Fiber Artist Sienna Martz Takes a Stand Against Tradition with Secondhand Materials – PRINT Magazine

Fiber artist and sculptor Sienna Martz flexes her veganism as far more than a dietary restriction. For Martz, it’s a way of life that impacts every aspect of what she does, including her art. Martz’s sculptural fiber art is sourced entirely from secondhand clothing and plant-based fibers. It’s also rooted in traditional textile techniques and eco-friendly processes, so her works minimally impact the planet. Her first-ever solo show has just opened at Soapbox Arts in Burlington, Vermont, entitled Echoes of Earth, which mines these themes and comments on the consequences of dissonance between humanity and nature.

I had the treat of speaking to Martz recently about her vegan art practice and her journey to this mindfulness. Our conversation is below (edited lightly for length and clarity).

How did you first come to fiber arts and sculpture?

I’ve always been quite creative. I grew up in a very creative, liberated household, so my parents really nurtured my desire to express myself through an artistic art form. That inevitably led me to art school, and I went to Tyler School of Art at Temple University in Philadelphia. 

Going into college fresh is such a wildly exciting and vulnerable time when we don’t know ourselves yet, and so getting thrown into school with so many different options for that creative outlet, I had no idea what I wanted to do. All I knew was that I was drawn to three-dimensional forms, organic forms, things found in nature. I love irregular movement, lack of consistent edges, repetitive shapes, and a lot of color. I experimented with different mediums, from wood, glass, welding, and ceramics to printmaking, but nothing clicked. Then, I took a fibers class. 

Tyler School of Art has an incredible fibers department, and they go beyond traditional methods. The school really engages with students who yearn for more contemporary, experimental approaches. And it just clicked! I realized that everything I had been trying to make in those other mediums wasn’t successful because I needed fibers to make my vision come to life.

I was drawn to how forgiving and adventurous the medium can be. I feel very fortunate to have been taught in quite an alternative way. I didn’t do weaving, macrame, crochet, or knitting. I chose more experimental classes, where I burned fabric, bubbled it, and dyed it with unusual plant dyes. That’s where the foundation began for me, and for the past 12 years, I’ve continued forward as an artist blending fibers and sculpture. 

You say your parents helped cultivate your creativity. Were they also artists?

My dad is a sculptor, painter, and “Art Brut” music composer. He’s very radical and experimental in his art form, and he’s always practiced various art forms since I was a child, so I was very influenced by that. My mom is a writer and editor within Hearst Corporation; she worked in fashion magazines. There was a time when I did a lot of couture—wearable art sculptures on the body—probably partially because of her industry’s influence, though I eventually shifted away from that.

I know that being a vegan artist is central to your practice. Why is that such an important aspect of your artistic POV?

Veganism is the next chapter of my practice after I identified my passion for textiles, fibers, and sculpture in a contemporary, abstract method. Honestly it was a very personal journey before it even linked within the artistic realm of my life. 

My parents empowered me to be a vegetarian in the 90s and 2000s. That was unusual when I was a kid, and it’s amazing that it’s way more normalized and accessible now. So I was raised feeling empowered by this ethical decision. When I reached my mid-20s, through social media, I fell into the rabbit hole of visually seeing these industries for the first time through undercover investigative footage of the egg and dairy industries. I’m thankful for social media and the veganism movement that educated me and inspired me to go all in, specifically for ethical reasons, but also for environmental, of course, and health reasons. 

Everything shifted for me—from what I ate to the companies I supported, to the clothing and products I bought—making sure they weren’t tested on animals or had animal products in them. Then I had this ah-ha! moment when I thought, how am I not thinking this way in my fiber art practice? Some of the most prominent materials in this sector of the art industry are wool, silk, leather, mohair, and alpaca. In school and the industry, these materials are held on a pedestal of being the better option. I see their allure versus synthetic materials, which are incredibly problematic. But I had this realization that I didn’t want my art to contribute to a part of the textile industry that’s heavily linked to animal agriculture, which we know is incredibly cruel to animals, unsustainable, and unethical to workers. 

initially used synthetic alternatives because they are the most readily available. I was focused on the ethical side for the animals, but it didn’t feel right with my pursuit to be more sustainable. Polyester and other synthetic materials are absolutely horrible, and they’re part of the oil industry, which is a monster within itself. So I shifted toward researching more sustainable plant fibers, like flax, linen, organic cotton, and kapok fibers, one of the materials I’ve used the most (it’s a fluffy stuffing that’s an incredible replacement for wool or polyester stuffing). But even using plant fibers didn’t feel like I was progressing enough with my goal to reduce my environmental impact, and that’s where I started to shift toward prioritizing secondhand clothing as my biggest source for materials.  

