“Things of Comfort”: A Conversation with Amy Usdin
By Tara Kaushik
February 6, 2026—In a culture driven by speed, scale, and endless consumption, Amy Usdin’s work offers a respite. Her soft, fiber-based sculptures sag and settle on the ground. They’re worn and vulnerable. Muted, earth-toned, and threadbare, many of her works look like they were once something else—now weathered, perhaps, by forces of erosion, gravity, or use.
Where much of the visual world—ads, movies, Instagram—feels engineered to appear seamless and shiny, Usdin’s works are marked by imperfection: holes, visible knots, unresolved fraying. They look caught somewhere in the cycle of growth and decay, inviting viewers to reflect on care, fragility, and the hope of repair. Here, Usdin shares a bit about her artistic process and relationship to her materials.
Amy Usdin on Fiber, Process, and Care
What drew you to fiber art?
I was probably 12 when I started weaving in the 1970s. I used to play around with fibers in my basement. My only reference was books I found at the library—I remember this oversized book, Beyond Craft: The Art Fabric, full of black-and-white photos from Sheila Hicks and so many of the great fiber artists of that time. There were many artists who influenced me then—Magdalena Abakanowicz, Aurèlia Muñoz, Lenore Tawney. Sheila Hicks was definitely the catalyst, but the whole period, the burgeoning fiber movement of that era, really inspired me.
Twelve is quite young to pick up weaving.
Oh, I wasn’t weaving well. But I did local art fairs in Kansas City and a few commissions. My father built me this large burlap-covered frame to hang my weavings on—very ’70s. I went to college and kind of dissociated from the fiber arts along the way. But my parents kept the frame and my hangings in their garage for maybe 40 years.
I had quit thinking of myself as an artist. But every time I visited, I saw my work hanging there. Later, when I moved my parents up here, I had a garage sale and sold a few large pieces for $25 each. The rest I threw away. I think I have one piece left. It took a few more years before I began my current practice and could finally say, “Yes, I’m a fiber artist.”
How does it feel to be making the kind of work you do in the world we live in today?
I started weaving again while I was caring for my parents. I couldn’t heal them, but this was healing for me. I take great comfort from the worn, salvaged nets that I use. They feel like intimate hand-me-downs. I find solace being around them. Fibers are often things of comfort—we wrap ourselves up in clothing, blankets, things that swathe and protect us.
When I’m working, I find a brief reprieve from all the horrible things happening in the world. At the same time, the process reflects that instability. It’s stressful. I can’t fully control the materials. I can’t be sure what a finished piece will look like. I have an idea of what I want something to say, but not a fixed image. Every decision I make while I’m working limits what’s possible next. Finishing one part can change the entire structure, so it’s kind of a dance, moving through the piece. I ask a lot of the materials, and I hope they cooperate.
And how do you know when it’s complete?
I just have to keep adapting to get to a place where it feels right. They kind of tell me when they’re done. And sometimes after sitting with a piece, I realize I’ve misunderstood, and I do some finessing.
View of the exhibition “Amy Usdin: After All” installed in U.S. Bank Gallery at Minneapolis Institute of Art. Exhibition on view at Mia November 22, 2025 – February 22, 2026.
Do you ever feel frustrated or stuck? Have you ever felt like you wanted to give up on a piece?
Yes. I didn’t in the beginning, because I think my pieces were simpler, but the more complex they get, yes. I don’t know if I’ve ever given up. You know, I don’t call it giving up. I call it “putting aside.” I put things aside, and I wait to figure them out, and I generally can, sometimes months later. But the nets—you know, they’re old, and they’re ragged, and people who have them usually throw them out. So I don’t feel like I can let one go.
You’re attached to them?
I can’t not finish a piece because the materials I work with are just so hard to find. When I come across one, I feel incredibly lucky. I can’t fail them. I can’t abandon a sculpture because I may never get another chance with those particular materials. I need to make the most of them when I can.
About the Exhibition
Amy Usdin examines life’s cycles of change and loss in her fiber art. Her exhibition explores the blurred lines between past and present, emphasizing our fragile ties with each other and the earth while advocating for the stewardship of both. “Amy Usdin: After All” is on view through February 22, 2026, in the U.S. Bank Gallery.