The Found Object Friday Series:
We artists do love our collections, don’t we? Ever since I was a child, I’ve been drawn to small, curious things—trinkets unearthed at flea markets, foraging for smooth stones and bits of metal on long walks, objects that seem to hum—waiting to share their own stories. Long before I knew what I’d make of them, I gathered these artifacts from the past.
As it turns out, I’m not alone in this. So many artists I admire share this impulse to collect—oddities, treasures, and fragments that make their way into their work or simply live in the studio as quiet companions.
In this ongoing series, I’m thrilled to introduce you to guest artists and the objects they love. Some names you may recognize; others might be new discoveries. Through their responses to a few simple questions, each one offers a peek at their collections and art practices in this virtual show-and-tell: the objects that caught their eye, the stories behind them, and sometimes how they plan to use them in their art or home. Be sure to check out their bios and links to find out more about each artist.
Today’s Found Object Friday feature artist is Amanda Jolley. Amanda and I connected somewhere in time, at a summer art retreat we each taught at annually. Though I can remember our first encounter and have a pretty solid idea of how many years have passed since that time, our friendship has grown such deep roots that it seems we have always known each other.
Instead of the regular Found Object Friday survey and artist’s response, today I’m sharing a post Amanda wrote about an assemblage she made in the Art + Assemblage workshop I taught in Amanda’s studio this past May. Each object Amanda selected to use in the creation of this work was deeply meaningful—a line in a visual story. But the work didn’t begin with that story in mind—it began with the reading of a poem.
The impact of this work is a testament to the power objects contain in telling our stories and the healing to be found in the process of creating.
The best poem ever
By Brian DoyleWhat if, says a small child to me this afternoon,
We made a poem without using any words at all?
Wouldn’t that be cool? You could use long twigs,
And feathers, or spider strands, and arrange them
So that people imagine what words could be there.
Wouldn’t that be cool? So there’s a different poem
For each reader. That would be the best poem ever.
The poem wouldn’t be on the page, right? It would
Be in the air, sort of. It would be between the twigs
And the person’s eyes, or behind the person’s eyes,
After the person saw whatever poem he or she saw.
Maybe there are a lot of poems that you can’t write
Down. Couldn’t that be? But they’re still there even
If no one can write them down, right? Poems in
Books are only a little bit of all the poems there are.
Those are only the poems someone found words for.
Crystal taught this 3-day workshop the first week of May here at my studio in Kansas City. Leading up to the workshop I was hit by a respiratory virus and took every supplement possible to help me get well before the workshop. When the day arrived, I was well AND ill-prepared albeit excited and enthusiastic. I had no supplies pulled together for the weekend beyond my work gloves, no concepts.
And then Crystal shared a poem with us on Day 1. The poem hit that inner place and allowed that amazing creative portal in my brain to open and I KNEW what I needed to grab, an object that a year earlier I had a concept for and had decided it didn’t need to be expressed. It was too much and I had let it go.
The container for my assemblage is an antique doll carriage from my in-laws. I disassembled it and collaged the inside with pages from old medical encyclopedias about mental illness and child rearing. As the weekend went on, I found more and more of my deeply personal treasures in my hand. My baby blanket. The rabbit’s foot a hawk had left for me on top of a hay bale in 1978. A nest I found on the ground tucked in the center of three trees at my parent’s farm. The Blood Red pigment jar that was my great grandmother’s from her china painting days. A metal slinky that was my grandchild’s, stretched and twisted into a tangled mess. Greek Orthodox beeswax prayer candles gifted by a neighbor.
This piece is about something I haven’t shared on social media. All of it has been too big, too much. My oldest child is mentally ill, an adult now, out of my sphere of help. And no matter the nurturing, love and prayers that were poured into my child in their growing years, no matter how much luck (the rabbit’s foot), I could not prevent the spiral that has transpired these past 6 years. The slinky is a picture of the mental chaos and if you look closely, there are warning bells.
Creating this piece was cathartic as I continue to work through the strange loss and grief of it all.
Thank you for allowing us this glimpse into the deeper meaning behind your work, Amanda.
Amanda’s Bio:
Amanda Jolley utilizes the process of intuitive painting as a communicative device to express the patterns and metaphors emerging from her subconscious. Amanda’s mediums of choice include both encaustic painting and paper folding which she incorporates into this intuitive process. A staple in her work has become the use of embedded line-work as an expression of internal symbols and mimicry of the creases produced from paper folding. Amanda’s paintings are shown internationally both in solo and group exhibits. She also has a large-scale (12x6 sq ft) commissioned permanent installation at the University of Kansas Medical Hospital. She instructs and hosts workshops that draw an international audience from her studio in Kansas City MO US.
Website: amandajolley.com
Instagram: amandajolley
Be sure to hit the heart button to show Amanda our appreciation and let us know how the work impacted you in the comments below.
Holding you in my heart, Amanda, and your family too.
Amanda - your piece is an amazing assemblage and expression of your journey as a mother of a beloved child beyond the mother care and protection. Thank you for the beauty of this work and your soul.