Sarah Ryder is somewhere between a painter and a sculptor, loving the colours and liquidity of paint but also the physicality of a variety of materials. Experimentation of process is vital to Ryders's practice, as, it seems, is her rare ability to commit to a finished piece.
Her works have varying speeds of entropic timelines, with particular points of their existence publically showing themselves in various altered states. There’s often a proud vulnerability in these moments as works reveal their aging cracks, tears, creases and cuts. Ryder’s work is a lot to do with the messy complications, and joy, of being fleetingly alive as much as it is to do with the mysteries of death and using the process of making to somehow connect way back to the language of our primal expressions.
Her practice has been long influenced by the 1960's Italian movement Arte Povera for it's liberating use of materials and processes away from the conditioned restraints of traditional art; the Japanese notion of Wabi Sabi which acknowledges enigmatic beauty in the unfinished, imperfection, and impermanence; and her absolute belief in the importance of the freedom of learning through play.
Much of her resource material is taken from the radius which regularly surrounds her, often making drawings, photographs or notes of typically human made/built things – with human touched and weather aged patina all over it, but no humans in sight. Not much of the natural world either. It used to be the sea which inspired her work, due to it's ability to put everything into perspective, but now she's a lot older, somehow looking at all these places and objects which have been touched and gradually changed by so many people (and days) feels even more moving than the sea. For now at least.