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RISD Student, Cabaret Performance
No full texthttps://digitalcommons.risd.edu/liberalarts_cabaret_photographs/1137/thumbnail.jp
Post-Ocean | Max Pratt: Asian Shore Crab
No full textLive Asian Shore Crab caught at Colt State Park in Bristol, Rhode Island.https://digitalcommons.risd.edu/colorlab_exhibitions_postoceanmaxpratt/1003/thumbnail.jp
Post-Ocean | Max Pratt: Ocean
No full texthttps://digitalcommons.risd.edu/colorlab_exhibitions_postoceanmaxpratt/1005/thumbnail.jp
Post Ocean
No full texthttps://digitalcommons.risd.edu/colorlab_exhibitions_postoceanmaxpratt/1015/thumbnail.jp
Post Ocean
No full texthttps://digitalcommons.risd.edu/colorlab_exhibitions_postoceanmaxpratt/1021/thumbnail.jp
The Stream of Life
Full text linkThe repetitive engagement with technological objects erases the depth of emotion by creating habits that bypass embodied and erotic pleasures and lead to a de-sexualized form of technology fetishism. The stimuli produced by machines that humans engage with are not able to convey the strength of intimacy between humans. Such virtual stimuli as the words and images produced and mediated through modern machines continuously shape conscious perception. This thesis book is split into two sections: a theoretical text and a series of images and explanations about my installation practice and process. They both seek to investigate the intersection of human subjectivity, de-sexualized desire, and technological fetishism. By utilizing both my writing and artwork in the form of mechanical installation, fluid projection, and moving images, it seeks to provoke a critical dialogue about the affective human- machine relationship in the digital age after the pandemic. The theory behind the practice will redefine what a de-sexualized machine fetishism is and how it, in the technological society, is transformed from desire to a de-sexualized form. This fetishism as a metaphorical symbol indicates the fascination toward technological objects, focusing on the dynamics of the notion of the refrain invented by Deleuze and Guattari. The refrain refers to the process that generates differences in repetition and marks the territory, which is pointed out in their co-authored book, A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia (1987). Georges Canguilhem’s philosophical theory of biology, including A Vital Rationalist (1994) and Knowledge of Life (2008), will also be put to use to buttress my arguments. Although Canguilhem disagrees with the other two on the nature of the subject, their common interest, the impact of technology on the human subject, will provide the backdrop for my research. 10 Under such a background, there is a gap emerging between the sex instinct and its expression. The desire of the human subject faces a crisis of de-sexualization. The repetitive interactions with technology become a source of rhythmic repetition and generate the refrain. The refrain of humans operates within this premise of continual attachment with machines, as the de-sexualized machine fetishism. Through a poetic and metaphorical way, my installation attempts to respond to a new phenomenon, a de-sexualization of human desire caused by the super-frequent interaction between human and machine. There are three parts of the installation: the machine, the tank and the projection. The aluminum profiles give the installation itself a metallic texture, constructing the machine part of the installation. The tank part with the mixture of mineral oil and titanium dioxide constitutes the projected medium and cooperates with the projection part to construct the artificial-organic part of the installation. The machine part interacts with the organic part through a rhythmic, repetitive motion, like the refrain of living beings in nature
Material Values Black Locust Exploration
Full text linkAs individuals many facets of our lives do not offer us significant control over our impact on the environment around us. We are limited by access, time, and information- funneled into making less than sustainable choices. To live sustainably we must have opportunities to strike a balance between what we extract and what we produce. Through our consumption of resources this balance is achieved when we take only what we need and can replace while fostering a cultural appreciation of the extracted materials that we utilize.
Material Values Investigates how we can approach utilizing materials in landscape construction that are non-traditional and have the ability to subvert existing highly extractive supply chains. The material I investigate in my thesis is black locust, a tree with an aggressive growth rate, the ability to thrive in disturbed conditions, dense rot resistant lumber, and otherworldly fluorescence. By utilizing this material in a way informed by its attributes and understanding it’s potential as a part of our rapidly changing ecology and economical system I hope to express the range of possibilities material alternatives could bring to our built environment
The Arch and The Looking Glass: Umbli Cu Cioara Vopsitǎ
Full text linkThe Arch and The Looking Glass: Umbli Cu Cioara Vopsită (You Are Walking Around with a Painted Crow)
A thesis presented in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the Master of Fine Arts in Ceramics in the Department of Ceramics of the Rhode Island School of Design, Providence, Rhode Island.
By Ana Popescu, 2025
Approved by Master’s Examination Committee:
Lesley Baker, Shoji Satake (Chair), Heather Bhandari, Tucker Houlihan
Date: May 17th, 2025
Location: Rhode Island School of Design, Providence, Rhode Island
To be opened for self-reflection in 10 years, on May 17th, 2035:
I’ve been mulling over how to make my thesis book authentic to myself—true to my work as it currently stands and reflective of the multifaceted, sometimes complicated person behind it. I considered a more academic approach to highlight the research-based influences in my work but realized quickly that it wouldn’t adequately capture the nuances or humor. It felt disjointed and formulaic. I then toyed with the idea of a “coffee table book”—polished and pristine, full of poetic excerpts and only the best images I had. That too didn’t feel like me.
