I'm interested in boundless possibilities and endless spaces.

That's part of the unfixed is that it's never beginning or ending.

There's nothing done.

That doesn't interest me.

Just like with plants in a garden, gardens are always changing and growing.

And I'm very interested in those unfixed possibilities.

Pullman Washington sits amid the rolling hills of the Palouse.

This geological formation was created by ancient winds which deposited volcanic ash, silt and clay over an area spanning three states.

Curious and undulating, the treeless landscape holds remarkably fertile soil.

Fast forward to the region' thriving agricultural industry, including at Washington State University, which started out as an agricultural college in 1890.

I'm at WSU to visit artist and art professor Io Palmer, whose ceramic installation stand in stark visual contrast to the velvety green hills all around.

Her abstract floral thickets throb with spiky bursts of movement, inviting viewers inside the festiv embrace of an untamed hedgerow.

So all of this came out of my interests of boundaries and borders.

I realized that I made a lot of work in relationship to white America like in opposition.

But this work is very much about a celebration of who we are as Black peoples, brown peoples, trans or gay people - creating a space that is really special, that is acknowledging, that is about not only our beauty, but our struggles.

So really, these pieces are meant to be all about energy.

They're about possibilities.

They're about expansion, and they're very much about the unfixed nature of our times.

This is so 3D and maybe 4D.

- Oh 4D too?

Really?

I love it.

I mean, I'm not a physicist, so I'm not too clear on the fourth dimension, but - The fourth dimension.

- it's, yeah, it feels like it's almost alive.

- Yeah.

Uncontained.

- Yes.

- Yeah.

- Like, if you turn around, it might be in a different shape.

- Yeah!

I love that.

I love all that.

In a studio on campus, Palmer fills trays full of what she calls “marks” — ceramic squiggles that become the components of her wild and winding arrangements.

Though they might look uniform in the creation process, these clay rings, limpets and springy stems become sudden splashes and unruly gestures when the bundles take shape on the wall.

This part reminds me of childhood and Play-Doh, so I wanted to hear about your childhood in Greece, - Yeah.

- and the art influences you had there.

- Art is the family business.

Whether through my dads sculptures or my mom's prints or paintings, there was a lot of art, a lot of expression around the house.

And always, always, always we had jazz music.

Jazz has really informed me as a person.

That expression of jazz, I hope I can do in my own work.

- Well, the improvization, - Yeah.

- for sure, you can see that in your work.

So these are part of what I call the “bundles.” - Yeah.

So my work is kind of separated into the bundles and then the extensions.

- Okay.

A collection of colors.

A collection of ideas, lines, forms, shapes that I can then pull from.

- You've mentioned that some of these shapes come to you in that liminal space - Yes.

between sleeping and waking.

- Yes.

I'm very interested in universal energy.

I'm interested in how we can connect with these more mystical or mysterious parts of life.

When I pray on something or think about something, the answer will reveal itself during those moments between sleep and awake.

It's almost like this narrow space.

These recent explorations in clay and plexiglass were inspired by a metaphysica experience Palmer had in India — an encounte with a spirit of boundlessness.

Her surprisin combinations of shape and color are a way of giving physical form to that experience.

That same thread of wanting to be immediate gestural also comes into play when I put color with the work.

So, I don't want to fuss about it.

I want it to be free and expressive and dynamic.

Jazz.

Like jazz music.

Like jazz music.

Exactly.

I'll put a clear glaze over the pieces.

I love the gaudy, the shiny.

I always say this about my work, I want it to hurt your eye just a little bit.

When you turn it to the light, just a little tiny bit.

For that reason, I love the shine of a glaze.

I want the work to be a little pomp, a little drag, a little show, a little wild.

Palmer sees her work as a kind of glossy rebellion in response to the erasure she's encountered as a woman of color.

The result resembles blurre snapshots from a fabulous party or musical notes that might just leap off the page.

Once I put the work up and arrange it, I'll sit in my chair and I'll just look at the work.

I have challenges that I still need to figure out with the work.

And I like that part of being an artist.

It's like, that's the time where I'm thinking about landscape.

I'm thinking about those possibilities, again, the unfixed.

So that really comes in the form of the composition.

- When you're making these, are you are you thinking about a joyous celebration and the folks who might appreciate that most?

- It's my way of creating space or holding space.

That's what the work is about.

Like, I think of it like music.

There's the notes, and I don't want the work to be always the same.

I want it to have moments where it changes into something drastically different.

In Palmer's hands, these radiant installations are both escape and landscape — though less geographical than emotional, less geological than spiritual — mapping moments of transcendence and dreamed possibility.

Art by Northwest was made possible in part with the support of Visit Bellingham, Whatcom County.