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Emily Culver, MFA, has been an assistant professor of jewelry and metalsmithing in Old Dominion University’s College of Arts and Letters for four years. Her artwork defies easy categorization. It’s provocative and tactile — sometimes unintentionally — and exhibits a range of mediums, from silicone to metal. 

“I consider myself first and foremost an artist who oftentimes works in metal, but not exclusively,” she said, adding she has no interest in limiting herself artistically in form or identity. 

A native of a rural Pennsylvania town known for its ironworks and a large hospital complex, Culver’s art is sculptural and reveals a lifelong fascination with the human body, tools and overcoming the perceived boundaries of corporeal and mechanical forms. 

We stepped into Culver’s studio as she prepared for a solo exhibition to learn more about her art, teaching and helping her students develop artistic grit. 

When did art become your focus, and when did metal become one of your mediums? 

I always knew I wanted to be an artist ever since I was a child. So, my parents were well prepared from the very beginning. I was really fortunate to have supportive mentors through my elementary and high school education.

When I went to undergrad, I was going to be an oil painter. I was always painting the body and portraits. I ended up taking a metals class as an elective. It was so hard, challenging and exciting, and there was so much to learn. I just was like, “This is what I want to do.”

The challenge of making a good piece in metal is you have gravity to work against. You have to engineer parts to work and fit together. It’s also related to chemistry and the way things react to each other. You’re turning metal from a liquid state into a solid sometimes. It felt like this giant world that I could sink my teeth into and just immerse myself for a lifetime of making.

What’s the appeal of working in 3D? 

It’s a whole artwork. Even when I was painting, I was cutting into the canvas and pushing it forward and backwards — really trying to interrogate the thing as an object that lives in space. I think so much about objecthood and what it means to be a physical entity in relation to other things. What does the back (of the piece) look like? What does the underside look like? Everything felt important. And, that resonated. Everything was an opportunity to bring meaning to the work — there was no surface unaddressed. 

You’ve used a wide variety of materials in your work, including silicone. What are you using now? 

I just started introducing pewter and stone carving. I’m not doing as much silicone work, but my knowledge of mold making for those types of materials continues to come in handy. My material palette has narrowed a little bit, mainly to build out cohesive ideas and linkages between works. 

Tell me about your students — who are they? 

We have a wide variety of students who come with different experiences. In the arts department in general, we have a lot of students who are former military or first generation. A lot of local students come to learn. That’s been really rewarding to work with students who have a variety of backgrounds, and they all bring something to the table. 

For metals in particular, I also get students from engineering; I have two engineering students in my intro class right now. They were like, “It’s just so cool to see all the things that we learned in a textbook but then actually apply it in this class.”

How does your personal artistic practice influence or inform your work as an educator? What do you hope your students take away from your teachings?

During the semester, the students spend a lot of time in the teaching studio completing their coursework. Meanwhile, they’re seeing me outside of class doing my work — popping over to use a piece of equipment or whatever. They see me put in the hours. I’m in my dirty jeans and my black T-shirt. I’ve got my hair thrown up, no makeup on and smudges (on my cheeks). I think that’s probably a weird experience for them, but maybe it gives them some insight — art is hard work. There is no difference between weekends and weekdays. For me, every day is a workday. 

What do you enjoy most about mentoring young artists? 

I think it’s challenging to inspire a student to devote themselves to their practice. The number of hours it takes to fine tune and (develop) the grit to say, “Okay, that didn’t work. I’ve got to try again.” I like seeing them become those types of makers. I also love seeing who they become as a community and how they rely on each other. They build these friendships, because they’re spending so much time together. And, they’re doing awesome work.

How do your students inspire your artistic practice?

What I love about teaching — and teaching art, specifically — is that I’m constantly being that problem solver. They come up with an idea, and we talk about logistics — how to make this thing. I’m always inspired to think creatively as I help them strategize through their projects. Sometimes, I get inspired, because I’m teaching them a technique that (I then bring) into my practice. You do it all the time, but every once in a while, you see it in a different way. 

As an artist, you have been intentional about working outside your comfort zone. How do you help your students break out of a programmatic mold?

I consider myself a mentor and collaborator with the students. I am intentional about trying to help them understand the work they want to make and help them make the best version of that work. I'm also a big advocate for experiences that exist outside of academia. Whether it's grants or scholarships or going and taking a class at a craft school. I've brought some of those opportunities into the department here at ���Ҵ�ý. But, I'm a big advocate for getting out in the world and getting experience, understanding that the world is large and there's something for everyone. 

Tell me what inspired your recent solo exhibition “Rupture” in Binghamton, New York. 

It evokes an opening of the body and giving autonomy to the organs or the cogs in the wheel. There's this theoretical idea that a body, if it wasn't tied to all its working parts, could ascend into something more if it wasn't bogged down by the things that break. I'm kind of flipping that and saying, “Well, these systems of the body, if they could have their own agency, what would they do?” So, the rupture is like this opening of the body and going inside.

How do you conceive your exhibitions? Do you know what it's going to be as you’re creating, or does it tell you what it wants to be?

I feel like when you're building a body of work, you have something over here, you have something over here and here, and you're not always sure exactly where the spider web connecting them is going to be. But, it's all coming from the same place. You have to have faith and trust that it'll come together, and it will make sense.