A Note from Ashlin

                             When I was in my mid-twenties, I went back to graduate school. No matter how hard I hustled in New York—trying to work and make art simultaneously—I felt as if I was selling myself short. More than that, I felt disconnected from my desire to be of service, to contribute meaningfully. I knew I had creative gifts and ideas. I wanted to put them to use.

With the social, political, and literal climate being what it was, I couldn't justify going back to school for fine art alone. It's sad to admit, but I couldn't see the value in it. I thought I needed to have a more literal, measurable impact.

So I packed up and moved to London to pursue a Master's in Material Futures at Central Saint Martins. I was excited—ready to design solutions for a better world.

But disillusionment came quickly.

I was surprised that a program with "Futures" in its title attracted such shortsightedness. My classmates and tutors were brilliant, yes. But the solutions we were designing felt too small for the problems at hand. They felt like bandaids—like putting plugs on a ruptured, corroded pipe without ever acknowledging the pipe itself was falling apart.

I wasn't interested in designing more bandaids using the same tools that seemed to have broken everything to begin with. I became gripped by a different question: What if the world we've built is a direct reflection of our inner worlds and the unexamined experiences that have shaped us?

Living in London, I was struck by the emotional repression I felt surrounded by. I thought: No wonder the world feels so broken if this is the culture that's been calling the shots.

During this time, I realized something fundamental about the difference between artists and traditional designers. Being an artist isn't first and foremost about creating—it's about seeing, AND feeling. When we're taught art, we're taught to draw what we see. But we can only render something well when we see it deeply and clearly—when we keep revisiting the original image, staying alert for even more nuance and color.

When I tell people I'm an artist, they often assume I'm a painter, a ceramicist, someone working in textiles. But at its core, my art is about seeing and attempting to communicate what I see, what I sense. This is what I recognize in the potential of all artists: individuals who see and notice what others don't. Individuals who investigate the roots while others might be pruning or admiring the flowers.

Throughout grad school and beyond, I wanted to have a positive impact with my vision and work. But I acknowledged how limited I was in what I could achieve alone.

EARTHouse exists to bring compassionate creative minds together so we can bring our collective vision to light—not as isolated practitioners, but as a community working from deep seeing toward genuine transformation.

If anything here speaks to you, it's my deepest passion and privilege to support you on your journey.

Thank you for being here.

—Ashlin