In her most recent work, Pat O'Connor invites viewers into a conversation with materials that have already lived one life. Weathered cardboard, rusted metal, and discarded objects gathered from forgotten corners of the urban landscape carry the marks of labor, commerce, and time. In O'Connor's hands, materials transform into layered assemblages that ask us to pause and reconsider the fragile relationship between the industrial world and the natural world.

The origins of this practice reach back decades. Trained first in painting and drawing at UC Davis before pursuing graduate studies in Textile Arts at San Francisco State University, O'Connor developed an artistic language that has always moved fluidly between disciplines. Drawing equally on color theory, weaving, handmade paper, and abstraction, she learned to see materials not as passive surfaces but as active participants in the creative process. Early experiences casting paper pulp over the weathered remains of a former World War II naval base revealed something that continues to guide her work today: every material carries the imprint of its own history.

O'Connor often describes found materials as her partners, with intuition guiding each decision. Rather than imposing complete control, the works carry visible markers of their own making. Layers are painted, stitched, transferred, sanded, or deliberately ripped away until the work reveals its own sense of completion. Rope once wrapped around a composition may be torn off, leaving fibers and exposed glue that become integral to the finished surface. Rusted fragments settle beside printed strawberries still visible from shipping boxes, creating unexpected harmonies between decay and abundance, permanence and impermanence. The resulting surfaces feel simultaneously excavated and constructed, preserving the evidence of their previous lives.

Cardboard, humble and temporary by design, occupies the center of this conversation. Though it often signifies modern commerce, O'Connor redirects attention toward its origin: before it carried shipping labels and consumer logos, it began as a tree. Silhouettes of branches and tree shadows stretch across her compositions, reminding us that within cardboard’s durable exterior remains the material memory of a living forest. 

Her works are equally shaped by place. Years spent working in San Francisco's industrial neighborhoods, where rusted shipbuilding remnants and weathered architecture coexist with constant redevelopment, have sharpened O'Connor's sensitivity to surfaces altered by time. Rust becomes not simply decay but a visible measure of history. Torn edges, faded labels, and fractured forms speak of use, endurance, and transformation rather than abandonment. 

O’Connor’s work is a continuous reflection of contemporary life. She considers the accelerating cycles of globalization, environmental degradation, and shifting social structures without resorting to spectacle. Instead, she asks us to slow down and look closely. Her work’s tended surfaces speak of resilience rather than ruin, reminding us that beauty often resides not in perfection, but in the patient passage of time. Through acts of reclamation, she transforms refuse into remembrance, inviting us to imagine a future in which the histories embedded within ordinary things are not forgotten, but carefully carried forward.

Amy Di Placido