About the Artist
Providence, Rhode Island
Despite years of her insisting that their daughter was going to be an astronaut, Katie Commodore’s parents could have told you that she would grow up to be an artist—even as they sent her to Space Camp, twice. Never giving up her dreams of painting Martian landscapes and testing low gravity pastels, she attended Maryland Institute College of Art, which, not surprisingly, lacked the rigorous science background NASA required. After graduating, she spent time abroad in Paris, Prague, Greece, plus a short stint in Las Vegas. She returned to school, earning her master of fine arts degree in printmaking from Rhode Island School of Design, where, as well as at Clark University (Worcester, Mass.) she is now an adjunct faculty member. Katie now resides in Providence.
Website: KatieCommodore.com
Social Media: @KatieCommodore
Artist Statement
I always wanted an octagon house, there is something magical about them. They are at the top of my homeowning bucket list. But currently, it’s just a dream. So, instead, I thought about creating an octagon-shaped hope box. The interior is lined with pieces of a roll of original wallpaper I found in the attic of a Victorian that I owned, The George Jepherson House. Originally, it was supposed to represent my present, now it stands for my recent past, pain, failure, and success. A dream realized but cut short. The exterior is made up of several “5D Diamond Painting” kits—sort of modern versions of paint-by-number art. I imagine a young girl today putting together a hope chest and decorating it to match her room. She would use a modern, cool crafts kit that she got from Michael’s™. She’d spend days working on it, and it would make her so proud to show off. I spent days sticking down thousands of rhinestones, meditating on my hopes for the future. Not just the hopes of an octagon house, but for financial stability, calm, time, and breath. I hoped for my life and happiness back. It may not be a chest of my future linens and household needs for my future married life—I’ve already gotten all those things. This is a box of just plain hopes.
The second box is papered with the patterned backgrounds from several of my prints. The figure, a friend named Julia, seems to be waiting for something to start—a party, a date to arrive, something exciting. She’s all dressed up and waiting to go. . . somewhere. Again, it’s full of hope. The hope that today will be worth getting dressed up for, the hope that you don’t get stood up, the hope that it’s all going to be fun, the hope that this book is worth reading.
Two boxes of hope. When you open them, one smells of the crumbing past and the other is the blank of the future; both are filled with only air and dreams.