I applied for the residency simply to try and get my writing juices flowing to apply for graduate school. I never expected to be selected; I was too young, too inexperienced. I was happily told otherwise and couldn’t have been more excited to be a part of the residency and its ongoing history. 

When I arrived in Matfield in early July, the heat of summer was just beginning to get into full swing. It felt familiar, since I had lived in Manhattan for the past 7 or so years, but the landscape felt far more welcoming. I immediately hit the ground running. Being a ceramic artist meant that I needed to get to work, otherwise, I couldn’t expect to take much tangible learning with me. I had brought some equipment and tools, but no material to make anything from. Enter Pioneer Bluffs, a place that brought me back to childhood. Splashing through the creek, listening to the water babble and birds chirp, feeling the wet clay seeping into my shoes and toes, it was sublime. However, I wasn’t there to just enjoy the scenery, I needed clay, which I found in the eroded creek banks. That clay would prove perfect for traditional pit firing and created spectacular results. 

The greatest immediate impact the residency had for me was rest. I mentioned at the top that I was trying to apply for graduate schools. By the time the residency had begun, I had already moved to Fayetteville, AR and was preparing to start school in the fall. I had also just exited a wonderful job, that while fulfilling, held back my artistic practice. These factors made Matfield an artist oasis, and just what I needed to recharge and prepare for my schooling ahead. 

In regard to a more long-term impact, I have continued to sit in moments of concern for the world, its environment, and how the shrinking Tallgrass ecosystem is a glimpse into a systemic problem. My time at Matfield was filled with scenic overlooks obstructed by human refuse and arbitrary barbed wire fences. These objects were especially bothersome for me. It seemed that no matter how remote, I could still find some trace of human presence. It could be something as large as an abandoned house or farming equipment or as small as a metal bucket or piece of plastic. The barbed wire slicing across the vast plains was confusing. Without the sight of cattle, or any other large mammal to contain, the fences seemed so pointless. I question what practices and decisions we might change that could encourage less fencing, a greater preservation of the expansive landscape, and still maintaining the life and culture that is ranching. While these questions and concerns may never be a core tenet of my artistic practice, the value inherent to the land is an unmistakable landmark that I will consistently return to. 

Justice Catron received a BFA in Studio Arts focusing in Ceramics from Kansas State University in May 2023 and will begin an MFA program in August 2025. Justice currently works at the Manhattan Arts Center as the Director of Visual Arts. He has interned and assisted at the Anderson Ranch Arts Center and Haystack Mountain School of Crafts. He has also exhibited at the Salina Arts Center, The Mark A. Chapman and William T. Kemper Galleries at Kansas State University, and the Visual Arts Center of Richmond, Virginia. Born in Tahlequah, OK, his ethnic identity as a Cherokee is a paramount influence on his work, which he juxtaposes with his outward racial identity and the struggle inherent in that opposition.