Nancy Modlin Katz

Nancy Modlin Katz

Whether drawing or painting from observation, memory, imagination, or a composite of the three, my work has always been centered on place: the exterior space of the landscape we move through, the interior spaces we occupy day to day.
A number of years ago while painting outdoors I began to feel constrained by the limitation of paper or canvas size, and wanted to extend my field of vision. This desire manifested itself in papers taped on to each other, extending drawings and paintings horizontally and vertically.
In 2009, after starting to teach ceramics at a San Diego high school, I began to produce my own work in clay. Building in clay, my drawings could move around a three-dimensional form, creating a different sense of space, one that was both expansive and close at the same time. I discovered that clay afforded me the opportunity to expand the image of size-limited paper in all directions. Furthermore, I realized that it was not the size of the clay piece but the form that gave me the expansive feeling I was looking for. Working on a small scale has afforded me the opportunity to look closely with my hands as well as my eyes, creating an intimate world that can be held, touched and used, as well.
Since incorporating clay into my artistic practice, I have developed a personal process that fuses several ceramic techniques. After a piece is hand built, I often begin with a carved incised line for mishima or a sgrafitto drawing in the clay. I then develop images with underglazes and further sgrafitto.
When the pandemic began I was living in Baltimore, Maryland. My neighborhood of townhouses became my inspiration. It was a safe place to walk. This is not where I would have ordinarily been gathering information for my work in the spring, in a new city with many sights, vistas and places to explore, but very quickly my eyes turned to my neighborhood. My world of images and stories were connected to the circular walk around the block, a loop that included numerous clusters of six townhouses with repeated architectural features. Fragments of individuals lives were apparent on porches, in windows and in gardens. I observed and somewhat surreptitiously took pictures of families walking, scooting and biking and of dogs being walked. I waited for a glimpse of a newborn deer in the woods. I noticed the progress of pregnant women, the progress of spring leaves and blossoms and the changes in the weather. In my imagination I began solving the mysteries of who lived in what nondescript home and the struggles that endured to make sense of this time. All of us seemed to be carrying on with the simple act of a walk around the block.
For me, making sense of the quarantine was in the repetition of the ordinary. Everyday moments of walking around the block were the vehicle to collect details and bits of lives waiting for the unknown. I observed nature’s seasonal progress as a marker of time and lives, not waiting for our losses.
This time has also been a time of looking carefully at what is close at hand both in time and place. This has been a time for deep breaths and of taking care to look and nurture what has been right in front of me everyday.