While studying at the Estonian Academy of Arts, I was drawn to glass for its dual nature: fragile yet resilient. My hand-blown glass pieces are shaped by heat and motion, their forms dictated by chance rather than control. Rolling molten glass in aubergine-coloured frits created uneven textures, resulting in objects that defy conventional expectations ambiguous in form and devoid of clear function.
Failure can feel abrupt, like slamming on the brakes in a speeding car. In moments of creative momentum, where adrenaline and expectations run high, failure forces reflection. It compels us to take in our surroundings, reevaluate and see the limitations of our ideas and/or materials that we are working with. To continue the work we must reflect, consider and develop more empathy not only for ourselves but for the material.
Opening a carefully packed box of hand-blown glass objects to discover that a third of them are broken may seem like an inauspicious start to a four-month artist residency. But as I stand in the largest studio space I have had to date, overlooking the green-blue Aare River in Solothurn, I find myself questioning this reaction. Could this moment of brokenness so often associated with pain, loss, or inadequacy be transformed into an opportunity for growth and possibility? This experience marked the inception of my project, Ohni Ziül, kei Versager (Eng. Without Goals, No Failure), which explores failure as a gateway to empathy, interconnectedness, and creative potential.
The residency’s setting, a former hospital, in the baroque city of Solothurn in Switzerland was serendipitous. It’s a fitting setting: a place historically associated with care, repair, and healing, now offering this visiting artist the opportunity to explore material agency and human-object relationships. Midway through the residency, I reflected on societal attitudes towards brokenness not only in objects but also in people and environments. And what fragility reveals about our shared humanity.
“Failure exists in relation to goals. Nature has no goals so can’t fail. Humans have goals so they have to fail. Often the wonderful continuities produced by failure reveal the pettiness of the goal.”
― Cornelius Cardew
The accidental breakage of these objects during transport from Estonia to Switzerland revealed new possibilities with their jagged edges and exposed interiors. Arranging the shards on my workbench, I was reminded of Victorian butterfly collections, meticulous in their displays. As I continued the action of carefully moving and documenting I thought of those in positions of care, such as nurses. With the building being a former hospital it seems fitting that some of my objects arrive in need of repair and rest. Their broken pieces invited me to see beyond my initial intentions, offering a new perspective on the interplay between control, material agency, and transformation.
With Cardew’s above statement, can this freshly graduated art student “let go” in her practice and embrace material unpredictability? The constraint to present polished, "successful" outcomes limits creativity and spontaneity. Instead, I sought to embrace unpredictability in my work, allowing the material to take the lead. This approach feels like a natural progression from my lifelong fascination with objects their textures, histories, and the ways they affect us.
From digging in my grandmother’s newly ploughed field to studying archaeological conservation, I have been infallibly fascinated by things and their effect on us. Consistently I feel a kinship with decaying, unusual, and textured surfaces. These found objects seem to coax us into relationships that challenge our assumptions about imperfection and loss. Not all objects hold this power, but those that do become invaluable mediators of memory, emotion, and meaning. To these objects that have an agency over me, I assign great value.
Material encounter...
My favourite aspect of embracing mistakes in glass making and generally working with material-focused art is how these potential failures invite multiple interpretations. If perfection and idealism are satisfying, failure and doubt are engaging, driving us into the unknown(Le Feuvre 2010). There is something productive and conducive about these visible experimentations. During studio visits, guests have told me about what the objects make them think of, projecting their own experiences with failure onto the work. Each time I am lucky enough to witness an introspective, somewhat private moment between the viewer and object where they explore personal narratives and emotional connections.
The experiments with beeswax have involved surrendering control, by applying heat and rapid cooling I’ve been experimenting with letting the material take the lead, embracing wherever it guides me. Different pouring processes have yielded unique results, and my favourite so far is the skin-like textures. They appear uncomfortably fleshy, evoking both discomfort and fascination, even mimicking pores upon closer inspection. The resulting artworks remind me of elephant skin, ageing, testicles, or something alien yet paradoxically sweet-smelling.
Workshops…
Workshops conducted during the residency invited participants to explore failure and imperfection through ink and water. The goal was not to impart technical skills but to create a safe space for experimentation. The unpredictability of ink on paper mirrored the vulnerabilities and expectations participants brought to the process.
These workshops fostered empathy, encouraging participants to see materials as carriers of memory and emotion. By reflecting on imperfections, we began to view failure not as a flaw but as an intrinsic part of creation a perspective that applies as much to people as to objects.
Conclusion…
Failure is not a flaw in the process but evidence of the material’s agency a reminder that creativity thrives in collaboration, not control. The interplay of failure and materiality during my residency at Altes Spital has deepened my understanding of how objects shape and reflect human experiences. Through the jagged edges of broken glass and the pliability of beeswax, I’ve explored the potential of failure as a transformative force, one that fosters empathy, interconnectedness, and reflection.
Objects, like mirrors, allow us to project our memories, fears, and vulnerabilities onto them, creating space for introspection and dialogue. They remind us that imperfection and ambiguity are not obstacles but opportunities for growth. By embracing failure, we open ourselves to collaboration with materials, with each other, and with the world at large.
