Featured Artist

On a warm afternoon I set off to chat with John Paul Philippe, originally from Oklahoma, and Elvin Rodriguez from the Dominican Republic, who now live and work in Sharon, CT. Their life is entwined with land – integrating with birds, wildlife, and native plants and coexisting and respecting the place where they collaborate on their art practice.

So, John Paul, you were in the UK for 20 years after growing up in Oklahoma. Were you painting then?

JP: Yes, in England, I was painting and had gallery representation. I had to live off my art or risk being kicked out as I was on an artist visa. From the start, I worked at Wallpaper magazine, styling their sets and designing graphics in the late ’80s; it was a significant era to be part of. When raves came along, I embraced them; it felt like a second adolescence. I can’t separate how that time influenced my art or my outlook on life, but it was a pivotal and liberating moment. It gave me the confidence to take on work that paid me. When I moved back to the States, I was based in Soho, NYC, creating and designing sculptural, textile, and painting works for Barneys, West Elm, and Neiman Marcus, which I would then develop into collections for them. 

What brought you up to this area?

JP: This place was a former bird sanctuary owned by the ornithologist John McNeely. He never lived here full-time; his girlfriends wouldn’t stay. This house was his “bird blind,” as he called it. When I moved in, the house was primitive and simple. What I now use as my studio – the barn – he used as a research station and a place to assemble and store microlights. He wanted to fly with the birds, so he’d jump off that Red Rock escarpment and fly with his pet Andean condor, Vidor.

I’ve been in a microlight – they’re like lawnmowers with wings, but it’s amazing what you can see from them.

JP: Right! He used lawn mower engines that he rigged up like Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. He even mounted Betamax cameras on the wings. He believed he could be a bird, controlling the flight with his feet and cables. Most of the gliders were collapsible so that he could transport them easily. He’d take them apart, carry them up there, come back down, put Vidor in a harness, and fly, landing on that strip over there. Vidor became somewhat notorious around here.

On an earlier trip to North Carolina, while flying over a hollow near Asheville in the Appalachians, he spotted an 1830s sharecropper cabin. He disassembled the cabin, marked every log with blue chalk, loaded it onto a trailer under a tarp, and brought it back here in the ’70s. Thank God it didn’t rain! He reassembled the cabin where we are now. When he sold the property, it was a semi-private sale; where he interviewed everyone, and we each submitted private bids. I added five dollars over the asking price and had a wonderful conversation with him; it helped that I knew a lot about birds, and we connected over our shared interest. 

Inside the cabin, I love the natural spaces between the horizontal pines. I replaced the original chinking; John had only put mud in there. I oiled the logs and repaired the areas – it’s a work in progress on an old house. Initially, the ceiling extended across the entire space, and a small hatch and a ladder were located there. If you look closely at some of the logs, you can see that someone has scratched on them; the house is full of stories. Over here was a little piece of metal that somebody cut out and used to fill a hole. They painted it like a French Tricolor, and I found a hidden block where people probably hid their valuables when you didn’t have locks. they also made a split between the upper floor and this fake ceiling so they could shoot out to defend themselves!

John stayed here for eight months after the sale was completed. He was having trouble letting go, but it turned out to be great for me. I learned a great deal from him about the habitat and what he’d done to build the coverts, where birds fly from one perch to another. He also ringed trees all over the property. His focus was woodpeckers, but the dominant species here, depending on the season, is the chickadee. They’re nesting now, the first clutch is just starting to fledge and fly off, but they can have up to three clutches in a season.

When I first moved in, the land felt like an empty stage. I kept it up by mowing paths, but there weren’t any features or destinations – it was just a way to get from point A to point B. Back then, there were no garden rooms or spaces. When the architect, Edwina Von Dahl, came to visit, we were walking around, and she said, “You’ve made a path garden.”

We wander through these garden paths marked by arches made from branches, woven through with vines and grasses. Already, the area is filling up with wild clematis, beans, new gourds growing, and birds’ nests. If you pause for a moment, you’ll see nesting birds everywhere, maneuvering through their little habitats and interacting with the sculptural pieces. 

Elvin’s solar-powered water sculptures are strategically placed throughout the garden, adding a sense of calm while providing essential access for wildlife. Grasses are bound together, forming strong ties that are woven into nests for birds and animal habitats. Between objects, there’s a quiet connection as they converse with each other, attached by the birds’ invisible flight paths, which feel like drawings in space – as if the bird’s flight draws a thread or a line. A constant whirring of wings accompanies the birds as they flit from one place to another.

JP: So, when Elvin moved here, he started creating more structures that became destinations and ‘rooms,’ encouraging the wildlife into the sculptures. We edit the native species and grow vegetables. This year’s garden theme is ‘Eyes;’ we reuse everything from last year’s grasses, trees, and plants to rebuild fencing and gates, each with an eye. It is about creating something ephemeral, letting impermanence be part of the story.

I am reminded of Richard Long’s walks and Andy Goldsworthy’s sculptures, which feature thorns or icicles attached to rocks – work made in the moment, which last only as long as the elements allow. The action of making is the work.

JP: When you tie the materials together, they become something more – like the bamboo vine supports on the porch and the circular bird perches woven from vines. Elvin also designed a gate in the vegetable garden – it’s so striking that it’s worth casting in bronze someday. The oxeye daisies are waking up. Some plants thrive one year but not the next; every day is different, and you never quite know what will surprise you. 

In the studio, I mostly work upstairs, often in the morning while Elvin works on the porch. We collaborate while working separately; the aged barn cat sleeps in her box, content with no more comfort than that. In the winter, this porch becomes what we call the “white room.” Here is a current hanging piece, Partition, made with found objects, ready for an exhibition. We are creating other objects that will be part of the winter installation for BOX; they will transform into a nestBOX using larger objects for the interior.

