Evan Rosenberg is an American artist based in Brooklyn, New York. Originally from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, he earned his undergraduate degree in Chemistry from Washington & Jefferson College, where he also discovered his passion for the arts through studio classes in drawing and painting. His artistic practice, which integrates silk as a medium, emerged from his scientific research at a biotech startup focused on using silk to stabilize biologics. Fascinated by silk's potential as an artistic material, Rosenberg began exploring its properties, challenges, and creative possibilities by weaving it into three-dimensional forms. His fiber art is crafted from silk sourced directly from silkworm cocoons. The process begins with unraveling the silk from the cocoon, which he then dyes in small bundles. Each piece is meticulously created by individually stringing the dyed silk into intricate, three-dimensional structures. This labor-intensive process is grounded in themes of meditation, acceptance, and impermanence. Rosenberg's work is not only an exploration of material but also an engagement with the idea of time and change. While the fibers are inherently strong, the longevity of silk remains uncertain—it may last for 15 years or even over a century. This uncertainty is intentional, as Rosenberg's art invites viewers to reflect on the universal experiences of decay, mortality, and transformation. Just as his work will eventually evolve, so too will our own lives and bodies. Rosenberg's work is often organized into distinct series, each reflecting a particular thematic exploration: Perspective Series: This series invites viewers to engage with the artwork from various angles, highlighting the importance of examining life through multiple perspectives. The dynamic interaction encourages reflection on how diverse viewpoints can enrich our understanding of concepts and experiences. Grounding Series: Emerging during the COVID-19 pandemic, the Grounding Series represents the

Note: There is a possibility, over time, that random silk strands can break in the artworks. I have yet to have a piece of silk break without some form of disruption, but it is the thickness of hair, and although it is an incredibly strong, natural material, I cannot guarantee that it holds forever (as much as I wish I could). This is apart of the meaning behind the work. As I create the works, I meditate on and face this fear. I work through finding acceptance in what is and what is to come. As the viewer/owner, you have the privilege of watching if/how the piece changes. Will it? and when it does, will you find acceptance in its new form? We all age, decay, and eventually die, and I expect my pieces to be vulnerable to change, leaving behind a stringy corpse like my Impermanence or Acceptance sub-series.