from marigold petals, primarily caretenoids like lutein, were used to color textiles, particularly in ceremonial and festive garments.

Tell us about your childhood and how did it inspire your work in textiles? I grew up on Long Island in the 70's and 80's. My Dad was a collage artist. His work was very intricate, made up of tiny cut pieces of paper that he would layer or tiny gears and springs from watches and clocks that he would arrange into patterns. His artwork often resembled textiles through color and pattern. I would help him all the time, mainly sorting and organizing lots of collage materials at his drafting table. I think this taught me the patience required to engage in detailed, process oriented handcrafting work. I was heavily influenced by my Dad.
 
Who has been an inspiration for you? I recently pulled out from storage, a hand crocheted blanket that my Grandma made for me in the 1970's. She made it with wool and acrylic yarn scraps. She has always been a big inspiration for me. She was a professional seamstress and she made me clothes and taught me how to sew and crochet at a very young age. I loved looking through her sewing table and all her supplies. One Christmas, my parents bought me a used Singer sewing machine. I was quite small, and it felt like a real grown up gift. The present that year from my Grandma was a sewing basket with lots of supplies in it. She helped me make some pillows for my dolls that winter. I still think about her when I work in my studio. She really influenced me.
 
What are the benefits of using climate beneficial wool and how does it tie into regenerative farming? Climate Beneficial™ is a regenerative farming verification that was founded by the nonprofit organization Fibershed in Northern CA. Climate Beneficial™ is a holistic land management program, a verification and a label for the industry. This verification connects brands directly to farms and ranches creating transparency, traceability and trust along their value chain. The climate beneficial program enables brands to internalize the cost of extracting from the land by supporting carbon farming practices, which are protocols that store carbon back in the soil and plant matter. Carbon farm practices are specific to each individual farm and include things like rotational grazing, cover cropping, not till farming, and composting, to name a few. The Climate Beneficial™ Verification is a program modeled from Earth's carbon cycle, which is the most basic, natural system of circularity and reciprocity.
 
What materials do you like to work with and how do you choose them? I only work with natural materials. I also choose to work with materials that are a part of the Climate Beneficial™ program. Mainly these yarns and textiles are wool, cotton and alpaca blends. Here in NYS, I am a founding member of the Carbon Farm Network cooperative, a group of small brands who work together to make yarn from fibers that are sourced in NYS and grown using Carbon Farming protocols. The membership fees of our cooperative drive funds back into Carbon Farming on our partnering farms.
 
Do you teach others about sustainable practices in textiles? What's that experience like? I teach a course at Parsons School of Design called Community Supported Textiles. This course addresses bioregional textile production through the use of locally sourced yarns, textiles and natural dyes. My teaching also focuses on building new models for our clothing and textile production systems by shifting from linear, extractive growth models to circular models that are more closely aligned with natural systems. In addition to teaching at Parsons, I consult with designers and teach workshops. It's important for me to share knowledge and raise awareness about the problems that plague our clothing and textile systems. I hope that humans will shift our production and consumption habits away from models that support extraction and exploitation and toward models that foster a collective stewardship for the land, animals and people in our clothing and textile systems. This can only happen when we change our relationship to what we value and internalize the costs of what we make and consume.
 
Where have you traveled and how has it influenced your textiles research? I've traveled to the Republic of Georgia, Haiti, and Milan to work on textile related projects. The most influential trip for me was Norway though, where I traveled from Bergen up north to the Lofoten Islands to experience their regional fiber and textiles. I got to visit several mills, and manufacturers and learned about the wool tradition there. I also learned about the country's heritage sheep that date back to the age of the Viking people. This experience really influenced me and deepened my desire to build bioregional textile systems here in NYS.
 
Do you have any future projects you are excited about? I'm excited about growing our Carbon Farm Network, a cooperative and distributed economic model that brings climate beneficial fiber to market. Our cooperative is a slow growth business model, where designers who make more yarn pay more into the membership fee, which goes back into the land conservation on our partnering farms. The more you take from the land, the more you need to give back (reciprocate). Typically, clothing and textile businesses are structured in a way where they are encouraged to make more, so the price point will come down (efficiencies of scale). This leads to "growthism" and over extraction and over consumption. I love working cooperatively and making decisions together with other designers while together, supporting our wool and alpaca growers.

www.newyorktextilelab.com
@nytextilelab

Bianca Kuttickattu, Designer, wears the Colorant Serres Shirt and Lolani pants in Indigo at her cottage in Mountaindale, NY.

