Brooklyn-based Resurrect Studio (Nancy Wu [left] and Jean Davis [right], Co-Founders) creates sculptures from Victorian-era NYC landfill glass that collectively narrate a tale of hope and inspiration, blending elements of the sacred and the profane. They collect glass fragments decomposing in the bay that have been tumbling for a century, and fragments are sculpted into “3D watercolors.” In our newest installment of The Conscious Creative blog series, we sat down with Nancy and Jean to learn more about their backgrounds, how they got started as sculptors, their highly unique process of sourcing materials for their joint creations, and more.
Our Discussion with Resurrect Studio Artists Jean and Nancy
Tell us a little bit about yourselves – what are your backgrounds, and how did you end up as sculptors?
N: I was an English major with a master’s in architecture, married and had 2 kids; life was idyllic until we lost our daughter Chloe to altitude sickness in 2016. Chloe was besties with Naomi, Jean’s daughter; our families continue to journey through the stages of grief. Making art helps to move me through.
J: I am an art therapist and went through undergraduate and graduate art schools. When I connected with Nancy, we started making art together to find light in so much pain. Without thinking much about what we were doing, glass sculptures simply emerged.
You create sculptures using found fragments of landfill glass – how did you get started with this particular medium?
N: We had both been oil painting. When the pandemic hit, our area of Flatbush, Brooklyn was hard hit. Painting became too solitary; amidst the limited pods we already had to assume. Parks were closed. We took a walk down to an old, overgrown decommissioned landfill and started picking up pieces because they caught our eye.
J: At first, we simply collected and, in time and with some iterations, we began making actual sculptures.
Your work seems to resonate across generations and cultures. Why do you think that is?
N: There’s a kind of collective inheritance in these pieces. Across generations and cultures, people often tell us they feel nostalgic—not because these exact objects were in their homes, but because they evoke a shared memory of grandparents’ houses and another era. There’s comfort in getting lost in both the familiar and the unfamiliar. It’s like hearing a family story so many times that you begin to feel as though you were there.
For me, color is especially transportive. My Nana kept her living room softly lit with dimmers and small lamps that created a warm, intimate glow. Peach, soft olive green, gold, amber, mauve, Irish Coffee, and Kahlúa tones all evoke comfort, quiet, and home. I remember ice pops, Fudgsicles, and Neapolitan ice cream tucked away in the icebox—always just out of reach until Nana helped. There was a giant drum of Charles Chips, slices of Entenmann’s pound cake, and the comforting smell of coffee brewing in the percolator.
The glass we work with comes from a bygone era. It carries the colors, craftsmanship, and quiet beauty of another time, allowing those memories to feel present again.
People also respond to the fact that these objects were made to last rather than to be disposable. There’s an honesty in that permanence that still resonates.
Gen X viewers often delight in the fact that we’re repurposing what others have thrown away. While we know we’re not making a significant dent in the landfill, there’s something hopeful about giving discarded objects a second life and revealing the beauty hidden within them.
How did you become sculptors? How would you describe your process?
J: Our process begins with paying attention. Nancy moves through the world with endless curiosity. She’ll stop to admire the shape of a roofline, turn around to see something from another angle, or study the stamens of a flower. She notices details that most people overlook—even if it occasionally tests the patience of whoever is walking beside her.
That attentiveness is essential to our work. We’re both observers. Collecting sea glass, for example, means understanding the tides. You can’t simply decide to go; you have to pay attention to what the water is doing. The process teaches patience, timing, and the acceptance that much of life is beyond your control.
It’s a bit like berry picking. You gather what’s ready and leave the rest. Or like a squirrel collecting only what is truly valuable. Not everything you find is worth keeping, and not every discovery becomes a finished piece.
We’re also drawn to overlooked places—landfills, forgotten landscapes, and places where discarded objects accumulate. Just beneath the surface of modern life is another world full of history and possibility.
For us, the process has always mattered more than the product. When you let go of a fixed outcome, you become open to surprise. You respond to what’s unfolding instead of trying to force it. It’s a little like working with the tide.
Making art is fundamentally a form of play. We’re good playmates, and it’s much more rewarding to play together than alone. That freedom has become one of the greatest joys of this chapter of our practice.
Nancy came to this work through realism, painting, and architecture. Moving away from those highly controlled disciplines meant letting go of certainty and embracing experimentation.
Our differences also shape the work. Nancy is drawn to lenses, refraction, movement, and constant change. Jean gravitates toward mood, stillness, and stability. Nancy embraces transformation; Jean values organization. We continually push each other into places neither of us would reach alone.
What’s your favorite, or the most rewarding part of, your creative process?
N: One of our favorite moments comes the morning after we’ve poured resin. You have to wait overnight to see the result, and it’s wonderfully suspenseful—like waiting for Jell-O to set.
