Welcome to the world of the Baku! How do you do and all of that pleasantry! Please explore imagine and watch a few things the prof. has put together for you to enjoy. and a raku to you as well!
A quick statement from the baku
Baku and the Dreamtime – Artist Statement (as told by the Baku)
Greetings. We are the Baku. You may not see us yet, but trust us, we are always watching. Tossing, turning, muttering under your pillow? That’s our dinner bell. Welcome to our Wondershow.
Our human friend Prof. Vandegraeff began his misadventures in clay back in the year twenty ott six under a giant human named Richard Brandt, who insisted that clay had a personality, fire had a sense of humor, and Raku was basically organized chaos with style. By year twenty ten, Aaron had made enough strange shapes to fill a gallery, shapes that whispered and laughed when no one was looking. That’s when we noticed him. He gets us.
Kurt Van Vlack came along, a mentor who basically said, “Yes. Make it wild. Make it ridiculous. Make it sing.” That’s when Aaron’s creatures became playful, colorful, judgmental, and mischievous. And then, during a conversation with fellow ceramicist Sally Wu, someone finally put a name to one of those clay weirdos: the Baku—official nightmare-eaters. We did not bother with autographs.
In January twenty twenty, Aaron packed up his imagination and headed to a convent in Indiana, joining the Poor Handmaids of Jesus Christ for a residency that was part studio, part monastery, part,part circus, and part very peculiar dream. He lived among nuns, cooked with them, drank beers with them, played old country 8-track music with them, gave the prayer at Ash Wednesday Mass, cheered on the basketball teams at Ancilla College (now Marion University), and somehow learned German while simultaneously teaching clay classes and mentoring a student through her very first portfolio.
While living in this magical, ordered chaos, Aaron produced over fifty sculptures large, medium, and small, a swarm of paintings across sizes and styles, graphic designs, photography, cartoon story animations, potata comic memes, more than twenty haiku, a couple of odes, and a long-form short story in rhyme. The nuns themselves helped name many of the Baku, each with their own origin story, which now live in the printed Baku Field Guide alongside illustrations, typefaces, and annotations that record every bit of mischief. These creations, along with his mentorship, were celebrated in two published articles—one on the residency itself and another detailing the student’s portfolio journey.
The Baku, naturally, were never far from it all. They watched as clay morphed into creatures, poems became recipes for mischief, and sketches and comics danced across the page. They snacked on nightmares, yes, but they also chewed on existential dread, paperwork, the occasional errant haiku, and the energy of a human fully immersed in chaotic creation. By night, they wandered the corridors, between here and then, between nap and panic, delighting in the small and large terrors of mortal minds. By day, they hid quietly, pretending to be nothing more than oddly shaped clay or a whisper of paint on a canvas.
Every activity, beer, eight track song, quiet German lesson, basketball cheer, haiku, ode, rhyme, and every Baku named by a nun became a thread in this tapestry of supernatural absurdity. In this world, nightmares had a schedule, imagination had a gravity, and community—clay-smeared, coffee-stained, laughter-filled—was the gravity that held it all together.
And so, Aaron’s residency became more than a studio. It became a living mythology, a world where nightmares meet whimsy, clay meets folklore, poetry meets mischief, and humans are gently reminded that their fears—however absurd—are always welcome to a midnight snack. We are here. We are odd. We are spectacular. And maybe tonight, while you sleep, we’ll pop by to taste the chaos you didn’t know you created. Don’t worry. It’s purely professional.
—The Baku
The originals — where it all started.
The proto Baku were realized before they even had a proper name. It was like walking through town and someone shouting, “Hey! You! and you turning around because… well… it might be you. They appeared in clay the way certain ideas appear in the mind — half-formed, slightly demanding, impossible to fully ignore. A primordial roll call- Something was calling out, but it hadn’t quite figured out how to introduce itself yet.
