BIO
I grew up in New York state, swimming daily in a creek that I later discovered borders on two Superfund sites. Heavy metals had been flowing into that waterway for years and I believe lead to the multiple autoimmune diseases I live with today, including rheumatoid arthritis.

For much of my career, my pursuit of art and my practice took place in materials. Leaving Hartford Art School after two years, I spent a majority of time working custom murals and small paintings. In the late 90’s I became a graphic designer and worked in that field in Manhattan until 9/11. By February of 2002 I had moved, not only out of the city, but out of state. I came to Cape Cod, because there was a gallery that was already showing my small paintings here, and I never left. I’m an active member of the Provincetown gallery and museum culture as well as land and animal conservation and a wide variety of the earth sciences through friendships and proximity to the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institute and the Provincetown Center for Coastal Studies.

In 2018 I began creating large scale installations from salvaged commercial fishing gear with resources from the Marine Debris and Plastics Program at the Center for Coastal Studies. In Man, Materials and our Lasting Legacy in the Sea (2022), I created a life size Atlantic Right Whale ribcage from the material most famous for causing entanglement deaths, 6,000 feet of lobster ropes. The piece was commissioned by the Heritage Museum and Gardens in Sandwich, MA and stayed on the grounds for the summer season. The following year I made The Birth of Commodity (2023), an allegory for resource exploitation, a recurrent theme I have witnessed first-hand since swimming in that toxic water. 

My work has been shown widely, including group and solo gallery exhibitions in Santa Monica 2004, New York from 2005-present, Atlanta 2008, Boston 2018-present, and Provincetown/Cape Cod annually since 2002. In 2019, the Provincetown Art Association and Museum acquired a work of mine for its permanent collection. 

Residencies are where the work gets done. The residency with Twenty Summers taught me that I can install a full barn size work of art complete with fresh cut vegetation, document it with light and sound, give a talk, and uninstall within 48 hours. The Peaked Hill Trust’s Arts and Sciences Program dune shack residency became a meditation on the darkness and artificial light with an enormous handmade moth. The Great Boston Harbor Islands Cleanup Field Work Residency turned the white sacks that volunteers filled, with hundreds of pounds of debris each, into a portrait documentary project.

I began collaborating with scientists during some of these residencies, which fundamentally changed the direction of my work.  My time with ecologists, geologists, and marine biologists was spent learning about their field work. I began to understand that scientific data is itself a form of elegy. The numbers, core samples, population counts, the contamination levels- all of it is a record of what has existed and what is disappearing. I wanted to find a way to make that record audible, to move the data out of the spreadsheet and into the body of the listener. The presentation of information through a different form of the senses creates a deeper understanding of the subject; and to me, understanding leads to empathy.

In late 2025, I began developing Field Notes: A Requiem, an ongoing series that translates scientific and environmental data into immersive sound and time-based media. Each work in the series examines a natural system in decline (such as fireflies and their visual form of communication) and renders it audible, creating a record of what is still here. The shift toward time-based work also reflects the realities of my own body as my arthritis progresses. Sonification is a way of continuing to make challenging, research-driven work that is less physically demanding for me.

Curator C. Sean Horton wrote a preview of Lit from Within, which is the first finished Field Notes piece, for the Provincetown Independent stating “a requiem is traditionally composed after a loss; Stone’s project begins earlier, documenting living systems while they still endure.” Field Notes: A Requiem is not an elegy for what is already gone. It’s a future record for what is still here, as of today. Horton also observed that the work “shifts her role from maker to listener; rather than inventing a visual language, she uncovers one already present in the landscape, building a framework that allows fireflies to become collaborators rather than subjects.”

Using custom code I’ve written for MATLAB (a programming language and interactive computing platform), I have been translating data into MIDI files (a digital music file that stores instructions for music, but no sound). The next step is to assign the MIDI file the sounds to be played back, via a digital audio workspace. The result is experimental sound works born from our planet’s information. 

Attention paid to the earth, and collaboration with scientists, is amplified here. The sewn surfaces and painted animals of my earlier practice is giving way to custom sound and projected light (although I couldn’t resist hand sewing a recycled linen flag to ‘fly’ for my first screening, a practice I plan to continue for future projects). My practice continues to ask, “How do I bear witness to what is disappearing and manage my own grief of it all?” I will continue to record it and hope that others will feel it in their bodies.