This approach challenges conventional hierarchies that place humans at the centre, advocating instead for a networked understanding of relationships. Jane Bennett’s “vibrant matter” and Daniel Miller’s anthropological perspectives inspire a shift in focus: from control and mastery to care and coexistence. Recognising the agency of materials encourages us to see the world as an interconnected web, where every encounter carries the potential for transformation.
In a polarised and fragmented world, this shift feels urgent. Objects, through their silent yet tangible presence, offer a grounding force, a reminder of the value of sensory experience and the humility of not knowing. Failure becomes a medium through which we encounter vulnerability, resilience, and the richness of ambiguity.
Ultimately, creative processes have the power to use Failure as an act of resistance, questioning power structures by resisting the systems of control and commodification in conventional aesthetics. Success may lie not in achieving certainty but in generating spaces for dialogue, fostering empathy, and welcoming the unknown. Failure, rather than being feared or avoided, holds the power to connect us to ourselves, to others, and to the materials that shape our lives. It is in this shared vulnerability that we find the seeds of understanding and transformation.
Rethinking the Subject/Object Divide...
In my research, I’ve drawn inspiration from thinkers who challenge traditional notions of objecthood and human superiority. Jane Bennett’s concept of “thing-power,” for example, argues that objects possess an agency that shapes their interactions with the world:
"Thing-power, as a kind of agency, is the property of an assemblage... matter has an inclination to make connections and form networks of relations with varying degrees of stability." ― Jane Bennett
This resonates with my experiences of working with glass and wax, where the materials seem to guide the creative process as much as I do. Similarly, the first time I was struck by how another person talked about human and object relationships was in Andrej Platonov’s novel Soul (Dzhan). The protagonist touches the “unneeded things” in a yard, longing for them to remember and love him a reminder of how deeply we seek connection, even with the inanimate.
“Secretly he was saying his goodbyes to all the dead objects here. One day they would come to life, by themselves or with the help of man. He went round all the unneeded things in the yard and touched them with his hand; for some reason he wanted them to remember him and love him. But he didn't believe they would.”―Andrej Platonov
In an interview with anthropologist and professor of Material Culture at University College London Daniel Miller challenges the traditional dichotomies of several topics but the most entrancing was the approach to the subject/object. Miller’s anthropological approach further expands this perspective, emphasising the co-creation and interconnectedness of humans and objects. These ideas form the backbone of my practice, encouraging me to view objects not as inert or passive but as active participants in a broader network of relationships. It's a beautiful approach to making and creating. Failure through its creative potential allowing for co-creation between the artist and the material.
I knock at the stone’s front door
“It’s only me, let me come in.
I want to enter your insides,
have a look around,
breathe my fill of you.”
“Go away,” says the stone.
“I’m shut tight.
Even if you break me to pieces,
We’ll all still be closed. - Wislawa Szymborska
Final thoughts, not knowing…
I would like to finish with a final thought. If the opposite of failure is success, then fully understanding something must surely come under this scope. I came across a poem:
I knock at the stone’s front door
“It’s only me, let me come in.
I want to enter your insides,
have a look around,
breathe my fill of you.”
“Go away,” says the stone.
“I’m shut tight.
Even if you break me to pieces,
We’ll all still be closed. - Wislawa Szymborska
The excerpt above is from Conversation with a Stone by Wislawa Szymborska. It explores the limits of knowledge and the boundaries between us and the non-human world. It embraces the not-knowing with a playful, almost naive approach to encountering objects. It highlights humanity’s insatiable desire to dissect and comprehend every detail of the world an impossible pursuit embodied by a stone that seems to mock our efforts. But what if we embraced curiosity without the need to fully comprehend or categorise what we observe? What if we accepted that some things inherently resist human subjectivity and remain beyond our grasp?
Recurring themes…
My artistic practice is guided by three recurring themes: encounter, empathy, and mediation. Objects act as mediators, helping us to see ourselves and others more clearly. They create space for reflection, dialogue, and connection, challenging us to rethink our assumptions about success, failure, and materiality.
Through my residency, I’ve come to view failure not as an endpoint but as a means of discovery. By embracing ambiguity, I aim to foster dialogue and connection. Perhaps success lies not in certainty but in creating space for interpretation and reflection, recognising failure as a vital component of growth.
Beauty of things unconventional…
If we take a minute to think about how failure is received on a social level it cannot be universally defined, as it is a cultural and social construct. A friend introduced me to wabi-sabi, the Japanese philosophy that finds beauty in imperfection and impermanence. This perspective reframes “flaws” as integral to an object’s character, resonating with my work in glass and wax. My wax pieces, for instance, highlight instability and imperfection, qualities that may provoke discomfort in cultures valuing precision but are celebrated in others. From an artist's point of view, audiences from different backgrounds may perceive what constitutes “failure” in our works differently.
“Wabi-sabi is a beauty of things imperfect, impermanent, and incomplete.
It is a beauty of things modest and humble.
It is a beauty of things unconventional.” (Koren, 1994)