Carapace; 2019; cascarilla (whiting); 90x42x3” 
Valley; 2018; porcelain, women’s hair, beeswax; 46x20x34.5” 
Tremors; 2020; ceramic, box spring frame; 86x45x26” 
Tremors; 2020; ceramic, box spring frame; 86x45x26” 
Baby’s breath; 2019; earthenware, cobalt, plaster, Wood, used mattress; 48x48x12” 
Baby’s breath; 2019; earthenware, cobalt, plaster, Wood, used mattress; 48x48x12” 
Melody; 2019; used mattress; 9x9x3” 
Breeding ground; 2020; ceramic, powder (rust, porcelain, charcoal); 22x22x20”, 22x20x20”, 15x15x15” 
Breeding ground; 2020; ceramic, powder (rust, porcelain, charcoal); 22x22x20”, 22x20x20”, 15x15x15” 
Mark/heal; 2018; porcelain, pain; variable dimensions 
Carapace; 2019; cascarilla (whiting); 90x42x3” 
Mark/heal; 2018; porcelain, pain; variable dimensions
Emily Irvin: Husk, 2018-2020
To husk something is to remove is outer covering. When I was a child growing up in Appalachia, I often husked corn. I was surprised when I removed the green, silky outside to reveal the bright and golden center of the corn. Husking is an unmasking – revealing of the potential of an inside. This body of work, called husk, is a reflection upon this process of revealing. The work reveals the potentiality of clay as unfired, of vessels as non-functional, and as the body to function within the confines of its own ability. In this body of work, there is a material language that surfaces as mattresses and clay and hair are repeated throughout the work. These materials serve communicate these explorations of clay and vessels (including bodies).
