My first Dumbo Open Studios weekend!

In November, I relocated to a new studio in DUMBO, which I share with my longtime friend and former high school classmate, Dianne Berkun of DianneV.com. Her brand is intentionally vegan—the “V” in DIANNE V—working exclusively with premium plant-based textiles and Italian vegan leathers. These next-generation materials are selected for their durability, structure, and longevity. Together, we’ve created the kind of artistic environment we had always envisioned: quiet, supportive, and conducive to focused creative work. Having a dedicated space to engage with my practice every day has been deeply meaningful. After thirty-six years working at NYU, this moment marks an important transition—fully committing to life as a full-time artist. This new chapter coincided with my first participation in DUMBO Open Studios. Ideally situated in one of Brooklyn’s most vibrant cultural districts, the neighborhood offers easy access by ferry, subway, or a walk across the Brooklyn Bridge. Known as a dynamic hub for artists, DUMBO provided an energizing setting for the weekend. I was fortunate to be included as an early stop on the art trail, and I was delighted by the enthusiasm and curiosity of visitors. Conversations flowed easily, and unexpected reunions with friends made the experience especially memorable.

One particularly meaningful moment occurred at the end of the first day. A visitor arrived whom I had met only once before, years ago, at my first studio in the Brooklyn Army Terminal through Chashama. I remembered him as a compelling and knowledgeable presence—someone deeply engaged with the art world. Over time, we had stayed loosely connected through Instagram, where I followed his ongoing exploration of exhibitions and artists.

His visit brought the day to a thoughtful close. Our conversation was lively and insightful, and I appreciated both his perspective and his encouragement. We discovered a shared connection to Jane Friedman, now of HOWL Gallery. He had worked with her during the time she represented Patti Smith, while I knew her through her earlier projects, including the Bra Bar and Lesbopaloza events in the 1990s. My experiences in that creative community were formative, offering opportunities to present performance and visual work—memories I still hold, along with archival video from that period.

Back at the studio, I also had the chance to connect with my new floormate, painter Arlina Cai. After the day’s visitors had passed through, she stopped by to share her work and experiences. It was inspiring to meet a fellow painter navigating similar challenges—building a practice, sustaining momentum, and finding opportunities through platforms like Instagram and gallery exhibitions. Her resourcefulness and energy were motivating.

The weekend reinforced an important lesson: there is much to learn from the artists around us. By listening closely and asking thoughtful questions, we can continue to grow—both creatively and professionally. Onward!

Slow and steady as she goes. I am the turtle.

I am nearing the milestone of having left my full-time position at NYU-IT after thirty-six years, for two years now. My current role—working as a full-time artist—is the profession I have envisioned for most of my life. While deeply fulfilling, it is not the leisurely existence some imagine.

There are no true weekends; each day now carries the rhythm and responsibility of work. My mornings begin with coffee and a focused review of opportunities—artist residencies, open calls for exhibitions, and, now, mural commissions.

In the afternoons, I travel to my studio, often remaining there past five o’clock to avoid the Dumbo rush hour. Time in the studio is both productive and sustaining, allowing me to move between projects and develop ideas in parallel. This is the working life I set out to build.

At the same time, sustaining a studio practice requires ongoing financial commitment. Securing supplemental income remains a necessary part of maintaining the space in which this work is made.

Back in 2005, I won an art commission through the MTA Arts & Design program. A fabricator helped translate my paintings into faceted glass, sealed in epoxy, and installed in an above-ground metro station in Rockaway, New York. Now, in 2026, the work is still there—holding its ground, weathering time.

Back then, I thought I was on my way. I was right. That commission gave me a real push forward, especially in learning to take myself seriously as an artist. By that point, I had already completed two art programs and shown my work many times—some of those exhibitions even solo.

My first show began when I was thirteen, hung along the hallway of a movie theater. Since then, my work has lived in banks, restaurants and bars, hotels, and galleries. It has traveled quietly, steadily, finding walls wherever it could.

What I’ve learned along the way is this: the work needs a voice. Someone who can speak about it, stand behind it, and truly sell it. For most of my life, that person has been me. But now it’s time for another chapter—to have people with real influence, those who shape collectors and conversations, step in to represent the work, and represent me.

Thank you for visiting!
Cheers, Calliie