By then the studio is usually covered with dozens of rejected glass fragments that didn’t make the cut. Sweeping them aside feels surprisingly satisfying because it means one chapter is finished and another can begin. Once the resin has cured, we throw open the windows, air out the studio, and enjoy that wonderful tabula rasa feeling. I may even get the vacuum out—mostly for bragging rights—to ruin Jean’s concentration.
And of course, it’s deeply rewarding when a piece finds its home. Every sale gives us the time, space, and resources to continue this wonderfully labor-intensive work.
What is it like working together on a sculpture? How do you divide up the process?
N: We’re remarkably simpatico when it comes to critiquing one another’s work, and we know that’s a rare gift. Nancy came through architecture school and Jean through art school, so we both learned how to give honest criticism without taking it personally.
Usually one of us starts a piece—or two or three at once—and eventually gets stuck. That’s when we invite the other person in. Sometimes it’s just one suggestion or moving a single piece of glass, and suddenly the whole sculpture comes alive.
When we’re creating a piece for an important exhibition, such as the Brooklyn Museum or the Corning Museum of Glass, we’re both equally invested from beginning to end. Those works become true collaborations, shaped by both of our eyes, instincts, and imaginations.
Some of your sculptures look representational and others more purely abstract. How do they take shape? Do you plan for a sculpture to resemble a lotus flower, for example?
N: Sometimes we collect with a particular idea in mind. For pieces like Universe in Utero or Lotus, we searched for curly green glass and colorful gems that suggest fresh growth. We may already have green glass in the studio, but if it’s too thick, too dark, or too weathered to evoke young leaves, it’s back to the shoreline to see what the tide has brought us.
J: Most ideas begin by looking closely at the glass itself.
N: Jean once found a long pink fragment that looked like a Barbie sofa. I immediately imagined an I Dream of Jeannie bottle, and that playful idea became a round room called Pimm’s Parlor. Another time, a smooth, weighty, clear blue fragment resembled the kneeling Virgin Mary and became the centerpiece of Incarnation, our contemporary crèche.
I probably lean a bit more toward representational work, but I love abstraction just as much.
Jean’s background as a painter is evident in her glass collages. Her paintings over the last decade, since I’ve known her, have explored every kind of mood through swarming rivers painted with her fingers and expansive fields of color that invite the eye to wander freely, almost like looking into a Magic Eye image. Your eye is never trapped. It can roam, discover, linger, and always find a place to rest. To me, that is one of the painter’s greatest acts of generosity.
That same willingness to push color relationships as far as they can go carried into our glass work and inspired what we call our “3D Watercolors.” Unlike traditional stained glass, where pieces are joined edge-to-edge in a single plane, we began layering dimensional glass bottles and fragments on top of one another. By allowing colors to overlap, new colors and unexpected relationships emerge—like a three-dimensional Venn diagram of light, color, and form. We discovered combinations that would have remained invisible if the glass had stayed separate and adjacent.
Working this way is both freeing and challenging because we respond to the shapes that already exist. We rarely cut the glass. Although we both learned traditional stained-glass techniques, working with broken historical fragments opened up entirely new possibilities. The colors blend differently, and every piece continues to change as the light shifts throughout the day.
You’re currently working with a new wellness center. Will your work become an integral part of wellness?
J: Our goals are always evolving, so what I say today may be different a few years from now.
Ironically, our original goal was to have no goal at all. We wanted to let go of expectations and simply make the work for the joy of making it, without trying to fit it into a particular category or purpose.
What we’ve discovered is that when you focus on the process rather than the destination, the work often finds its own meaning. If people experience it as healing, grounding, or restorative, that’s a wonderful gift.
N: We’re currently creating an installation for a wellness center in Queens, NY that is still under construction. We believe art and healing gardens should be part of every wellness center. Too often they are treated as extras when budgets get tight, yet they can be essential to creating spaces that truly nurture people.
Now we’ll pivot slightly: Coffee or tea?
N: Both. I’m Wasian.
J: Coffee.
To vacation: mountains or beach?
N: Both. I like biking through sun-filtered trees more than soaking up direct sun. We both love beach boogie boarding.
J: Beach. I love wide skies.
Books or movies?
N: Both. At any given time, I’m reading three books. Movies – I get teased because I prefer nature shows and documentaries.
J: Movies. Especially indie films.
Morning person or night owl?
N: Night owl.
J: Morning person.
What’s your favorite place(s) on earth?
N: As my grandfather said, “Where there is Love, even a ‘pigsty’ is a paradise. Where there is no Love, a palace is no better than hell.”
J: Home. Home as a Mirror of Self (one of my favorite books assigned at Pratt Institute, where I teach).
Explore all original sculptures by Jean and Nancy in their Resurrect Studio Artist Collection, or contact us for customized recommendations from an Art Advisor.
