color, texture, and form: the evolution of ashley perez's art practice
For someone who’s spent most of her life struggling with perfectionism, I’m surprisingly drawn to imperfection. When it comes to art especially, I’m constantly seeking out the things that feel a little more honest.
I want to see the wobbly lines of a drawing that reveal the aging of an artist’s hands. I want to see expressive markings in a painting, fueled by pure emotion. I love the subtle hint of a maker’s fingers left behind on a ceramic piece, or an interpretive, exaggerated version of something real. Give me the stray drip of paint that was left behind instead of cleaned up. The way watercolor flows beyond the outline or blends a little too much with the color next to it. Show me the abstract forms and pop art that feel much too big and joyful for this world.
As I’ve spent the last few years building my ceramic art practice, I’ve been immersed more in the art world than I’ve ever been. Sure, I’d go to museums and the occasional gallery before, but I don’t think I actually took the time to truly see the pieces in front of me. Now I find myself studying each piece, curious about the little details that make a work of art captivating.
That’s when I realized what I was responding to: the human left behind. The reminder that a single person, with their own lived experiences, feelings in the moment, and years of built-up technical skill, had left some part of themselves in the piece. Sometimes, it was the smallest detail, the slight ‘imperfection,’ intentional or not, that connected me to the work the most.
Maybe it’s because I’m a millennial who lived through the transition from analog to digital. Whose life was suddenly consumed by technology, and is now surrounded by the "efficiencies" of mass production, the over-used flat vector art of corporations, or the “revolutionary” AI slop. It’s made me hate overly perfect things. I’m not sure if I’ve just been exposed to it for so long that I’m bored by it, if it feels less special because there’s so much of it, or if it simply lacks the kind of heart and soul that makes me want to connect with something.
In any case, it made me realize that when it came to my art, I needed to reject the perfectionist inside me who loves to nitpick and is always disappointed when something doesn’t meet the unrealistic standards in my imagination. The part of me that compares my work to people who have been doing this for decades, or to the naturally talented artist who seems to become an overnight success online.
I had to stop beating myself up for not having the most precise curve on a vase or the straightest neck. Because the reality is that imperfection doesn’t mean a lack of skill or quality. It can simply be another way for an artist to express themselves. And, in fact, what I saw as imperfection wasn’t really imperfection at all.
the start of my ceramics journey
Like most people starting out in pottery, I began with functional pieces like mugs and bowls. Even when I was still in my honeymoon phase, riding high on the rush of a new creative outlet, I absolutely hated making functional pieces. Still do.
I really sucked at it. After months of doing it, I realized that functional pieces don’t really leave a whole lot of room for error. I never paid attention to how a mug weighed in my hand, the leverage a handle had when you picked it up, how if the top was too narrow you’d hit your nose, or how the curve of the cup could make for a smooth or awkward drinking experience.
The point is, I made a lot of bad mugs and realized part of it was because I wanted the freedom to explore different forms that didn’t lend themselves well to functional pieces. Once I embraced that, I started to explore other things like vessels.
the start of my artistic expression
Of course, my start with vessels was as frustrating as it was with cups. Naturally, I looked at potters around me or at big box stores for inspiration and found myself trying to mimic the perfectly symmetrical vases with perfectly level necks.
Needless to say, that wasn’t going to happen. For starters, I don’t have the patience to measure everything as I’m going to make sure I’m building evenly. I just like to dive in and create. Most of the time, I’m figuring out the form as I go. Second, I’m a bit crooked. Literally (like my hip is slightly higher on one side) and as I work, I tend to lean more towards one side. And third, I found perfect, simple shapes to be meh. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely admire the beautiful, clean work of many artists who create pieces like that because it truly takes skill to create it…but it just didn’t feel like me.
Part of that might have been a breakthrough I was having on a personal level. A couple of years prior, I found out I’d lived my life with ADHD and PTSD and had no clue. When you realize that the way your mind works and the way you’ve moved through the world are different from what you thought, it really messes with you. I went through a lot of stages of anger, grief, regret, and everything in between before I came to terms with the fact that I functioned differently in the world. Maybe instead of exhausting myself trying to fight my natural way of being, I needed to embrace it.
And that’s when I started rejecting perfectionism.
You see, when you’ve unknowingly spent your whole life trying to do life “right,” you don’t realize how constantly you’re editing yourself to fit. It’s exhausting, and it also squashes any ounce of creative freedom you have.
The reality is I’m not perfect and I don’t like perfection. I just thought I did because it gave me the illusion that I had some form of control over my life and what was happening around me. But that was stifling and taking away the joy from creativity. So…I stopped trying to do what was expected or “normal” in the ceramics world and started leaning into my own personal form of wonkiness. I’m naturally imaginative, and it was time to let that run free.
My forms became asymmetrical and flowing, and I left the necks of my vessels organic and natural instead of trying to make them perfectly clean. My pieces felt more alive, and because they were abstract, I felt less disappointed when they weren’t symmetrical or perfectly shaped. Abstraction gave them the freedom to become whatever they needed to be.
This newly discovered freedom led to sculptural work, like my restless collection. And it led to even more abstract vessels and the exploration of color and texture.
the evolution of my art practice
At the end of last year, I started creating vessels with multiple necks, more expressive forms, and explored color and texture. This led to me creating the vessel that got me accepted into the 1000 VASES show in Paris this year and sparked the start of my new color studies collection.
The more I played and experimented, the bolder I got. And the bolder I got, the less I worried about whether people loved it or hated it. If I pulled something out of the kiln and got excited, or smiled when I saw it sitting on my shelf, I knew I was on the right path.
Turns out, being true to yourself pays off. Since exploring this new style, I’ve gained representation at three galleries, joined interior design platforms, been accepted into art shows and fairs around the country, will be featured in an upcoming issue of Create! Magazine, and more. I expected a ton of rejection (naturally), but I wasn’t expecting so many yeses so soon. It felt like I had unlocked some secret to art, but the reality was much simpler: I was finally putting more of my authentic self into my work, and people connected with the raw, human quality of it.
Since then, I’ve explored bolder experiments, such as the start of my becoming series (basically, if restless and color studies had a baby), testing out wall sculptures, and getting more experimental with mixing textures and colors. I’m really excited to see how these evolve too.
in closing
By paying attention to those little “imperfections” in other artists’ work, and surrounding myself with art that feels bold and unrestrained, I slowly gained the confidence to embrace my own way of making. For me, that means organic forms, texture, and color. When I create a piece, I want people to feel something, whether that’s calm, excitement, curiosity, or whatever they need from it in that moment.
We’re human after all, and creating or appreciating art is probably the best way to connect to your sense of self. I’m grateful I have the privilege to create.
Stay up-to-date with Ashley’s work. Follow her on Instagram and subscribe to our newsletter.
