Monika Plioplyte Interview & Collaboration with Magazine TM
Continue reading below to find the YouTube video, a separate full interview Q/A, and images throughout and at the bottom.
Monika Plioplyte Interview with Magazine TM
July, 2025
Hi, I’m Monika Plioplyte and I use she/her pronouns. I was born in Lithuania and moved to the U.S. with my immediate family in my early teens. I studied printmaking at Massachusetts College of Art and Design in Boston, and later earned my MFA from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago. My work brings together printed and cut paper, photos, and other handmade materials to create layered narrative collages that explore memory, language, and the in-between spaces shaped by my immigrant experience. A lot of my inspiration comes from Lithuanian Baltic Pagan folklore art and myths - traditions deeply rooted in nature and the idea of reflecting on the past to better understand the future. I love exploring these ideas through printmaking, drawing, collage, and paper-based installations and sometimes even photo or video. I have often worked out of home studios and these days I’m based in Little Village, Chicago, where my studio space is located inside a 100-year-old former dive bar.
Is there a specific gesture, folktale, or myth from your childhood that has stuck with you and that you've used in specific works?
I don’t usually reference specific folktales or myths in a literal way in my work. It’s more about the feeling or atmosphere they give me that I’m drawn to. I like creating my own world and my own myths, interpreting those ideas through my own lens. That said, there are definitely a few folktales that I keep coming back to. They tend to be pretty heavy, often sad or violent, but they always touch on complicated human relationships, society, and often have strong elements of nature woven in.
How did you approach making the monotypes at the Vermont Studio Center (VSC) shown at the Glass Curtain gallery? Specifically in terms of pre-print sketches, ideation of form and meaning, process development, color mixing, execution etc.
At VSC, I wanted to challenge myself by working on a smaller standard 22”x30” paper which I hadn’t done in a while. With that scale in mind, I started thinking about what it would look like to zoom into a textile, to unravel its textures and layers. That idea became the starting point for this series of abstract monotypes. I don’t usually do pre-sketching before printing. I go in with a loose idea of what I’m after, but I like responding in the moment, improvising and reacting to each layer as it comes together. My process of printing was intentionally quick, printing layer after layer and making decisions as I pulled each print. I think that kind of speed of printing made them look very fresh and not overworked or overanalyzed. To build up the prints, I started by cutting out different symbols inspired by Lithuanian weaving patterns from whatever material I had around, brown paper in my case. A lot of people use better stuff like mylar for stenciling, but I actually prefer using whatever’s on hand. The brown paper would fall apart after a few pulls, and that was totally fine because I’d just cut more. That constant change keeps the whole process alive, like a drawing or a painting that keeps evolving. Color mixing is one of my favorite parts of printmaking. I love working with color, especially thinking about how transparent layers can build up to create new shades. It feels a bit like predicting and mixing light. I’m often referencing the kinds of colors found in Lithuanian weavings from the 18th, and 19th centuries. They were vibrant, but also had this darker, earthier quality to them. I like tapping into that older palette because it feels rooted, emotional, and layered, just like the stories behind the patterns. The final monotypes in the show were presented as a series of nonlinear abstractions that mirror the fluidity of language and interpretation in folkloric storytelling. I hope that viewers see them as parts of a whole, almost like pieces in a visual puzzle of interconnected meanings.
In the COMP Magazine interview, you mentioned that you're glad you took a class taught by Werner Herterich at SAIC especially since it "freed you from all sorts of mental restraints" what were those mental restraints?
Werner Herterich’s performance class was called Materials in a State of Change. The whole idea was to choose any material and interact with it in a way that completely transformed it through performance. At the time, I was working a lot with ceramic objects, so they naturally became the material I performed with, whether that meant binding myself to them, rolling them across my body, or using them to draw in space. When I said the class “freed me from all sorts of mental restraints,” I meant that it helped me break out of the mindset that my work had to exist in a fixed form - like a two-dimensional print or a sculptural object. It made me realize that my work could live beyond those boundaries. That shift opened up a more fluid, open-ended way of thinking that I still carry with me.
In the I for Nested Pattern series and also in Not One but Half of Two, can you explain your process for taking these self-portraits at these different locations?
In both the I for Nested Pattern series and Not One but Half of Two, that same kind of thinking really shaped how I approached the photo based performances. Around then, I was making these paper collages based on traditional Lithuanian weaving patterns, these paper textiles would usually hang on a wall. But I started thinking about how textiles have always had a function in daily life - clothing, blankets, things that hold and protect us. So I wanted to see what would happen if I treated them more like living materials. Could I interact with them, wear them, use them in a way that brought them to life?