What I need most in this moment—the final stretch of what has been one of the most intense and creative periods of my life—is a pause. A moment for reflection and appreciation. In this era of fast-paced digital over-consumption and algorithm-induced success, I find myself yearning for real connection, in-person conversation, and the presence to appreciate moments while they’re happening. To literally stop and smell the blooming flowers still clinging to the trees in my beautiful neighborhood in Providence.
This letter is an attempt to ground myself here and now, in this particularly special moment, and to serve as a gentle reminder if I ever find myself off course.
Before coming to RISD, I built a vibrant career in New York—first in underground nightlife, producing immersive events rooted in joy, movement, and community. Later, I moved into the agency world, managing large-scale experiences for major clients, creating inflatable wormholes and logistical spreadsheets with equal finesse. When the pandemic brought that world to a halt, I didn’t crumble—I rerouted. I returned to a rigorous studio practice and followed my intuition to flip my career, against most odds.
Rediscovering clay as my preferred medium brought a sense of grounding simplicity, while its scientific complexity was utterly enthralling. By exploring its many dualities—unforgiving yet flexible, fragile but long-lasting, an inherently ancient material where innovation and futurism still thrive—I had been inspired to immerse myself fully into it.
I realized my love for clay was deeply connected to how I process memory and experience. The tactile act of shaping earth by hand, the slow build-up of form, and the intuitive layering all became a direct transcription of memory, emotion, and self-image. Leaving New York for graduate school felt terrifyingly finite—especially for someone who dislikes change (read: lived in the same Clinton Hill apartment for 16 years). But I knew it was a necessary discomfort to provoke a true new beginning.
I hope you’ve continued to challenge yourself in that way. Never allowing fear or uncertainty to guide your most important decisions, rather jumping in head first. Easier said than done, I know.
It was a magnificent re-ignition. Detached from corporate rigmarole, and in the midst of global uncertainty, I looked towards nostalgia and keepsakes. My work began to take shape through compositions of objects, ideas, and processes that I found comforting and joyful. I re-learned to build emotion through layers of materials: a long, physical process that reveals its own imagery and allows my body to expose its subconscious.
My first works at RISD were encrusted ceramic panels formed from a plastic Home Depot bin lid—later turned into a plaster drape mold—then densely packed with ceramic components. These “components,” as I called them, included tiny press molds, painted slab flowers, broken ceramic fragments, and older works I carried with me from past studios and workshops. Each object held their own significance and meaning before being included. They lived in my memory bank individually, and together they spurred the idea—almost unconsciously—of calling my sculptures “time capsules.”
“As I work, I allow my pieces to morph into their final self, encapsulating each layer with my memories and locking them inside like a diary with a padlock and key. In this way, each piece develops its own personality as it evolves with me over time—imprinted with my psyche, vested with meaning, and transformed into time capsules of memory.” —Excerpt from artist statement, Fall 2023
So it’s only fitting that this thesis book—my final work here—takes the form of a time capsule.
If you’re reading this, it means some time has passed since the chaos and clarity of grad school. I hope you’ve had time to rest, to laugh, and to build something you’re proud of—whatever form that takes. I hope this letter transports you back to your sun-filled studio on the third floor of Metcalf, across from the “Cheapside” building sign. Room 305, like the Miami-Dade area code, which felt so serendipitous at the time.
Things have a way of falling into place in your life—that grand puzzle. And you’ve been committed to allowing the pieces to fall as they may, trusting the process, even through its most challenging moments.
“As long as I can remember, I have had a strong feeling of predestination. The very act of opening my eyes in the world made me feel like I was chosen … I understood I must use my brain like an eye, open and observant under the skull’s transparent shell, able to see with another kind of sight … to detect fissures and signs, hidden artifacts and obscure connections in this test of intelligence, patience, love, and faith that is this world … I have done nothing but search for breaches in the apparently flat, logical, fissureless surface of the model within my skull.” —Cărtărescu, Mircea. *Solenoid*, trans. Sean Cotter
My practice has evolved into something beautifully layered while here at RISD—blending handbuilt organic forms with technological processes like 3D ceramic printing, vacuum forming and CNC routing. Through surface and material, I’ve learned to tell stories: glazes and clays that shift under different firing atmospheres, in-glaze lustres that shimmer with imperfection, forms that reference Classical ruins and Baroque moldings—only to collapse them with humor, grit, and what I’ve called “SpongeBob energy.” I’ve pushed my material language in many directions, chasing texture, transformation, and emotional resonance.