Indian Almond Leaf (Terminalia catappa) aka Catappa Leaf, is a tropical tree known for large, glossy leaves native to the Indian subcontinent. Part of a vast eco-system, fallen Catappa leaves provide a source of food, regulate water Ph, and even act as an anti-fungal for aquatic life. The leaves are heavy in tannins, natural compounds that can be extracted and have been used to create natural dyes that yield warm earthy tones to deep shades of brown and black.

What is the origin story of Namai and how does zero waste factor into your production? All of our repurposed Kantha textile pieces are zero waste. With the scraps from the adults jackets we make kids jackets, tote bags, and small pouches. The fabrics are precious and we make sure nothing is wasted.

What inspires you and how does it influence your design process? I’m inspired by art, interiors, travel, and nature. These don’t filter into my designs in a direct way, but they keep me feeling creative in different ways. Being in nature helps me unwind, so that stress and fatigue doesn’t cause burnout and hamper my creativity. Going to art exhibitions is something I need to do regularly, to absorb colors and compositions, and textures. I think the choices I make in colors and textiles unconsciously reflect my taste in art and culture, and sometimes I can trace it backwards after the product is finished, for example, I’m always drawn to vintage quilts with spots on them, because they remind me of Yayoi Kusama, and I’m always inspired by the colors and textures of Sam Gilliam, Rothko, Matisse, and Helen Frankenthaler, to name a few.

Where do you like to visit and travel to in the future? My favorite places to visit are places I have never been to before! I’m always drawn to places that have a strong art and craft culture, because it’s inspiring to learn and discover new things. Having said that, I adore Italy, it’s my favorite vacation place (that I’ve been to so far!) and traveling to India is always deeply inspiring and creative, I am trailing to India in a week to meet with artisans, and I can’t wait!

Who wears Namai and do you have any current muses? The people that wear Namai want to express who they are on the inside, and they aren’t afraid of standing out. They share a love of rare textiles and value individuality, creativity and unique expression. I’m constantly inspired when I meet people at markets and in person events, that choose a piece that represents who they are, it’s why I love what I do. My muse is a free spirited, color loving creative soul who is in harmony with who they are, and lives life on their own terms.

https://namai-studio.com/
@namai_studio

Tell us a bit about your childhood and how it influences your work today.
I grew up in Los Angeles, California.  Like most kids in LA, I spent a lot of time in a car; tent and car camping in the desert and in the front seat in traffic on the many LA freeways. Unlike most kids, my dad was an artist, and my mom, a bookbinder, so I learned how to use my hands and build things at a young age. Helping build our house (read: helping demo the old house with a sledgehammer), helping my mom in the bindery, and learning to stick weld- my childhood led me to be curious, adventurous, and not afraid to get my hands dirty, but I also just spent a lot of time in the car observing.

I would stare out the car window studying the fast moving landscape, freeway overpasses, the LA river- fully molded in concrete, or the eerie Mordor-esque fiery petroleum refineries in Long Beach. My work is deeply influenced by this fast moving view of the landscape and the marks that we as humans have made on the surface of the earth. I am often working on translating these marks or remnants of human industriousness into household objects; translating petroleum tanks into lighting fixtures, or crushed scrap metal into side tables. In grad school, I became infatuated with the endless acres of car pick apart yards outside of Detroit, Michigan- I think they reminded me of the 12 lane traffic jams of my youth. The infrastructure and power lines that lead to heavy manufacturing in Gary, Indiana also mirrored the Long Beach refineries.
My childhood taught me to keep looking out the window and to swing a sledgehammer with careless abandon.

How do you source materials and what are the preferred materials you use?
All of my designs come from material experimentation. It usually takes the form of an encounter with a found material. Sometimes only the idea and original prototype is made from the found material, and other times the design is always made with recycled materials. I’m a bit of a material magpie- always looking and collecting pieces or images of materials that inspire, ignite, or simply speak to me.

