Based in Chicago, Chloe Dalton is a queer emerging artist with a focus on ceramic and mixed media sculpture. Through research and observational practices, Chloe experiments in representing the natural world through realistic and abstract sculpture. In her exploration of material and subject matter, she seeks to translate the whimsy and spirit of the natural world.
My art practice begins with listening and observing.
I am interested in the small parts that make up a larger whole—a rose in a garden, a singular starling in a murmuration. By examining the intricate components of an ecosystem, I am able to better understand my place—humanity’s place—in the world. Indigenous knowledge teaches that humans are a vital part of the ecosystem, as integral as the birds nested in trees and the rabbits burrowed in holes. Yet, Western philosophy and capitalism view the land as something to be conquered and sown for production, with no respect for the spirit living in all beings. In many ways, the capitalist views the land as a man in a patriarchy views a woman: a fief to claim. Now, we bear witness to the destruction of Mother Earth, our own mothers, our sisters, and ourselves as patriarchal fascists tighten their grip on the global political landscape.
Yet, there are stalks of corn growing in the middle of Chicago and mushrooms that eat plastic. There is a man who planted a forest. There is a woman who grows squash for her neighbors. It is the insistence on hope that drives my practice.
I am a multidisciplinary artist with a particular affinity for clay. My work is often concept-driven, beginning with a deep exploration of historical events, mythology, and scientific phenomena. By conducting close readings of these stories, I am able to find the most essential details, which I then translate into three-dimensional sculptures. I am currently exploring the concept of angels and the many forms they may take in the world.
I work with clay for its innate wild nature, harvesting it from the lakeshores of Michigan and the riverbeds of Colorado. I am drawn to the malleability, permeability, and ubiquity of clay—its demand for attention and generous response to my call. Like the Earth, like queer bodies, like womb-bearers, clay adapts to pressure. The infinite wisdom of our ancestors and Mother Earth lives within clay, teaching lessons critical to a fulfilling life. My work attempts to allow opposing forces to coexist—raw vs. refined, tender vs. severe—through texture, form, and installation, creating narratives that compel viewers to consider their relationship with the land and, ultimately, their connection to the divine.
Additional Poem
We were standing on a bridge in the forest
Standing on a bridge
(ARTIFICE) trees stripped and bared, laid out beneath our feet
We were standing on a bridge watching the leaves dancing in the doorway between
Heaven and Earth
We were talking about magic
How the air was rich and HEAVY with it
how it tasted of metal and mold
A crisp rot and decay because it wasn’t summer anymore
The cicadas drone the leaves shuffle the trees groan
“I didn’t know the forest was this loud.”
“I wish I knew what they were saying.”
“The trees?”
“Yes, the trees.”
In that moment I began to
Listen
Listen
Listen.
The air cooled, and the breeze turned to gusts, and we both began to walk
(a little faster, a little faster),
a strident awareness of our place in the world: two sisters in a vast and startling forest, the comfort of solitude now wilderness biting at our ankles. Our arms were linked, our strides (yours slightly shorter than mine) keeping pace when we heard the sirens, the smack and scrape of the wind in the canopy above. Perhaps it was hubris to think the trees were warning us of danger; perhaps it was a confirmation that the eyes we felt pressing into our skin were indeed there.
Then the deathrattle of a giant silencing the birds, the grind of rusty scissors against silver thread, the scrape of metal on glass.
when a tree falls in the forest, but no one is around to hear it, does it make a