10 Questions with Kristen Anderson: Science, Storytelling, and the Refugia Series

In the heart of Minnesota’s boreal forest, fiber artist Kristen Anderson creates bold, immersive works of art that blur the lines between ecological research and personal storytelling. Her latest body of work, Refugia, uses ancient wet-felting techniques to transform Norwegian and locally-sourced wool into sweeping tapestries inspired by the teeming biodiversity of seasonal ponds—and the quiet strength of memory and resilience.

Based in Bigfork, MN, Kristen has lived and worked in northern Itasca County for nearly 30 years. Her creative practice is rooted in place and relationship: relationship to land, to community, to the scientific voices that guide her work, and to her own journey of healing. For Refugia, she partnered with an aquatic research ecologist and poets Loree Miltich and Susan Hawkinson to explore and amplify the stories of these disappearing wetland habitats. Together, their work reflects a layered meditation on fragility, change, and what endures.

We asked Kristen 10 questions about the Refugia project, her process, and how collaboration and curiosity guide her artmaking.

1. Your work blends science and storytelling—how did your background in both biology and art shape the creation of the Refugia series?

I remember my first college biology professor announcing to all of us that "Biology is a right brain discipline taught in a left brain manner." That really resonated with me. I have always had a deep love for learning about natural sciences and spending time in the natural world, but the rote memorization needed for my degree felt like going against the grain sometimes. My mind seems to do best when I process what I've learned through a creative experience, and I'm grateful to continue my lifelong goal of learning in this way.

2. Can you describe how the ancient technique of wet-felting connects to the natural systems you explore in your work?

Felt-making in the wet-felting method I employ uses water, wool, and agitation done by hand to change wool from an airy medium into a dense material. Because each natural element in the process "behaves" according to what its own properties will allow, it has a lot in common with natural systems whose elements respond to interactions, transforming and evolving.

3. What drew you specifically to seasonal ponds as a metaphor for both ecological and personal resilience?

Curiosity drew me to learn more about wetlands to better understand the variety within these systems—fens, swamps, marshes, bogs, calcareous fens, etc. I stumbled upon the word refugia in Barbara Hurd's book of essays, Stirring the Mud, and it resonated with me, though I didn't understand why at the time. Refugia are resilient ecosystems within surrounding altered systems.

I was led to Minnesota's refugia—our seasonal ponds (a.k.a. vernal pools)—by local scientific community partners. As I learned more about these places and the amazing creatures that live within them, I saw parallels between the ecosystems and the minds of people with cognitive disease. Shrinking habitats mirrored shrinking pockets of memory and identity, just as healthy minds and diverse ecosystems are markers for resilience. When biodiversity and thinking are each limited, we lose the richness needed to maintain healthy systems, both ecologically and cognitively.

4. How has collaborating with scientists and poets enriched your creative process and final artwork?

While I earned a BA in Biology (and Fine Arts), working with the expertise of scientific community partners brings to mind Einstein's quote, "The more I learn, the more I realize how much I don't know." There is a depth of understanding, often highly specific and always humbling, that the scientific partners have so generously shared.

Partnering with the poets has added community, dimensionality, and scope to our project—hopefully reaching more audiences to connect them with rich seasonal pond ecosystems and the ways people can respond to them. Some of my favorite studio days have been the ones when collaborators helped me hand-process wool and turn it into felt—literal and metaphorical co-creation.

5. You mention that your work often fulfills a personal need or healing—was there a specific moment during Refugia when this became clear to you?

I put a lot of trust in my creative process as a path for healing and processing life's ups and downs. The initial draw to my subject is, I believe, subconscious—manifested as curiosity. In Refugia, it was the pull toward the word refugia at a time when I was struggling with the despair and unknowns of a loved one's cognitive disease diagnosis.

I believed that understanding the seasonal pond ecosystems would provide insight and allow me to cope with the decline I was witnessing. As I developed the work, I shared my experiences in the ponds and the studio with my loved one. This became a point of connection and sustained relationship, for which I’m deeply grateful.

6. What is the significance of using locally-sourced and Norwegian wool in your felt tapestries? How do the materials contribute to the narrative?

The Norwegian wool I use is the material I used in my mentorship with feltmaker Mary Sannerud. It’s a nod to my Norwegian heritage, and I adore the colors and blends that the mill produces. As I progress, I’m transitioning to a more local supply while trying to maintain a fiber type that mirrors the Norwegian blend I enjoy.

The wool blends I use have a heathered coloration, giving subtlety and warmth to the work. I think these fibers make the pieces more approachable—versus stark, vibrantly contrasting color tones—and reflect the complexity and quietness of the ecosystems they represent.

7. The concept of ‘refugia’ is both ecological and deeply emotional—how do you balance scientific accuracy with emotional resonance in your work?

I lean heavily on the scientific experts who partner with me to bring the story of each piece to life. That said, there’s always a balance to strike between representing the subject accurately and capturing the emotional “feel” I want each piece to have.

Design and color choices may not always match what’s literally present in an ecosystem—but they help express an inner reality. For me, it’s about finding that “sweet spot” where imagination meets integrity.

8. What does a day in your Bigfork studio look like when you’re in the middle of a series like this?

There are three main studio "states": design and development, layout, and felting.

Design and development has become more collaborative over time, with more input from scientific and artistic partners. Layout involves building each piece—usually on the floor—with layers of wool and prefelt cut into forms. Then comes felting, when the whole studio becomes a kind of swampy zone: I add soapy water, roll the piece back and forth for hours, and shape it as it shrinks and strengthens. It’s a long, physical, and intuitive process.

9. How do you hope viewers engage with the work in Refugia—are you inviting reflection, advocacy, action, or all of the above?

All of the above. I hope people will see seasonal ponds with new eyes and appreciation, as I did. The emotional space created through art helps information become more digestible—it gives people a doorway into deeper understanding.

Maybe they learn something, maybe they feel something. Hopefully both. I want the work to leave people asking: What more is here for me? What else can I witness?

10. Looking ahead, what are you curious about next—what stories in the natural world are calling to you now?

I have a few ideas in the "hopper." In the back of my notebook, I keep a section called "The Garage" where glimmers live until I’m ready for them.

Lately, I’ve been interested in abstracting some of the core scientific terms that researchers use—creating visual responses to language that carries deep meaning. My designs have traditionally been very detailed, but I’m looking forward to loosening up, letting things breathe, and continuing to build relationships through that work too.

Looking to experience Refugia in person?

🌿 See the Work: Kristen Anderson’s Refugia series is on view May 1–June 30, 2025 at the Ely Area Community Hub, presented by the Northern Lakes Arts Association.

📍 Where:Ely Area Community Hub760 Miners Drive E, Ely, MN 55731

🖼️ What You’ll See: A collection of stunning felt tapestries by Kristen Anderson, alongside a collaborative poem by writers Loree Miltich and Susan Hawkinson—an immersive tribute to Minnesota’s seasonal ponds and the emotional power of ecological storytelling.

🔗 Learn more: northernlakesarts.org | 📞 218-235-9937

This exhibition is made possible with support from the Ely Area Community Foundation and operating support by the Arrowhead Regional Arts Council.