Because I work with found materials I spend a lot of time in scrap yards, pick apart yards, dumpsters, and on construction sites. I go hunting in recycling yards all over the country for interesting sheet metal that I can make the pieces from. I’m often looking for pieces that already have character to them, be it the specific pressed texture of a washing machine,  interesting hole patterns from metal shelving, pressed and formed texture from car parts, or a really good color. I’m always on the look out for a specific bright orange red color.

I treat my little Subaru Impreza like a pick-up truck, rolling huge logs into the back, stacking tailgates and bails of found materials. I always have ratchet straps on hand and have built my own roof rack from wooden dowels and pool noodles in case I have to pick up something larger than can fit in the back of my ‘truck’.

Describe a specific project/ piece that you hold dear from origin to completion.
While in grad school outside of Detroit, Michigan, I saw a big pile of rusty, bent in half, cnc railings leaning against a dumpster waiting to be scrapped. The pieces had very rough, chewed up edges covered with metal slag and rust. They were all bent in a rough upside down ‘U-shape’ and leaned up against the dumpster. In the process of being stacked, some of the pieces had fallen over sideways creating a ‘greater than’ > shape. In my mind immediately- It was a chair! I saw the upside down u shape as the back and the ‘greater than’ > shape as the seat the pieces would alternate and create a chair.

After getting permission (a step I have found to be important sometimes),  I saved the metal from the dumpster and jumped on and pried the material with a vice until I had two distinct curves that made up the back and seat respectively. I left the carved out edges of the material, while softening the sharp edges so it could be comfortable and not dangerous. It became the original Bent prototype.

In order to make the piece reproducible, because I have yet to come across the same material in my explorations- I took a paper pattern of the original chair curves and built two jigs to match the specific curves of the back and seat. Now, when I make new Bent chairs I take new 2” steel bar material, heat it up in my metal ‘through forge’- basically a round tube open on both sides with very hot flames shooting down from propane burners-  and bend them around the homemade jigs. The back and seat pieces are then stacked and very carefully tig welded from underneath so the welds are invisible. The piece becomes a conversation about line. The chair that appeared in the pile of trash has now become a reproducible design object.

Who has been most influential to you professionally?
I have always admired the work and studio practice of contemporary designer, Max Lamb. I think we are both inherently ‘scrappy’ using whatever tools and resources around us to inspire and create. I remember learning that he started his Nanocrystalline Copper Furniture series in his apartment kitchen sink, and watched videos of him casting pewter side tables on the beach with a stick and hot plate. I identify closely with that scrappy ingenuity.  Both of our studio practices have an element of performance. I love his ability to jump between very different materials and techniques, never being bound by what people think he makes. It’s a lesson that I try to hold very close to my heart.  You have to let the work and material lead you, instead of trying to chase what you think people want to buy. I think a lot of designers pigeon hole themselves to a specific material or technique and lose the love of making and experimentation. For both of us, experimentation with a specific material leads the design process.

More directly, my dear friend, mentor, and one-time boss, Vivian Beer taught me how to actually work professionally as an artist. Seeing and working with someone who is running their own small design studio is the best education you can ever have. She was first my teacher for a two month long metal furniture class at Penland School of Craft in North Carolina and immediately afterwards called me up and hired me as her assistant in New Hampshire. I’ve worked with and alongside her for more than ten years. We’ve built concrete and metal furniture, large scale public artwork that wraps around buildings and spent months in the desert in an RV together. She is also incredibly scrappy (a favorite trait of mine) and has shown me how driven you have to be to make it in the design world. She is always re-creating and re-inventing her studio and practice and pushing herself to take on bigger, more complex and ambitious projects. She is one of those people who you can always count on, and who inspires you to be better at what you do.

www.hannahvaughan.com

@hannahvaughanstudio

Tanya Himeji Romero of Woodland Pantry, wears Colorant Corfu Dress in the Hudson Valley, NY.

Chaga mushroom (Inonotus obliquus) is a type of fungus that grows on the bark of Birch trees in colder climates. It has been used as an herbal medicine for centuries, often ground up and taken as a tincture, tea or capsule supplement to boost immunity and antioxidants. Its inner orange core produces a mycopigment (natural dyes originating from fungi and lichens) that creates vivid yellows, golds and oranges when extracted.

www.woodlandpantry.com

@woodlandpantry

 

Jean Brennan, Artist, Wears Colorant Hand Painted Jumpsuit in silk charmeuse, brush painted with crushed Cochineal & Fustic natural dyes.