AAron was not quite clear if they were creatures, ideas, or just the byproduct of too much kiln smoke and not enough sleep. They hovered somewhere between “happy accident” and “recurring vision.” He’d try to ignore them. he’d busy himself with other forms. And then there they were again. Watching. Waiting. Slightly amused.
Eventually, the Baku refused to be unnamed. They insisted. Not aggressively. Just persistently. Like a cat sitting on his chest at 3 a.m. until he acknowledged its existence.”
These small Raku sculptures are the ancestors of the Baku you see today. Quick-fired, slightly feral around the edges. They were experiments, yes — but experiments with opinions that simply refused to behave like experiments. They were the first evidence that something was trying to become itself — and would continue doing so until properly acknowledged even if Sally Wu had to shout it in AAron’s ear.
Over time, they settled into their role as playful beings ready to feast on whatever nonsense is rattling around in your head at night. Bad dreams. Overthinking. That one awkward thing that was said in two thousand and nine. They’ll take it. They’re not picky.
The residency at Moontree
from clay to sculpture
the exhibition at Moontree studios
THE CERAMICS
The Exhibition Paintings
the O hoo photo drama
o hoo: A Photodrama (Narrated with Appropriate Academic Authority and Mild Absurdity)
Ladies and gentlemen, scholars of myth, kiln enthusiasts, and accidental bystanders—
Allow me to introduce O hoo.
O hoo is a baku. Not your everyday, run-of-the-mill dream-eating baku. No, no. This one is primarily owl—face of a horned owl, stern and contemplative—but supported by the dependable legs of an ox. Because if you’re going to guard dreams, you’ll need wisdom and good posture.
Its wings masquerade as the noble horned feathers of a great owl, but beneath that feathery diplomacy lies a hybrid being stitched together from the animal kingdom like a polite mythological patchwork quilt.
This creature began, as most great beings do, as a pile of clay and audacity.What you are witnessing now is not merely ceramics—it is transformation. Frame by frame, the sculpture is placed into the kiln. Into the fiery bureaucratic office of destiny.
The door closes. Heat does what heat does best. Clay contemplates its life choices.
We see Owlie in its raw state—earthy, vulnerable, full of potential. Then comes glaze: the cosmetic confidence of the ceramic world. A second firing. More fire. More existential reckoning.
And then— The kiln opens.
O hoo emerges, no longer folklore. Fired. Glossed & definitely mythological.But wait.
The story does not end with sculpture. Because what is a myth without reinterpretation?
Enter Sister Mary.
Where once there was ceramic stillness, there is now monumental papier-mâché magnificence. A gigantic mask. A full costume. Think otherworldly creature meets parade float meets sacred dream guardian. Owlie is no longer just an object. Owlie has knees. Owlie has presence. Owlie could absolutely attend a symposium.
And behind the camera? Sister Mary again—documenting every frame with patient precision. Artist and archivist. Creator and chronicler.
The final scene:
Aaron Van de Graeff—now assuming the dignified and mildly suspicious role of “The Professor”—stands pointing toward Owlie, as if to say:
“Yes. I warned you this would happen.”
In that gesture lies the entire myth: creation, reinterpretation, collaboration, and the gentle absurdity of taking imagination very, very seriously.
This photodrama—shot by Sister Mary, post-produced and edited as a surprise—is not just documentation. It is alchemy. Clay becomes creature. Sculpture becomes costume. Artist becomes professor. And myth becomes something you can stand next to and point at confidently.
And if your dreams feel slightly rearranged tonight…
You know who to thank.
Community and Volunteerism
contemplation and prayer
Spirituality, contemplation, faith, prayer—these are not abstract ideas at PHJC, but living practices. They form the rhythm of a worship life that nurtures wellbeing and positivity, no matter who you are, where you come from, or how you worship. For the Sisters, it is deeply important that people feel invited, always welcomed—into moments of surrender and personal reflection. They believe these practices are gifts meant for anyone, and all are encouraged to participate in the special spirituality that has been fostered by the ministry at Moontree Studios.
