LOCALadk Magazine

LOCALadk 26 As a visual designer by trade, I spend most of my working hours in front of a screen. I genuinely love my job, but there's something my brain craves that a desk job doesn't provide: the feeling of making something with my hands from scratch, where the process is as satisfying as the end product — riddled with mistakes and imperfections and a-ha moments. That's where Burl Theory comes in. I started Burl Theory back in 2016, fresh out of the Peace Corps and newly settled in Lake Tahoe. My friend Katy and I were always making things, so we figured we may as well offset the cost of art supplies. We started selling our goods locally at shops and at markets, and it just kept going from there. Now I'm based in Saranac Lake (another gem tucked in nature) and still making and sharing my crafts. But why "Burl Theory? " A burl is a rogue burst of tree growth where the grain bends, swirls, and makes its own kind of beauty. When you cut into a burl, you come to understand that funky "flaw" is actually a beauty mark. That really resonates with me. My art is an ode to living and playing in the Adiron- dacks. The after-work scramble to get the canoe launched, paddling out into something golden and lay- ered as the light fades. The haunting loon call echoing across the water on a camping trip and that little jolt of joy when you spot one diving deep below the surface. The dawn patrol mornings that require an early alarm – a High Peak summit, fresh powder turns, or the lake at its calmest before the rest of the world wakes up. I try to capture these feelings in both the process and the finished product, savoring each bit as I go. The seasons find their way into the work too. Spring in full bloom inspires new designs that have been hi- bernating with me all winter. Summer's long light cre- ates vibrant refractions and shapey shadows (and more hours to make things!). Autumn brings a kaleidoscope of rich colors that burn bright for a brief, beloved mo- ment in time. And winter's snowy palette is the perfect backdrop for a suncatcher hanging in the window, wait- ing for that sacred afternoon sun to throw color across the room. All of it ends up in the glass I choose and the patterns I create. There's something about being sur- rounded by this much nature that recalibrates how you move through the world. Once you start noticing, it's hard to stop. I've always said that I make a merry medley of hand- made things. I'm a self-taught maker who enjoys buying craft supplies just as much as actually using them. Over the years it has evolved from woodworking, hand-let- tering anything from ornaments to wedding signage, laser cutting, resin art, jewelry-making, pressed flower art, and plenty of experiments in between. Whatever the craft, nature is always a starting point for me. Living in Saranac Lake, I'm surrounded by con- stant inspiration: the colors of a particular season, the wildflowers and ferns sprouting up after a long winter, the way light dances differently on the water than it does through the trees. Things catch my eye and make me think, "Huh, this could be something," and then I see where that leads me. I consider myself a lifelong collec- tor of that feeling. My work tends to reflect whatever I've been noticing outside, even if I can't always trace the direct line to the finished piece. Lately most of my energy goes into stained glass. It all started when I was the coordinator at a makerspace and someone donated a box of her mom's old stained glass materials. I was already familiar with soldering pressed flower frames, but the idea of playing with col- orful glass got me hooked immediately. Stained glass has always fascinated (and intimidated) me. I love how old the art form is, and I'm most drawn to a fresh, modern twist on it. Working with glass is genu- inely humbling; it's a labor of love. So many steps, pric- ey supplies, and a guarantee to have bandaid-covered fingers from all the nicks. Cutting and sanding glass is no joke, but when a cut goes just right or colors come together in a way you didn't quite expect — that's the good stuff. And when the piece is done and you hold it up to the sunlight? The refractions, the way color This Could Be Something: On Crafting and the Art of Noticing By Alison Banuski / Burl Theory

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