Orsallia, a natural red purple dye, is an extraction from the lichen Umbilicaria which was worn by nobility in Roman times to display wealth, power and status. Women were forbidden to take part in the creation of this dye and ordinary citizens were forbidden to wear it. Ancient recipes include ocean water and urine in the dye process and it was often used in place of the Murex mollusk, a sea shellfish, a source of a similar royal hue but not as easily collected.

Blue.

Describe a typical day of your studio practice.
My day to day varies, from teaching to writing grants to messing around in the studio. Projects often begin with walks and writing, coupled with research about a plant or a place. In my response to site, I’m often weaving in scientific research, historical references, pop culture. Sometimes the relationships with scientists or collaborators, human or non-human, become central to the work. 

Who are you currently inspired by? An eclectic group of women: Amy Franceschini from Future Farmers, Agnes Denes, Helen Mirra, Donna Haraway, Joan Jonas, Rebecca Horn.

While visiting Michigan one summer, I was struck by the endless miles of reforestation, a mesmerizing repetition of red pines flying past the car window. Eventually, I found a location maintained by the University of Michigan Biostation, with little undergrowth save a patchy carpet of spring ferns. I staged a few photos and the seed for 'Performing vowels in the note of blue' was planted. That Fall, I located a similar site in my home state of New York.

'Performing vowels' is a score of non discursive communication filmed with(in) a grove of red pines in the Catskills. Planted by the Civilian Conservation Corps during FDR's New Deal, this century-old stand possesses the uncanny quality of a single species plantation gone wild. Standing among the trees, five women (a,e,i,o,u) perform the vowels through the use of semaphore flags- a signaling system that augments the body to communicate over the distances of land and sea. The movements, like language and the forest, slip between structure and improvisation. In this 8 minute video, looped in a gallery setting, I imagine a form of communication in which the forest plays a role in how we transmit ideas—a ritual of call and response whereby the patterns of movement and non-verbal sound form the phrases of language.

The original action was inspired by research on how trees 'talk' and asks if there are example of human communication that come closer to the way non-humans, such as plants and animals, communicate. That's how I arrived at the idea of using semaphore flags. But in the making of Performing Vowels, all kinds of other meaning began to unfold. For instance, vowels are the breath of language- in a sense they are atmospheric. Vowels are a speech sound that is made with no obstruction of the vocal tract, frictionless and continuant, they are open-throated. The color blue corresponds to the throat chakra and to truth. In Judaism, vowels are associated with god; in Japan, with the mother.

Click to view Performing vowels in the note of blue

Favorite trails to Hike?
Fishkill Ridge, east of Mount Beacon; Mohonk Preserve in the Catskills; and, Mt. Lafayette in the White Mountains.

Describe the process in how you conceived Intergalactic Naval Gazing?

It began with walking, plant identification, and dye research at the Haystack Artist Residency on Deer Isle, Maine (May 2018). Later that summer, on a hike in the Catskills I came across a large rocky outcrop covered with the Umbilicate mammulata lichen, known as rock tripe. In Latin, umbilicate refers to the naval, while mammulata, means small breast. I was drawn to the bodily references, as well as the deep purple dye it yields, called orsallia. A storm had detached and blown lichen bits all over the ground so I was able to gather a good amount. I chopped these up into smaller pieces and placed them in mason jars. The jars, marked either Y.O.U. (your own urine) or A.M. (ammonia method), sat in a window by my dresser. Each morning and evening, I gave the jars a hearty shake - for 4 months. 

All lichen are symbiosis of algae and fungi, an unexpected marriage of producer and de-composer. Using my own bodily fluids, and cohabiting with these jars as they transformed, was a way to enter into this synergy. The dye was ultimately displayed in flame-work glass vessels fabricated by Dan Spitzer from Malfatti Glass according to sketches I made while looking at medical renditions of internal organs. I wrote the essay, Intergalactic Naval Gazing, as an ode to the lichen I foraged.