This blog was outsourced out of curiosity—to see if I could save time and maintain wrist strength for manual work in the studio. I used Otter.ai to transcribe my observations. I uploaded the text to ChatGPT with the following prompt, “using https://www.kategilbertstudio.com/perspectives as a style guide, write a 600-800 word blog in first person that describes the work being made by the artist and why.” I have [added commentary] and struck out egregious things, but otherwise, the original ChatGPT text has been changed.
When I reflect on my work, it's an intricate dance [ha! corny AF] between creation and self-care, driven by a quest to preserve both my art and my physical well-being. This intricate balance emerged from a profound sense of disconnection I felt towards my creations. [Not true at all. Where did this come from?] My studio became [and still is] a sanctuary—a realm where I could immerse myself in solitude and make decisions solely for myself. In contrast to my day job, which demands consideration of a vast array of people—artists, the public, residents who interact with the work daily, and an entire team—I found solace in the autonomy of my studio practice. Yet, even in this haven, compromises are inevitable.
Lately, the primary compromise has been the toll on my body. Engaging in strenuous activities, such as pushing and pulling with my forearms, has exacerbated my tendinitis, causing sleepless nights [that’s an exaggeration; I said it woke me up last night.]. Today, I opted for a relatively easier task of peeling apart new castings, though it still strains the same muscle groups. This physical challenge is a reminder of the delicate equilibrium I strive to maintain—nurturing my creativity while safeguarding my health. [Safeguarding is a stretch.]
Writing about my work has become an essential part of this process. It not only helps me comprehend my motivations but also guides my future decisions. This reflective practice often unfolds as a stream of consciousness, transforming into a coherent narrative. Today, I am recording my thoughts via live chat, an experiment to capture the raw, unfiltered essence of my creative journey. [Weird poetic license on my description of the translation process] It’s an act of prioritizing myself, carving out time from obligations to my family and work to delve into my art.
My recent works revolve around cast bottles, initially created with a straight, unadorned aesthetic [cast upright]. Surprisingly, some viewers [I said one viewer] mistook them for core samples. To clarify their identity, I began experimenting with slumping the bottles, an idea suggested by an observer. [Another stretch. I said, “Oh, what if these are stacked on top of each other? And then they just started feeling like bodies and someone else had mentioned that too.”] The slumped bottles, particularly those made from the thinnest plastic, started to resonate more authentically as water bottles, emphasizing their single-use nature.
What ChatGPT means is this: I was too aggressive with the chisel around the neck of the bottle and the piece broke in two.
This work is a personal challenge to reduce plastic consumption. When I inevitably need to purchase bottled water, I now gravitate towards alternatives like aluminum or boxed water. The act of dismantling these bottles is physically taxing—the hardest part being the removal of the bottle's neck from the concrete cast. This process involves cutting through numerous layers of plastic with blunt tools, a painstaking task that tests my patience and precision.
The slumping of bottles emerged from a fascination with their base—its concave, convex shape intrigued me. Placing the bottles on their sides and stacking them, I discovered an unintended resemblance to human bodies. This transformation was both accidental and profound. The slumped forms evoke the discarded nature of single-use plastics, mirroring how we often overlook their environmental impact. These bottles, once sturdy and straight, now appear as slumped bodies, symbolizing the marginalized communities most affected by climate change [I said lower economic income levels and specifically called out people living in warmer climates including Puerto Rico, Haiti, and the Dominican Republic]. These are the people who cannot simply relocate to safer environments, their homes often in vulnerable areas ill-equipped to withstand natural disasters.
The act of creating these works is a form of silent protest [what in the world, where did that come from?] against environmental neglect. It's my way of drawing attention to the pervasive issue of plastic pollution. These slumped bottles, now resembling figures left behind, serve as a stark reminder of the human cost of inaction on climate change. The physicality of the bottles, their tactile nature, invites viewers to engage with them, [specifically, it’s important to state that people instinctively want to pick them up] to reflect on their own consumption habits.
This practice of making art from plastic bottles [well, that’s a very literal way of saying it] is not just a creative outlet but a commitment to raising awareness about our environmental footprint. It’s a personal journey of mindfulness, of striving to use less plastic, and encouraging others to consider their actions. In sharing this work, I hope to inspire others to explore their creativity and reflect on their environmental responsibilities. [aww, so earnest!]
In conclusion, my art is a blend of personal expression and a call to environmental consciousness. It’s a testament to the struggle of balancing artistic passion with physical limitations and a commitment to using my creativity to foster greater awareness of the urgent need to reduce plastic waste. This work is both a personal catharsis and a public statement, a reminder that every action counts in the fight against environmental degradation.
[Everything about that conclusion is wrong. And this is why ChatGPT will never write for me again.]
Employing all the tools this afternoon. And none of them worked.