Jordan Karney Chaim on Sasha Koozel Reibstein

And Then We Fell Into the Shiny Sea, 2019, ceramic, cultivated crystal, concrete, and mixed media, 16 x 10 x 17 in.

[Image description: A pooled shape in iridescent blue, purple, and green forms a base, on which sits a tripod-shape form covered in drips and leaves in gray, purple, and gold. Two bright blue crystals protrude from the tripod, one on the left side and one on top.]

Sasha Koozel Reibstein finds comfort in imagining herself as a speck of cosmic dust, as an individually insignificant performer within an infinitely expanding universe. The grandeur of space, its mysteries and its power, are reassuring to her. They are reminders that we are part of a much larger story, that our current earthly states of unrest, division, and trauma are only temporary. Through her sculpture Reibstein visualizes the connections between the earth and the cosmos as interpreted through the body; human experience becomes a conduit between eternities past and future. As a ceramicist, Reibstein fashions her sculpture from earth itself; clay is a naturally occurring soil that is unique in its ability to change states from liquid to solid. This intrinsic alchemy cuts to the core of Reibstein’s practice. Her sculptures are fundamentally rooted in transformation—of the body, mind, universe, and the material itself—and the magic that surrounds the process. They are the products of expertly negotiated dichotomies: earth and space; light and darkness; life and loss; body and mind; control and chaos. She strives for equal parts beauty and grit and the results are dazzling: craggy surfaces accented with psychedelic color, dripping with gold, punctuated by flocked spikes and home-grown crystals. And glitter, tons of (well-researched and meticulously applied) glitter. [1] The work is undeniably visually seductive, but it cuts deeper than that. It manages to elucidate the elemental interconnectedness of all things: the earth, space, and our own bodies are all fundamentally composed of the same atomic base materials. 

The Sky’s Gone Out, 2021, ceramic, 22k gold, and flock, 17 x 12 x 23 in.

[Image description: An organically-shaped gray circle, resting on its edge, with a hole in the middle. The top and left side are covered with gold drips, and three black spikes protrude from the top.]

The Sky’s Gone Out (2021), an example of Reibstein’s latest work, is a looped structure whose pock-marked surface shimmers with more than seven layers of swirling iridescent glaze. It is topped with what looks like a heavy pour of thick liquid gold, but is in fact an amalgamation of discrete “drip” forms, strategically placed and individually attached. Each drip is then subjected to the multi-step process of applying gold luster. Three 5-inch black flocked spikes pierce through the golden spillage. The work is 17 x 12 x 23 inches, larger in scale than most of Reibstein’s recent work, and open in the center—characteristic of a new form she calls a “portal.” Its links to both the terrestrial and celestial are recognizable; its rugged, lava-like surface and sensuous shape is accentuated with iridescent color and metallic shine. It could have been forged in some glam corner of earth’s molten core, or perhaps on a neighboring planet where, as Reibstein told me, it very likely rains diamonds. [2]

What are perhaps less overt in recent works like The Sky’s Gone Out are Reibstein’s references to human biology. The golden drips that seem to melt down from the top of the sculpture like opulent ooze are in fact abstractions of the human body pushed to its psycho-corporeal limits. The drips first appeared in a 2008 sculpture titled Persistent Swelling and have become a recurring element in her work over the last decade. In Persistent Swelling, an unidentifiable, milky-colored organ is gripped by five rubber tourniquets. Bulbous at the bottom, the small sculpture tapers off toward the top and collapses sideways as the final tourniquet squeezes out a spurt of pinkish drips. 

Persistent Swelling, 2008, ceramic and rubber tourniquets, 10 x 7.5 x 12 in.

[Image description: A white bodily form that looks vaguely like a limb, sitting on one end and arcing to the left. It is encircled with five white tourniquets, which squeeze its bulbous form. Pink and white drips emerge from the tip.]

Though they have morphed over time, the presence of the drips in Reibstein’s work connect each piece back to the control we attempt to exert over the messiness of our embodied existence. As Reibstein succinctly put it, “How much pressure can one person take?” [3] This imagery first developed in response to Reibstein’s own challenges with her physical and mental health, specifically a diagnosis of bipolar disorder. Works like Persistent Swelling gave shape to her experience of a psycho-emotional cycle of escalation, collapse, release, and resilience. It provided a new lens through which to view her own psychological complexity and empowered her to give it visual form through sculpture. Though the drips appear to be the result of improvisational pouring, they are in fact highly regulated: each drip is hand-sculpted, hollow, and attached one by one. The act of creating these repeated forms is an exercise in managing the tension between control and freefall that we experience as we navigate physical and mental health challenges. 