In the I for Nested Pattern series, I began taking self-portraits in landscapes that reminded me of Lithuania flat, open spaces that I found in the Midwest, where I now live. Eventually, I got the chance to continue the work back in Lithuania. As the work evolved over the years, my perspective on it also deepened, allowing me to see it in new ways. I wasn’t just longing for a place or a past, I was also exploring the connections between traditional Lithuanian weaving patterns, patterns found in nature, and the universal language embedded in our DNA. This is why I named the body of work Nested Pattern, a term that signifies a pattern within a pattern. Through this interplay, I aim to create a bridge between past and present, self and collective. This body of work remains ongoing for two main reasons. First, capturing a single photograph that aligns perfectly with the landscape is a time intensive process. There are consistent barriers whether it's logistical like lugging materials or dealing with unpredictable weather. Second, I find immense enjoyment in its evolution, experimenting with new paper collages for each image and expanding my locations to include urban landscapes as well.
Did the vision end up like the final result or was there also discovery happening along the way?
The process feels very intuitive, and while the final images sometimes surprise me, they always feel honest. I think the discovery along the way was just as important as whatever vision I had starting out.
What were the logistics like for making these pieces?
The logistics are insane. That’s why I’ve taken a break from working on this project. It’s just a lot to manage. Like, let’s say I plan to take one photo: I end up packing two or three different paper collages, usually in different colors, and then we drive out to the middle of nowhere looking for the right spot. We’ll stop at five to ten different locations, doing test shots, hoping the weather plays along, which it usually doesn’t. Even when I find a flat field, the wind is nonstop. I’ve had to just stand there waiting for the gusts to calm down long enough to grab one decent photo. I’m always trying to get a clean horizon with no trees or overgrowth, which sounds simple but is surprisingly hard to find. Sometimes I’m like, “Okay, this collage doesn’t work here,” so I try another one, and then that one rips in the wind. It’s a lot of trial and error. Oh, and then there’s the part where I’m naked in a field, hoping no truckers drive by! So yeah, it’s not always the most secure or relaxing process. I started the whole thing during COVID, actually. I had this dream during lockdown, like a vision of myself standing in a field wearing this work and I just knew I had to try and make it real. That’s when it all began.
If you could spend a day in any artist's studio, living, or dead, whose would it be and why?
So many names come to mind, but if I had to choose just one, it would be Louise Bourgeois. She’s had a huge influence on me. I’d love to spend a day just listening to her brilliant mind at work, watching her in action, taking in the atmosphere of what her studio looked and smelled like. I sometimes sneak little nods to her into my own work… sometimes secretly, sometimes not so secretly. It’s definitely one of those “if you know, you know” things.
How do you see your work in relation to other artists making work about migration or cultural memory?
I think everyone’s migration story is really personal and complex. No one leaves their homeland without a serious reason whether it’s political, economic, or something else. That kind of move is rarely simple, and often comes with a lot of emotional weight and trauma. I think it’s natural to look for ways to stay connected to the place that shaped you, while also figuring out how to exist in this “in-between” space, where you often feel like you don’t fully belong here or there.
In my work, I’m offering my own perspective on these themes because I feel a strong connection to my ancestors and where I come from. I’m interested in what it feels like to carry multiple places with you at once, to hold onto cultural memory, retell family stories, and reimagine ancestral myths through my own lens. Through pattern, material, and personal symbolism, I try to explore what it means to remember, to long for something, and to create a sense of home in the in-between.
When you were let's say 10, which pattern or color did you love - and does it still show up in your work somehow?
Red was probably my least favorite color when growing up. But now, it’s one of my favorite colors to use in my work, maybe because it feels bold, emotional, and grounded. I think our relationship to color can shift over time, and red has definitely found its way back into my world in a much deeper and more intentional way.
Which material from Lithuania would you work with that you can't find easily in Chicago?
One material that comes to mind is amber, specifically Baltic amber, since that region has some of the largest deposits in the world. It’s ancient, formed millions of years ago during the Eocene period, which is wild to think about. But honestly, no matter where I am, I feel like the materials I’m really working with are already inside me.
To close, where can people find your work, what have you been working on, and what would you like to invite them to check out.
I recently received a DCASE Individual Artist Grant, which I’m super grateful for. With that support, I’m finally diving into a body of work that’s been on my mind for over three years. It’s called Neighborhood Giants, and this series will be large-scale photo and paper collage works that bring together images of Soviet-era architecture from Šilainiai - the microdistrict in Lithuania where I grew up, with layered monoprints inspired by traditional Lithuanian weaving. I’m really interested in how those rigid, imposing buildings carry painful personal and cultural memories and how partially blocking them by overlaying delicate, patterned layers can reflect that tension between history, identity, and place. It’s not about erasing any part of history. It's more about reframing it, taking ownership, and acknowledging the more intimate stories that exist alongside the dominant narratives. Right now there’s a lot in motion, the studio is full of ideas and everything’s very much in progress. I’m riding the wave and staying open to where the work wants to go.
Installation photographs of Monika Plioplyte’s show You Are a Circle Expanded, 2024-25 at Glass Curtain Gallery, Chicago.
Woodcuts and monotype collaboration between Monika Plioplyte & Magazine TM at Free Range in Albany Park, Chicago.
