Back in June, I shared an article about applying for a fellowship multiple times before finally becoming a finalist. At the time, I wasn’t able to share the names of the grantmaking organizations—but the news was made public last week!
The New York Foundation for the Arts (NYFA), with leadership support from the New York State Council on the Arts (NYSCA), announced the recipients and finalists of the NYSCA/NYFA Artist Fellowship program—a program that’s been uplifting artists across New York State for 40 years.
I’m excited to share that I was named a 2025 Finalist in the Architecture, Environmental Structures, and Design category. I am grateful for the recognition and for the visibility this brings to my work.
To mark the announcement, I’m opening up this article for everyone to read. Later this week, I’ll be back to sharing thoughts on alternate economies—a thread I’ve been following closely.
Here’s the full article:
Last week, something incredible happened — I was a finalist for a prestigious fellowship.
It was already a good day. I’d just returned from a long but productive meeting with an electrician about the lighting plan for my latest permanent public art piece. I was getting ready to take my son to a playdate with a crew of loud, happy 8-year-olds when I casually checked my email — and there it was.
I was a finalist. Not just any fellowship — that fellowship. The one I’d applied for twice before, back in 2013 and again in 2019. I hadn’t remembered applying this time (turns out I did, late last year), but I definitely remembered the sting of past rejections. And now, in 2025, I was a finalist.
I sat there, thinking. What did I write? When exactly did I submit it? My mind was spinning.
Making Space for the Win
If you’ve read my recent article about the universe conspiring, you’ll know I’ve been in a bit of a creative fog lately. But this moment — this email — reminded me why I stay in the game, why I keep showing up, even when things feel uncertain.
This is what the granting organization wrote:
Additionally, you should be proud to know that you have been selected from a highly competitive pool; from the 3,672 applications, we received 218 applications in this category, and we selected only 11 Fellowships and 3 finalists.
Why I Think I Got It This Time
Looking back, I can see that there were several reasons why I won this grant.
For one, I included an optional cultural statement — a section many applicants skip. In hindsight, that statement offered a clear and personal explanation of why my work looks and feels the way it does. Maybe that’s what caught their attention. Perhaps that’s what finally connected.
My day-to-day life is packed. I write. I freelance. I have two little kids, a creaky old house that always needs cleaning or fixing, and I make large-scale public art. So, how did I even manage to apply for this fellowship, let alone be a finalist?
Since I last applied, I hadn’t created more work. If anything, I had stepped back from doing public art. So what had changed? I think I figured it out.
Not the quantity of work — but the clarity. The perspective. The voice. Maybe it was that I finally stopped trying to impress and just told the truth. Maybe I wrote less like someone asking for permission, and more like someone standing in her power.
Something shifted. And somehow, that shift translated into a “yes.”
A friend once asked me what my work was really about. I started to explain how I love combining my background in architecture with my fascination for technology and science. One is structured and rational, the other more fluid and exploratory — and I enjoy sitting at the intersection of the two.
It was a tidy answer, but it didn’t feel complete.
Yes, architecture and tech are part of it. So is the community aspect — the participatory nature of my public art, the way it invites people in. But there was something deeper, something I hadn’t quite articulated.
Finding Out What My Work Is Really About
My friend kept asking questions. Gently, but persistently. And eventually, we got to the core of it.
I grew up in a patriarchal household with two brothers. From an early age, I got the message — sometimes subtle, sometimes overt — that their ambitions mattered more than mine. When I later wanted to pursue engineering, I didn’t get the guidance or encouragement I needed. Instead, I found my way into the arts.
In that space, I could finally express myself.
Looking back, I see that my work has always been about visibility. About being seen, being present, and being undeniable. It’s also about strength and confidence — qualities I didn’t always feel I had, but learned to claim through the scale and materials I use.
That’s why I build large. That’s why I work with metal. The physicality of my installations is part of the message. They say: I’m here. This matters.
How I Apply for Things
If you follow the notes I share on Substack, here’s one I deeply align with:
“You don’t need a perfect day to make progress. You need a plan for the messy ones.”
Life with little kids is anything but predictable. There’s a constant flow of interruptions, changes, and unexpected needs. It’s messy — always — so I’ve learned to plan for the mess, not against it.
Every month or two, I sit down and map out all the upcoming deadlines for grants and opportunities. I plug them into my calendar so I’m not scrambling last minute. Most applications ask for similar materials, which helps. I’ve built a rhythm around it.
I usually apply between 8:00 and 9:30 pm — that narrow window after I put my younger child to bed and before I read a book with my older one. It’s a guilt-free, carved-out space where I can focus, uninterrupted, and get the work done.
Progress doesn’t need perfection. It just needs a system that fits your reality.
At this point, I don’t always remember what I’ve applied to. The process has become so habitual that it blurs into the background of my daily life. To make it even more efficient, I’m planning a refresh: updated project images, a new image list, a cleaner bio, and a refined artist statement. Having those pieces ready to go will help me move faster — and apply for more opportunities without starting from scratch each time.
But I’ve also learned to accept that not every day works out.
Some evenings, I meet friends after 8. Other times, I’m just too tired from the day, and the application doesn’t happen. That’s life. To make sure I prioritize what matters most, I color-code the deadlines I care about on my calendar. It’s not a perfect system — I still miss plenty — but I come back to it when I can. Like meditation, the point isn’t to do it perfectly. It’s about returning your attention to what matters, again and again.
There’s still more I could be doing.
What I’m Doing Differently Now
A mentor once told me she was amazed I’d been able to land commissions and grants without networking. We were talking while working on a website for a foundation that gives out grants. That’s when she told me something that stuck with me: a lot of applicants take the time to research the grantmaking team — the staff, the board, the selection panel. They look for connections, even a few degrees apart, and reach out to build relationships that might support their application.
This was new to me.
I’ve always just relied on strong applications. That’s it. But my mentor made a good point: imagine if your application is solid and someone at the organization already knows your work or your name. That doesn’t just increase your odds — it gives you valuable insight. It helps you align your proposal with the mission, the tone, the priorities of the institution. That kind of inside knowledge can be a game-changer.
This recent opportunity — the one I just won — has put me back in the driver’s seat. I feel reenergized. I want to apply for bigger and better things, and this time, I plan to use all the tools available to me — including that one. Keeping in touch with people in the foundation and grantmaking world might not yield instant results, but I’m convinced it will make a difference over time.
Saying No Is Progress Too
Last night, I opened up an application I’d been meaning to work on — a teaching gig at a prestigious art venue in Manhattan. It looked fun, and I’m pretty sure I could’ve gotten it. But the details made me pause: traveling into the city on a weeknight, waiting around for a late train back home, and all for less than $1,000.
In another season of life, I might have said yes without hesitation. But now, as a mid-career artist and a parent, I have to be more intentional. My time is limited. It’s more valuable to me than money right now. I would pay to save time if I could.
So I made the call. I didn’t apply. I closed my laptop and watched a show instead. And weirdly, that felt like progress too.
Bravo! As someone who juggled kids, family, and all the above for decades, I'm still juggling to a degree. We make compromises for sure. We who choose to have children inevitably look back and wonder, but I have to think that I had the best experience I could have, considering competing commitments. It's a harder world now with fewer commissions supported by the private sector. Good luck to you.
Congrats! :)