For me, worshiping alongside the Sisters was a profound personal experience. There is something grounding about entering into a shared rhythm of prayer. An even greater honor came when I was asked to offer the “Prayer of the Congregation” during the Ash Wednesday Mass. Standing before the student body and the lay community gathered that day, I felt both humbled and deeply grateful—to lend my voice, however briefly, to a tradition rooted in reflection, renewal, and hope.
mentorship
When I arrived at Moontree Studios, I was handed one of the best assignments an artist can receive: mentor a young creative standing at the edge of art school. Dani Jo was already a force in music — confident, talented, and disciplined — but when it came to sculpting in clay and developing her two-dimensional work, she was still looking for direction (as most of us are at that stage… and occasionally long after).
We rolled up our sleeves and got to work. We met almost every day in the studio — shaping clay, refining drawings, rearranging compositions. In addition to our daily studio time, we held weekly critique sessions where we carefully examined the work she had prepared in the days prior. Those meetings became essential moments to reflect, adjust course, and sharpen both vision and discipline. They were equal parts thoughtful analysis and gentle reality check (the kind every artist needs).
The goal was clear: build a cohesive portfolio that felt intentional, and unmistakably hers. By the end of the apprenticeship, she had a curated, fully prepared portfolio ready to submit with her application to the Music and Fine Arts school she had chosen. No frantic midnight sessions,— just solid work and confidence.
She was accepted, went on to earn a Fine Arts degree with an emphasis in Music, and now teaches in Indiana. The student became the teacher — proof that when you invest in "steady time", something lasting takes form.
Social Responsiblity and Environmental Stewardship
In addition to the spiritual and creative dimensions of my residency, Moontree was founded not only to cultivate the spiritually creative life, but to reinforce that the environment itself is inseparable from that message. Place matters and the Sisters understand that tending the earth and tending the soul are not separate assignments.
Beyond nurturing souls, the Sisters at PHJC are deeply involved in environmental and social stewardship — two things that, more often than not, are more connected than people realize. From beef farming to growing greens for the convent dinner table, from land management to active social work, they are hands-on participants in promoting a lived stewardship of values.
During my stay, I also had the opportunity to participate in a social awareness campaign designed by Sister Mary using infographics that promoted community over corporation. Also during my stay there was close to one hundred pounds of litter collected from the busy county roads and the publicly accessed trail system surrounding Lake Gilbraith. Nothing bonds people quite like hauling soggy fast-food bags out of a ditch.
One of the highlights of the campus is its commitment to energy independence. With a state-of-the-art solar array, wind turbines, and a host of electric vehicles the campus is actively working toward a system that accommodates most of its energy needs — a quiet but powerful statement about responsibility.
I also had the honor of learning about the local watershed and the council elected to monitor, report on, and remedy environmental stress within the system. It became an opportunity for fellowship among responsible outdoors people who share a stake in protecting access to clean water. We traded hunting and fishing stories and later enjoyed a memorable game dinner at the Moontree Lodge. Stewardship tastes even better when it’s shared over a good meal.
Moontree Studio’s investment in the watershed extended beyond conversation. A restored prairie is another vital facet of the campus. Sister Mary and the ecological team have rehabilitated a significant portion of degraded prairie land — a biome often overlooked, yet essential to the health and restorative balance of a natural system. The restored prairie plays a crucial role in filtering excess agricultural nutrients before they reach the streams that feed Lake Gilbraith, which in turn supports other regional water systems.
In the end, it became clear that at Moontree, spirituality, creativity, ecology, land, and community are not separate threads they are woven together!
THE BLESSING OF THE EXHIBITION
I met Father Michael on the first day of my residency — which, in fact, was also his first day as the new priest for the congregation at the convent. It was quite remarkable how we first met.
Both he and I were in Chicago awaiting the train to South Bend Airport. While I was studying the train map to confirm my own travels, he asked which train was going to South Bend. I gave a quick bit of instruction, and off he went — as did I.
