Katherine Hanks Studio

Katherine Hanks Studio Interdisciplinary Artist | Embodiment + Earth + Matrescence | Sculpting The Wilds of Motherhood

Fall newsletter drops tomorrow morning. Contemplating the practice of release, clearing space, and what’s coming through...
11/11/2025

Fall newsletter drops tomorrow morning. Contemplating the practice of release, clearing space, and what’s coming through next. If you’d like to join, visit my site at www.katherinehanks.com
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I like this corner of the studio. Carving into a sculpture today made of clay harvested early this summer near Stringer’...
10/23/2025

I like this corner of the studio. Carving into a sculpture today made of clay harvested early this summer near Stringer’s Ridge, a series of hiking trails a bike ride away from my home.

Also been listening to this song on repeat for months now and continue to dig it (pun absolutely intended).

Two years ago today, we met our little Sunshine.Her birth began in the dark of night, between the fall equinox and the H...
09/27/2025

Two years ago today, we met our little Sunshine.
Her birth began in the dark of night, between the fall equinox and the Harvest Moon. Alone with the sensations, I felt the stillness settle into my body. It was raw and I was afraid.

I wanted daylight. I wanted to be rested. I wanted distraction. But birth invited me to lean in: to stay, to feel, and to let the intensity wash over me. I wept in Rob’s arms. I wept on the floor. And for the first time in years, I even let myself be comforted by the God I’d known as a child—a masculine, Father-like figure— and was reminded in that moment that the Divine wears many faces.

Just before sunrise Rob whispered, “Sunshine was waiting for the sunrise.”
And she was.

As the first light spread across the sky, my whole being released the tension that had kept me wrapped in fear. Peace arrived with the morning. Birth unfolded with ease. And at 8:20 a.m., in the glow of that rising sun, Rob and I lifted our daughter from the water and into my arms. E.H.M. Another girl! Another ray of light.

The pureness of your spirit has changed my life, my love. I promise to keep learning from you, to model courage, and to be a safe home for all of you. Thank you for the gift of you. Happy 2nd birthday, E! 🌞

The shift into autumn has always been a tender threshold for me—a season that asks me to slow down, to assess, and to ga...
09/24/2025

The shift into autumn has always been a tender threshold for me—a season that asks me to slow down, to assess, and to gather what has ripened. Over time, I’ve learned that my own body carries her wisdom about this transition. For those of you who don’t have a cycle or don’t track, the luteal phase—the weeks between ovulation and menstruation—mirrors autumn’s rhythm. It is the body’s harvest, a time of tending to details, wrapping up, and of closing loops on what was begun.

I feel that same energy alive in my studio now. Many of my works are still in progress, some waiting patiently for years, and this season I am choosing to lean into the practice of finishing. This smoke-fired ceramic sculpture, one of the few pieces I’ve fully brought through to the end during my years of child bearing, reminds me what it feels like to close a circle and know something as whole in its completion. There’s a groundedness in that—a settling and soothing sense of accomplishment that feels especially nourishing as the days shorten and the air cools.

This autumn, I’m accepting that invitation by bringing works to completion and seeking clarity and finality, all while honoring the season’s quiet insistence on harvest.

Xx

An ode to summer 🌞
09/02/2025

An ode to summer 🌞

Studio color scheme and textures doin’ it for me
08/12/2025

Studio color scheme and textures doin’ it for me

Four weeks later and I’m still integrating The Art of Mud workshop in Costa Rica. It feels as if my time there was so po...
06/27/2025

Four weeks later and I’m still integrating The Art of Mud workshop in Costa Rica. It feels as if my time there was so potent, so alive, it can only be absorbed slowly—through the blood, the breath, the bones.

In that lush, living landscape, I tapped into something ancient— how to live unencumbered and wild, how to belong to the land as kin. I’ve felt so alive since my return home.

I met inspiring people, bound together by a shared devotion to the Earth and the sacredness of reciprocity.

Natural building with these new, close friends, was tender, playful, and emotional—like the Earth herself was a soft place to land, holding us as we built with her.

Here are some photos, some by me and most by .dirt

I’ll continue to share more as the techniques and processes I learned there find their way into my current work ☺️

Thanks to , and for sharing your knowledge, creating this life-affirming experience, and, of course, for your overall badassery. Xo, friends.

Packing my bags for a week-long clay and lime plaster intensive in the jungles of Costa Rica—three months after weaning ...
05/22/2025

Packing my bags for a week-long clay and lime plaster intensive in the jungles of Costa Rica—three months after weaning my third and final child.

Seven years of pregnancy or nursing, without pause. This trip feels like a love letter to my body—a thank you for all the ways she’s given and sustained life. It’s a celebration, a grieving, and a stepping over a threshold into new freedom.

I’m heading off-grid to honor this transition. To meet this new version of myself. To feel the earth, move with the jungle, and listen for what’s ready to emerge.

I’ll share more when I return—after a week of barefoot grounding, quiet, and creative reawakening.



Xx

I’ve often struggled to transition into summer — with its loosened structure and wide-open days. I tend to thrive in rhy...
05/14/2025

I’ve often struggled to transition into summer — with its loosened structure and wide-open days. I tend to thrive in rhythm and routine, and without them, I can feel unmoored. But this year, I’m approaching summer differently: with intention, with softness, with trust.

I’m being asked to lean into the feminine — to flow like water, to release control, to surrender to life’s unfolding. I’m being invited to connect more deeply: to my children, my spouse, to nature, and to myself. To nurture with presence. To offer affection through time, attention, and open-hearted listening.

This season, I want to treat our time outdoors as part of my creative practice — to weave my children and spouse into the heart of my work, to root us all in the soil together. Even within the looseness of summer, I know my creative life will continue to pulse — not despite the fluidity, but because of it.

I’m practicing release — from expectation, from outcome, from rigidity. Because I believe that in letting go, I make space for connection, creativity, and joy to grow wild and true.

This summer, I’m choosing presence. I’m choosing to trust the creative process.

And I’m remembering: softening is not a pause in creation — it’s part of the process itself.

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1412 McCallie Avenue
Chattanooga, TN
37404

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