The materials Reibstein uses are significant as well. Like the precious stones raining down on distant planets, gold is also abundant in space—though just where and how it is produced is not completely understood. [4] As an element, gold can only be formed through fusion, under intensely high temperatures and pressure, and it is not clear where in the universe this happens frequently enough to explain the quantity of gold in our solar system. Reibstein finds parallels between these mysterious, violent, and volatile cosmic processes, and the embodied experience of mental illness. Intense pressure and extreme conditions can have unmooring physiological effects, but they can also produce gold, or turn clay into solid, gleaming sculpture. All of us—and all things—are composed of different combinations of the same basic elements, tapped from the same primal energy source.

You Had Me At Rainbow Glitter, 2012, ceramic and mixed media, 24 x 26 x 34 in.

[Image description: A gold, geological form sits on a pile of human organs, all on a white pedestal.]

Reibstein took the opportunity to deepen her understanding of the psychological effects of physiological experiences when she curated the 2010 exhibition “Corporeal Manifestations” for the Mütter Museum, a medical history museum in her hometown of Philadelphia. [5] The exhibition brought together ceramic work that examined the “psychology of biological existence.” [6] In subsequent work like You Had Me At Rainbow Glitter (2012), Reibstein reintroduced more literal representations of the body to articulate a particular set of mind-body tensions. Here, a metallic asteroid rests atop an indiscernible mound of human insides. The supple, vibrant tangle of organs is slowly crushed under the weight of the rock, which is both fixed and unstable. In this work, Reibstein’s visualization of a body in distress is a response to the grief and profound sense of failure that accompany pregnancy loss. We take for granted that our bodies will fulfill our biological expectations of them; when this is not the case, the sense of defeat can be crushing. 

With or Without You (for Jim and James), 2016, porcelain, gold leaf, and mixed media, 4 x 11 x 14 in.

[Image description: A mix of human organs, plants, and dead animals formed into the shape of a heart.]

A second experience with the Mütter Museum helped Reibstein to move through the grieving process. In 2015-2016, while in residency at the Clay Studio in Philadelphia, she produced two sculptures that drew on research she conducted in the museum. With or Without You (for Jim and James) (2016) and If Only My Life Was Enough (Mary) (2016) are Reibstein’s responses to two stories of pregnancy loss preserved within the Mütter’s collection. Drawing on the vanitas tradition, she combines flowers, fruit, and dead animals with symbolic body parts and medical instruments into heart-shaped compositions. Each work is a memento mori meant to restore honor and humanity to these mothers and children, whose tragic stories the institution had abstracted into medical curiosities. 

If Only My Life Was Enough (For Mary), 2015, porcelain, gold leaf, mixed media, 18 x 16 x 6 in.

[Image description: Organs and flowers arranged together, with a human skull resting on top.]

Despite the gravity of their subject matter, these sculptures, like much of Reibstein’s work from the last decade, have an irrefutable beauty to them. Their surfaces are sumptuously textured, their color is vivid and alluring. Reibstein’s work dwells in liminal space, consolidating its power at the intersections of life’s light and darkness. This magical, precarious tipping point finds a parallel in the ceramic medium itself. Working with clay is a process of transformation that requires a balance of meticulous planning and intuitive experimentation. It is a combination of material science and modern-day alchemy that continues to intrigue Reibstein. She plans and then sculpts, builds, glazes, and repeats in various combinations, turning dust into stone, liquid into gold, color into glass. The finished forms are not always what they seem. Like the drips, whose organic appearance belies their painstaking construction, the deceptively static-looking rock forms that ground Reibstein’s sculptures are remarkably dynamic. These surfaces are the sites of improvisation, where layers of glaze are dry-brushed to develop texture, and various glaze combinations yield somewhat unpredictable results. Reibstein must submit to the vulnerability and precariousness of her materials. And she has to sculpt everything to within an inch of its life—quite literally. Anything thicker than an inch will explode in the kiln. 

Timeslip, 2020, porcelain, pyrite, mica, and mixed media, 14 x 8 x 15 in.