Upon arriving at the convent in Plymouth, I was introduced to the new priest for the congregation… and of course, we had already met by coincidence. His response was timeless: “Oh, you again.”
It truly is bizarre how paths cross.
I was surprised and humbled when he later showed up at the gallery, invited by Matthew Celmer, Director at Moontree Studios, to bless my exhibition. What a treat to have someone like Matthew thinking of you in that way. Father Michael offered a blessing, took time to look at the work, congratulated me, and said, “I’ll see you at Holy Mass.”
Artist Talk
In February, a celebration was held for the artists, staff, faculty, and students connected to the Moontree Studios arts experiences. It was a lively affair—more creative boots and no tuxedos—where I had the chance to give an artist talk marking a major production milestone for The Baku.
The ceramic component of my residency had wrapped up just two days prior, and there was a bit of anticipation in the air. Kiln openings tend to feel like Christmas morning for grown-ups who play with mud. Thankfully, the results did not disappoint.
Though it was an intimate gathering, the conversation was anything but small. There’s always plenty happening in the art universe—but this time, the conversation included the Baku. It was one of several opportunities I had to share the story of how I stumbled onto these ideas—ideas that, somewhere along the way, decided they wanted form, and a personality of their own.
the twelfth Night demonstraton
During the Twelfth Night celebration, I was invited to offer a clay demonstration for the gathered public and fellow artists who had come to mark the occasion. The day was full of festivity—January chill outside, creative warmth inside. Between the clay and the celebration, I got a crash course in fiber weaving, spinning, and handmade yarn—plus the kind of conversation that makes you forget it’s January.
My clay demonstration was prepared rather —on the fly. With a simple paper template, I created a cut-out pattern that could be traced, cut from clay slab, and assembled with ease with clay slip. The project was titled “Sister Mary’s Little Box for Mysteries,” which felt appropriate for Twelfth Night—a season already rich with wonder.
The boxes came together beautifully. Before long, tables were filled with small clay containers ready to hold secrets, prayers, curiosities, or perhaps a spare piece of candy. The project was warmly received, and it was a joy to see so many “mysteries” safely boxed by the end of the day.
Lifelong adult LEARNING
during my time at Moontree studios I had the privilege of teaching in several venues — one of my favorites being the Maria Center, an assisted living community whose residents are connected in various ways to the Spiritual Family of Saint Katharina.
we gathered for a clay class where participants created small boxes to hold their many mysteries.
It was a joy to work in that setting. The class was beautifully supported by the staff at Moontree Studios, a ministry of the Poor Handmaids of Jesus Christ, along with my ever-capable assistant and intern from anciclla college. Together, we shaped clay, shared stories, and made containers not just for objects, but for wonder.
Wow. So much art you almost can’t take it in. Is that even possible? Apparently, yes. Hahaha.
But part of a well-rounded life isn’t just making art — it’s having a little fun while you’re at it. Every day brought a new adventure, a fresh excuse for laughter, and more than a few moments of lighthearted goofiness. And that’s exactly how it unfolded.
This residency was stitched together with small, golden moments: long conversations over meals with the Sisters, attempts at learning another language, stepping back in time to spin eight-track tapes and vinyl records — yes, even adjusting the speed on the phonograph like a proper time traveler. There were outings to Notre Dame, lunches with students, a museum or two for good measure, and cheering on Ancilla’s basketball team as they played their hearts out, even some fun with Sister Pat and Mary Jo when they dressed me as a bishop.
Balance was never just a suggestion at the convent — it was a quiet rhythm in the background of daily life. You have to be out in the world to appreciate it. You have to love it to help heal it. That was the silent refrain I heard again and again.
fun with nuns!
the graphic arts
As a multidisiclined artist creativity show no bounds. Added to this exhibition was a graphic component that celebrated a "vertically" integrated presentation including info graphics, typography,
As a side project the suggestion of illusion was made concerning how the baku might hide during the daylight hours and as an artist this thought offered an opportunity to depict what a 3d creature would look like in a 2D environment