What does the process of sourcing secondhand clothing as your primary material entail? 

When I have a new project or commission in mind, I will go to local thrift stores and source what I can. Overconsumption is incredibly problematic and horrifying for our planet and the fashion industry. Ninety-two million tons of textile waste is made annually around the world. I recently read that this is equivalent to the weight of over 61 million cars, which is catastrophic. 

I would like to do as much as I can to prevent items from going into landfills, but it’s also through my artistic activism that I can spark dialog, be a catalyst for cultural transformation, and inspire more sustainable thinking and conscious consumerism.

As fast fashion came into place, it produced four collections a year that went with seasons. Now, companies are doing over 100-plus collections a year. Overconsumption of clothing is just rampant around the world. People are buying, buying, buying these cheaply made products with the excuse of, it’s okay because I’m going to donate it, and it can be reused. The big disconnect is that about 85% of donated clothing goes to landfills. Only 15% of all donated clothing worldwide is actually being purchased at secondhand stores and reworn. That’s so alarming to me. On a personal level, I buy secondhand clothing because I would like to do as much as I can to prevent items from going into landfills, but it’s also through my artistic activism that I can spark dialog, be a catalyst for cultural transformation, and inspire more sustainable thinking and conscious consumerism. 

I would imagine shopping at secondhand stores for your materials would yield more exciting and unexpected fabric discoveries. There must be a thrill of the hunt and the unknown that’s so much more exhilarating as an artist than shopping at Joann Fabric. 

You’re spot on. I was drawn to doing this from a sustainability standpoint, but I was also fed up with the fabric options that I have in my rural part of Southern Vermont, and buying fabric online is a gamble when it comes to color, texture, and weight. Shopping secondhand made the most sense, and it’s guided many of my art pieces. Sometimes, I’ll go in with a color palette in mind, but other times, I go in, and I think, let me see what I find, and there’s this beautiful kind of collaboration between me and these articles of clothing. 

There’s also this poetic storyline that comes along with using secondhand clothing, in that each article of clothing has the history of its wearer…

Different textures often come out within my art because I’m working with sweaters, sweatshirts, sheets, and pants. A nice variety of different weaves comes through in the artwork, which is quite captivating. There’s also this poetic storyline that comes along with using secondhand clothing, in that each article of clothing has the history of its wearer and sometimes multiple people who have worn this clothing with their own life experiences. Bringing that spiritual energy of different people and their lives into an art piece is quite beautiful and mysterious, in a way. That’s an element of buying secondhand clothing that’s been really inspiring for me.

I had a client reach out recently who saw that I was working with secondhand clothing after her father suddenly passed away this past winter. She’d been unable to think of what to do with his clothing because he was an avid thrifter; they’d go every week together, and he loved fashion. So she’s sending me some of his clothing so I can make a few wall sculptures for her and her family so that his clothing can have a new life after his passing and be an heirloom they can pass on. It’s just such a beautiful, special project that I hadn’t even considered offering to people until recently.

Hopefully, more artists start thinking about the environmental impact and sustainability of their art practice and materials in this way. 

Many of us get trapped in the cycle of this is just how things are done; this is traditional. People glorify tradition in certain realms, and it’s kind of a scary decision to choose to go against tradition and not only do it privately but also vocalize it and advocate for it.

Using my online presence to advocate for choosing plant-based over animal-derived materials and choosing more sustainable alternatives is a vulnerable thing—to take that stance in an industry that’s wrapped up so heavily in tradition. But it’s also really empowering, and I have seen such a shift. When the conversation is sparked, people are like, well, internally, I’ve been thinking about how this isn’t right, but now hearing others talk about it makes me feel more confident that I can change these options for my health, for the planet’s health, for animals, and so on.

In the past, I wasn’t guided as much by my materials and I didn’t give them as much thought as an artist. That’s quite common in the art industry. I hope I see more artists take sustainable approaches. I think it’s an inevitable path within this industry, with artists, collectors, and buyers being guided more by the materials and being more thoughtful about what they’re using, how they were made, whom they were made by, and their impact. 

What advice would you give artists about developing a more sustainable art practice?

Trying to be more sustainable within your life and art-making can be intimidating for people because they feel like they have to dive right in and change everything they’re doing drastically. That’s not an approach that’s achievable for a lot of people. For me, it’s been an evolution from switching to plant-based materials and plant fibers to secondhand clothing, and now I’m working with eco-friendly paint and compostable plastic. Each month or so, I make a slight switch in what I’m using toward something more sustainable. Because, in the end, there’s no perfection. We’re all living and navigating life within a very imperfect system. So, it’s about striving to make small changes in our lives to be more thoughtful.

Header image taken by Joy Masi.