Out on the peninsula at Tommy Thompson Park, the sound of the water is almost indistinguishable from the wind. It reminds me of growing up by the ocean in Vancouver.
As I slowly form a circle of bricks, sensation connects me to my surroundings. There is satisfaction in the crunch of grass when a brick makes contact with the ground. The feeling is maybe similar to synesthesia. With every interaction, I grow more familiar with these modest building blocks. Each brick is unique in its subtleties: weight, texture, shape, colour. Whenever I examine one, I learn more about its constitution and essence.

**Alyssa Alikpala**, *dis/connect*, 2021, 573 found bricks collected, carried, and laid by hand in 50’ ø circle. Toronto, CA PHOTO: JAMES ARTHURS

Guided by my curiosity as an artist, designer and researcher, I explore concepts through physical processes — in other words, thinking through making. In my upbringing, the sciences were favoured, but I have been restructuring my thinking. Now I am cultivating modes of learning and research that depart from knowledge systems that privilege objectivity and rationality. I am discovering the importance of physical action and play in generating thought, imagination and insight.

I’m captivated by what is possible when we extend awareness into the sensorial body. I’m interested in a way of communicating with our surroundings in which learning becomes implicit and intuitive through engagement with material and environment.

My practice weaves together different ideas and disciplines, connecting threads of phenomenology and relationality. Phenomenology explores the subjective, embodied experience as we sense and perceive the world. Relationality examines connections — in this case between body, material and environment. My application of both modes of thought is twofold: first, in the process of producing a work, and second in the viewing of the work. Instead of an object removed from daily life, works are integrated into or are a product of life — of experience. The context and conditions for making and viewing these works are as much a part of the experience.

One of the ways this has naturally unfolded into my practice is through ephemeral works that are informed by, integrate into, and subtly disrupt their environments. These interventions thoughtfully consider where they are located — they could not be contained by a gallery. Found materials compel me to reimagine the mundane, and rather than overlooking the ordinary, I search for multiple possibilities.

Sometimes I stumble upon a place which invites intervention.

Walking through Southwark, U.K., I found myself looking up at a large hill. Elevating over 30 feet into the sky, it stands out from the setting of brown and grey brick. The expanse of green is unexpected in this residential area.
From the top is an unobstructed view of London’s flat topography. My eyes gaze over the trees and typical two- or three-storey houses. This kind of unassuming moment of inspiration fills me with a creative impulse, and as I descend the hill, I braid grass into a line marking my path. As I find a rhythm, I gather sections of grass, cross them over, and incorporate the strands into one another, adding more as I continue down.

**Alyssa Alikpala**, *Untitled, or solitude and loneliness are two sides of the same coin*, 2021. Line of braided grass interwoven into the hillside. London, UK.

Other times I set out in search of a site and a suggestion, driven by the urge to create something.

Wanting to experiment with wheatpaste, I’m not exactly sure where to go or what to make. As a mixture of just flour and water, wheatpaste has little impact on its environment. It feels fitting to use such an adhesive that could deteriorate over time with something organic like leaves or flower petals, especially in the spirit of impermanence.
I’m receptive to cues that capture my attention. The contours and edges of a building, for instance, might direct me on the composition. I know I’ve found a site when a place invites me in with agency.

**Alyssa Alikpala**, *Untitled*, 2021. Wheatpasted leaves on concrete. London, UK.

Working with the constraints and specificities of time, place, season and materials at hand, I surrender the human impulse for control and lean into uncertainty and indeterminacy.

Ephemeral in nature, the works I produce are accepting of their temporality. They will change or fade over time, often only leaving a small trace, if any, of their existence. After the moment of intervention, the work continues and takes on a life of its own. Sunlight will fade some elements, rain may wash away others. An accidental or intentional shift might be made by someone passing by.

**Alyssa Alikpala**, *Untitled* (2021). Flowers and wheatpasted petals on brick and vine. Toronto, CA

These interventions are a collaboration with, and way of knowing, the environment. While working I become more attuned, for example, to the amount of light left as the sun moves through the day. How the sky changes brilliantly in the short window between golden hour and twilight. Bright amber and orange hues wash over clouds and reveal textures I can feel, until they are diffused by night. I notice the shift from still air to a light breeze, and the subsequent sound of rustling leaves. Layers of nuance form a soundscape intimately tied to its environment.

The physical process of making and intervening makes me more present in my body and aware of my surroundings. And when the making is repetitive, it is meditative. Once immersed in action, the work emerges intuitively and it becomes hard to tell where thought starts and ends.

My hands enter conversations with materials I work with. This dialogue teaches me about its weight, fragility, softness. I shape the material as it shapes me. There is something I find quietly gratifying about working within and with these conditions as I continuously readjust to the feedback from the material and the environment. There is a connection, of course, to nature as my interventions occur outdoors, and also to ancestral wisdom in which knowledge is tacit.

I hope that the people who encounter these works experience them through the connections between body, material and environment. I’m interested in creating the circumstances that invite one to slow down and notice. There is enough familiarity for these works to blend in. Only when one is more observant and curious does a slight disruption stand out.

These interventions make beauty out of and within the ordinary. I’m interested in displacing apathy toward the known and habitual nature of everyday life, and replacing it with re-instilled childlike curiosity. I think it is enough to feel affected in a small way, to tune into the body.

This invites a deepening of sensitivity, one which I believe is entangled into our being, but is more often than not pushed far into the background.

Sometimes I think beauty is something to actively make space for. Our sensitivity to awareness can affect how we connect with others and our environments. I enjoy creating these interventions because it recognizes the ordinary. Finding small moments of wonder can sow seeds for a slow transformation. It is this kind of distillation I’m seeking. After all, how can one remain unchanged after experiencing beauty?

This article was published in the Spring/Summer 2022 issue of Studio Magazine.