The Arch and The Looking Glass: Umbli Cu Cioara Vopsită (You Are Walking Around with a Painted Crow) reflects the contrasts and contradictions that have shaped my life. As an immigrant from communist-era Romania raised in colorful, sunny Florida, I have often found myself torn between extremes. That tension—between past and present, brutalism and ornament, survival and comfort, fact and mythology—has always been part of my thinking.
The Arch references Roman imperial monuments—particularly those built by Trajan after his campaigns against the Dacians, my ancestors. By reimagining this monumental symbol of Roman power, I aim to dismantle its legacy of conquest and authority, challenging the colonial undertones embedded in such grand architectural forms.
Ornament becomes a site of inquiry: a symbol of power, illusion, and biased storytelling. Through the deconstruction of maximalist ornamentation, The Arch becomes a vessel for examining how history is framed and for offering a new visual language.
The back of the Arch is left exposed—a deliberate decision that quietly breaks the illusion. Like a stage set, it reveals the construction behind the spectacle, hinting at the uneasy truths often masked by displays of grandeur.
Passing through The Arch, viewers encounter The Looking Glass—a sculptural table composed of CNC-routed laminated hardwoods, ceramic forms, and paper pulp. At its center is a lustred ceramic ovoid, referencing alchemical symbols and inviting reflection on perception, illusion, and transformation.
Looking forward, I hope you still lead with curiosity. That you keep stretching what clay can do, how it can speak to your work. That you continue to build and nurture community wherever you are—whether in a shared studio, a teaching space, or a kiln yard rebuilt from the ground up.
You’ve always known that success isn’t measured by accolades alone, but by the relationships you form and the spaces you help create. Keep that close. Let it guide you. Keep making. Keep laughing. And don’t forget the power of transformation—within clay, and within yourself.
A tired yet hopeful grad student,
x
A. Pop
(Closing acknowledgments and bibliography omitted here for brevity, but can be included on request.
Site-Specific Nurseries: Reconnecting Nurseries to Time and Place Through Ecotypic Bare-Root Production
Full text linkWe surround ourselves with empty landscapes, landscapes that are stagnant and decorative. Lawns edged with cultivated non-native species are inert spaces, devoid of complexity and serve little function beyond their appearances. These spaces that symbolize wealth through controlling nature are in fact the end of nature. Most of us are completely unaware of the intricate webs of life, the ecologies, that are our real habitat, hidden under the concrete and turf, pushed to the edges of our developments. They are relationships established over thousands of years between plants, insects, animals, weather and soil. This kind of complexity scares us, it is beyond our understanding on many levels but this does not diminish its importance.
Site Specific Nurseries is asking you to look beyond our hierarchical relationship with plants, informed by our limited capitalist lens and colonial legacies and reconnect our horticultural system back to place and time. We must begin to recognize plants for not only their complexity, but the role they play in safeguarding our future on this planet.
We must shift our horticultural system away from aesthetics and play toward function and care. My proposal is to grow ecotypic trees as bare-roots on land trust farms. But this opportunity can be expanded beyond woodies and into a variety of growing spaces. This manualette will hopefully guide other students, farmers or horticulturalists who want their field work to be truly impactful and sustainable
The Terror of the Threshold: on Impermanence, Enclothed Hauntology, and Rest
Full text linkMy artistic practice explores the intersections of impermanence, enclothed cognition, necropolitics, and rest as intertwined acts of decolonial resistance. Through a studio practice rooted in transient mediums—charcoal, chalk, and erasure—the work confronts neoliberal and anti-Black demands for coherence, productivity, and permanence. The ephemeral drawings, layered and dissolved on my studio walls, embody a fugitive aesthetic inspired by Édouard Glissant’s “right to opacity[1],” rejecting colonial logics of legibility and commodification. These impermanent gestures mirror Haiti’s silenced revolutionary history[2], as theorized by Michel-Rolph Trouillot, while invoking Vodou’s vevè symbols as counter-archives of survival.
Enclothed cognition[3] is reimagined through spectral figures draped in colonial uniforms and plantation garb, rendered in chalk to dissolve respectability politics. The garments, echoing Frantz Fanon’s racial epidermal schema[4], become sites of hauntology—ghosts of colonial violence exorcised through the medium’s fragility.
Drawing on Tricia Hersey’s Rest Is Resistance[5] and Christina Sharpe’s in the Wake: On Blackness and Being[6], the work reclaims rest as a racial justice praxis. Photographs of erased drawings become altars to stillness, echoing Simone Leigh’s Loophole of Retreat[7] and Kevin Everod Quashie’s Sovereignty of Quiet[8]. By centering impermanence and rest, this practice proposes a Black feminist liberatory horizon—one where to pause is to defy necropolitics, to erase is to remember, and to create is to breathe. The project culminates in Sylvia Wynter’s call to re-enchant humanism[9], offering a decolonial grammar where art becomes ceremony, and rest, a portal to collective healing