About Me

rae trimmier

I grew up in a garden; nature has always fascinated me. My father nurtured roses. He wore a flower in his lapel every workday. My mother’s passion was a large bed of amaryllis: our yard overflowed with giant azaleas, blue Hydrangeas with heads the size of dinner plates, and a majestic Live Oak tree.  Mardi Gras imprinted a child’s imagination. The clay fantasies I create bring me close to family memories and the gardens of my childhood—intentionally not botanically correct; a flash of remembrance.

We always had something blooming, and the house filled with blossoms. Those constructions were never formal, but instead always thoughtful. My mother and grandmother encouraged me to place my simple arrangements with theirs.  Gifts from our garden found their way to friends and neighbors in times of sadness and celebration; brought to teachers on special occasions.  

My aunt and uncle lived in Japan for several years.  My eyes widened, and thoughts swirled as unusual gifts arrived. When she returned to New Orleans, Japanese floral arrangements joined traditional Southern bouquets. These minimalist arrangements with disciplined form were new and exciting, presenting strong lines and textures. They influenced my thoughts on beauty.  A single flower is revered and given honor.

Currently clay is my focus. Clay is earth: It presents technical issues. It has memory factored into construction. Less forgiving than painting, clay presents more challenges for me than work on paper or canvas. No matter how careful the clay construction, its final moments are out of sight with some factors out of the maker’s control—just as in life. Kintsugi is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum.  As a philosophy, it treats breakage as part of the history of an object rather than something to disguise. This wisdom is applicable to our own lives. Care and love expended on broken, scarred, or shattered pieces should also encourage us to respect what is damaged and scarred; vulnerable and imperfect; starting with ourselves and those around us.  Reflecting on this philosophy, work is intentionally left with imperfections—sometimes raw—or what may seem unfinished.

artist statement

Human geographers coined the term primal landscape to describe the unique bond between children and their earliest environments—a concept deeply woven into my identity. Imagine my world: an only child amid the vibrant chaos of Mardi Gras; towering oak trees with drooping beards of Spanish moss; azaleas rising nearly as tall as a house. It is a place where fantasy and reality intertwine.

Do we seek beauty within discomfort? Can we imagine a more harmonious reordering of the world? In clay, control wrestles with chance. Though pliant in the artist’s hands, clay carries its own memory—one that must be respected. However carefully formed, the final work must surrender to the fierce uncertainty of a firebath—beyond the maker’s command.

My choice of rugged stoneware over the translucent refinement of porcelain reflects the divide between memory and lived experience. Through clay, I invite reflection on opposing forces: delicacy and strength, harmony and conflict, beauty and imperfection. Must these remain divided, or is there room for them to coexist? Perfectly imperfect.