breakIng the Mold
A former architectural designer transformed personal adversity into a mission-driven artistic practice B Y RE N E E A M B RO S O P HOTO G RA P H Y B Y JO HN MICHAE L SIMP SO N
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liza Redmann had just 10,
maybe 15 minutes before nausea and the building pressure in her head overwhelmed her, forcing her to shut her laptop. It had been two years since her car was struck head-on by another driver less than a mile from her Hillside Park home, leaving Eliza with a traumatic brain injury. The collision upended everything – especially the future she had envisioned as an architect. “As I was recovering, I was [having difficulty] with balance, coordination, executive functioning and particularly my vision,” she says. She’d earned her master’s in architecture from NC State University and landed a job as an architectural designer at Duda|Paine Architects. 52
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“I [had] imagined myself designing buildings with sustainability in mind,” Eliza says. But in the months following the 2018 crash, she realized she’d no longer be able to pursue that career or resume the life she’d been leading. Even casual outings downtown with friends became overwhelming because of her sensitivity to auditory and visual stimuli. “I needed to find a new path going forward,” Eliza says. “That’s when I turned to my creativity.” She started sketching shapes and rendering them digitally using SketchUp, a 3D modeling program she’d learned to use in school. But the minutes would add up, the nausea and pain would rise, and she’d have to abandon the screen to rest her body and mind. Even so, Eliza’s imagination soared. She found that, when her ability to use devices waned, it was less taxing on her nervous system to print paper shapes that she could continue to refine through trimming and folding by hand. She then compiled these segments into irregular clusters to evoke a sense of disorientation, mimicking her own experience of her surroundings. “I was creating these modular pieces within the constraints that I had, then assembling them and moving light over them,” Eliza says. “It was creating this visual phenomenon that is confusing and mind-bending for people to behold. I [realized] that what I was actually doing through the art was trying to give people a glimpse inside my experience with traumatic brain injury and the visual disturbances caused by my injury.” Sharing her work via Instagram garnered a litany of positive responses, first from friends and later strangers who were drawn to her ideas. Commissions followed – custom 2D and 3D installations for homes. As she developed her artistic style, Eliza recognized another layer to her work: its acoustic potential. “I was aware that as noise hits this directionally scattered surface, it’s going to be refracted in a number of directions. Inherently, from my experience in architecture, I knew that to be an [acoustically beneficial] thing,” she says. Simultaneously, she struggled to cope with noise levels in public spaces around town. “Durham has this wonderful brick-and-wood aesthetic that is very nice to behold with your eyes but not so much with your ears,” she says. “You’re in these spaces and you can hardly hear what someone is saying to you – I know I’m not the only one who deals with this issue.” Eliza experimented with wrapping her sculptures in sound-absorbent fabrics. The result yielded art that was both beautiful and functional. She eventually partnered with acoustic product company Unika Vaev to develop three-dimensional pieces that can be grouped in myriad ways to address specific acoustic needs. “Both the aesthetic and the function of that product line represent my experience with traumatic brain injury,” Eliza says. “I got such an overwhelming response to this work. … I set out to solve a problem for myself, but I was actually solving a problem for a large group of people who struggle with invisible disability.” These designs are the foundation for an acoustical art installation that Eliza is slated to debut in Durham’s City Hall by next spring. Eliza still works from the basement studio where her first Folded Poetry sketches took shape. Since moving in back in 2017, the space has grown a bit more crowded – she now shares the home with her partner, Mikie Montague, and their combined furry family of pups Weaver, Nitro and Turbo, and cat, Eleanor. Eliza’s time is currently divided among public art projects, private commissions for residential and corporate clients, and developing limited-edition works like the iridescent acrylic holiday ornaments she releases each year, intended to offer art lovers a collectable piece