[Image description: A three dimensional lattice structure. The upper portion of the form is encrusted with gold and silver minerals, while the bottom bears pink and yellow drips.]

In her most recent work, the links between celestial phenomena, terrestrial existence, and the ceramic process are subtle yet powerful. They find their fusion in Reibstein’s particular aesthetic—a kind of dark disco-baroque, forged in fire. Her exuberant and edgy blend draws on the glam, punk, and metal scenes of the seventies and eighties. Spikes, glitter, metallic accents, and hallucinogenic color are nods to both the cosmic processes that produce such precious elements, and to these musical genres, which she admires for their sincerity, intensity, and rebellious embrace of ornamentation. 

The Sky’s Gone Out is an amplification of Reibstein’s technical approaches and conceptual through-lines. The scale, the gold luster, and the innovative glazing have all been amped-up, but it is the portal form itself that suggests Reibstein’s interest in the next phase of transformation: transcendence of the body, the mind, and the present. These new portals are black holes, openings to alternate universes that offer escape from the pandemic, our own demons, or the continuing political threats to American democracy. They also encourage fantasies of self-transcendence and time travel: which versions of ourselves await us in the future? What altered or enlightened states of consciousness might we choose to occupy if given the choice?

Simultaneous Dimensionality, 2021, ceramic, 22k gold, pyrite, mica, and mixed media, 13 x 9 x 22 in.

[Image description: Left: An elongated rock with a three dimensional lattice structure— covered in gold and silver minerals— on top. A mass of iridescent bronze and green drips spill out where the two meet. Right: A closeup detail of the work’s drips and lattice structure,]

Reibstein’s work demonstrates the effects of extreme conditions on the human body and mind; on soil and sand; and on swirling clouds of cosmic energy. By simultaneously embracing the chaos and harnessing the power of these forces, Reibstein draws out the connective threads that bind us to the universe. We are fragile atomic compositions that transform under immense pressure; we may be crushed or re-emerge golden. The profound notion of interconnectedness that permeates Reibstein’s work is messy, explosive, and raw. Dangerous and mysterious. Her work is tethered by a kind of humanity that one cannot escape or slough off, no matter how far we travel, or how much we cleanse. It is the beauty and grit and awe of being a being on earth. It is steeped in the awareness that, as Carl Sagan wrote, “the nitrogen in our DNA, the calcium in our teeth, the iron in our blood, the carbon in our apple pies were made in the interiors of collapsing stars. We are made of starstuff.” [7]

Jordan Karney Chaim is an art historian, writer, and independent curator based in San Diego.



Notes:

1) When I asked Reibstein how she achieves her desired results with glitter she replied, “That’s magic.” She has always felt an intense draw to sparkle, which may in fact be biologically programmed. She noted that it has been hypothesized that humans are innately attracted to glitter because it triggers our primal desire for fresh water, and pointed me to a fascinating article by Caity Weaver. Weaver writes, “Humans, even humans who don’t like glitter, like glitter. We are drawn to shiny things in the same wild way our ancestors were overcome by a compulsion to forage for honey. A theory that has found favor among research psychologists…is that our attraction to sparkle is derived from an innate need to seek out fresh water.” Caity Weaver, “What is Glitter?” New York Times, December 21, 2018.

2) Reibstein and I discussed this during my studio visit on April 30, 2021. See also James Morgan, “'Diamond rain' falls on Saturn and Jupiter,” BBC News, October 14, 2013; and George Dvorsky, “It Rains Rubies and Sapphires on This Distant Jupiter-Like Planet,” Gizmodo, December 13, 2016.

3) Sasha Koozel Reibstein, interview with the author, May 19, 2021.

4) Rafi Letzter, “There’s too much gold in the universe. No one knows where it came from,” Live Science, October 1, 2020.

5) It must be acknowledged that while the Mütter Museum has attempted to adapt over the centuries, it is in many ways still fundamentally a nineteenth-century model of “specimen” collection and display that often perpetuates racist, ableist, and colonialist narratives. In recent years, artists who engage with the museum, such as Reibstein, have worked to combat these problematic structures and restore humanity to lives that have been reduced to spectacle.

6) Corporeal Manifestations, exhibition, Mütter Museum, accessed May 31, 2021.

7)  Carl Sagan, Cosmos. (New York: Ballantine, 2013), 244.