A table is covered with multiple sorted pieces – resin, plaques, and found objects to be used in future work. The shapes repeat themselves across the table, like in one of Philippe’s paintings. There are maquettes for exterior sculptures and birdhouses throughout the building.

ER: You can create outstanding work with these objects. They are so beautiful; they glimmer in the light. I remember making all my toy cars out of sardine tins as a child, and I continue to create work with found pieces. 

This table of objects reminds me of one of your paintings. Does the object itself decide what it will become?

JP: Sometimes you know you’re probably making a gourd into something, but mostly, we’re just trying to use what’s here and what’s happening naturally. Recycling and reusing, letting the place shape the work. We went to Mexico this winter, and we’re still processing that experience and what we found. Here’s my winter studio upstairs – it’s insulated and heated with a wood stove. Mostly, I paint here, using gouache, which has a matte feel, and I always say my palette comes from frozen mud and cardboard!

Do you collaborate on pieces, or do you each have a separate practice?

JP: Collaboration is interesting to talk about – we started working together during COVID. I often work on burlap or hessian, which I love as a surface. I used to be very meticulous with it, making sure the edges were clean and everything was precise. But Elvin has a much rougher, freer approach. I’d draw a shape, then leave room and ask him to cut it out. When I came back, it would always be slightly different from what I’d imagined – sometimes better. I prefer not to be there while he’s working on his part. We work independently, and that space gives us freedom.

It’s like working blind, but in the best way. A lot of trust is involved. It became a means of communication, not through conversation, but through the work itself. That back-and-forth, that letting go, really shifted how I think about making. You must consider someone else’s aesthetic. It’s been a life lesson for me, as I was quite solitary about my work. Elvin and I are so different, but we made it happen. Also, I am holding onto things for too long, not letting go. I’m fine with the accessioning; I want to clear out all objects except those with sentimental value or those that are too good to use.

ER: We are constantly reusing, recycling, and rebuilding objects with plant materials, bringing the outside in. 

We wander through the garden, passing orange candelabra lilies that are putting on a spectacular show for butterflies and pollinators, the bee balm quietly awaits its turn. 

JP: With the future show, birdBOX, I want to provide people with a narrative that bridges the gap between place and work; guests can walk around the property, see the habitats, and view the outdoor pieces. Here is a dogbane that has a robust fiber in the central stalk, so we’re actively cultivating it for weaving. It is tucked in among the sedges, vines, and goldenrod, which can be a garden thug and must be kept in check, to achieve more diversity. This large grass structure was built four years ago by Elvin, and thatch is added annually. Various animals often inhabit it; as the seasons change, different species move in and out, taking up residence. Sometimes, a possum lives here. 

ER: This is probably the last year, as the wood is beginning to get soft; she’s tilting a little bit. I want to leave it as it is for another season as the animals’ love coming here. 

Little gourd plants are climbing up with last year’s gourds already housing new life. Sage, peas, and vines climb over the structures made by Elvin using found wood and materials, some engraved with the markings of insects on dead ash branches. Everything is intertwined here, allowing impermanence to flourish. A giant sugar maple holds court, a hanging piece made with intertwining circles from vines gently moves in the wind, almost speaking as the pieces drift. Some disappear and then reappear, as if they are floating.

JP: This building was where the Andean condor Vidor lived; it was an aviary. We retained the framework and covered it with pine siding following the roofline, formalizing the space with gravel surrounding; this is our first presentation for the pineBOX. The building is bordered by an over three foot tall withy hedge made from intertwined fallen branches. This natural barrier weaves through the trees, forming a sculptural habitat that prevents burning debris and encourages composting of undergrowth and invasive plants. This was going to be a place to store all of my paintings and to have paint racks. Midway through we were standing here on the slab, the walls were up. I was not originally going to put a window in, but the builders said “but you’re going to lose your best view.” So this window went in. It changed the whole purpose of the space. This soft light entered, and it became a place to share work. The current show named oddBOX includes Philip Taffe, Gretchen Carlson, and Janice Provisor. Each show is themed. We are trying to move beyond the conventional gallery paradigm; we don’t say that we have openings. You will not receive an artist statement from us. It is a sharing place – you need to visit to understand. 

The tangible smell of pine emanating from the walls hits you as you enter the space. The walls are adorned by local artists. It is both an intimate and generous space, a box within a box. 

JP: When the new work for the next show birdBOX is complete, a map of the garden will be made so that visitors can view the ‘rooms’ as they walk from one sculpture to the next, including a giant bird’s nest by Elvin about 20 feet in diameter. Especially with all of Elvin’s bird habitats, the space looks different every month. 

Another hanging piece, holding oyster and clam shells, twinkles in the wind, telling a further narrative. This place still feels like a sanctuary, lived in with a soft touch. The artists seem to cohabit with the place, respecting everything that is always there before us. We are just passing through; our time is transitory. Visit JP and Elvin at White Hollow Box to see how to truly live in place, leaving no footprint, and to create work that stands in harmony with what nature has already made. •

For further information or to see White Hollow Box, email info@whitehollowbox.com, johnpaulphilippestudio@gmail.com, or elvinceballo94@gmail.com. Visit their website whitehollowbox.com, or their respective Instagram accounts: @johnpaulphilippe , @elvin1rodriguez, @white_hollow_BOX. Gallery representation: Cristina Grajalas Gallery, NYC, cristinagrajales.com. Barry Whistler Gallery, Dallas, barrywhistlergallery.com.