Monica Lynn Manoski: Leah, you are prolific, and seeing so much of your work in one place is such a treat. Your work is informed by the study of physics, geology, anatomy, and paradox. Two paradoxes, in particular, shape your thinking. Can you tell us about them?

Leah Piepgras: The coastline paradox says that all space and objects are infinite. For example, if you measure the perimeter of Lake Cochichewick with a yardstick, you'd come up with one measurement, but if you use millimeters or smaller units and measure the exact water line, it would be impossible–it would be infinite. I started thinking about measuring the body that way, and we become infinite as well.

The heap paradox considers when something becomes what it is. I love applying that to our physical existence and our human thinking. At what point are you sick? Or, a more enjoyable one to ponder—at what point do you fall in love? There is a moment of knowing, but getting to that is made up of tiny particulate matter. It's made up of smelling somebody, touching somebody. It's funny to make objects; the thing is really an idea. You're making something from parts and pieces and nothingness, and then it comes to be. When I'm making work there's just a moment of rightness. When it's really good work, you don't make that happen—it just happens—it's like it is born, not made.

MLM: In Big Magic, author Elizabeth Gilbert talks about the importance of showing up and being ready because you never know when the moment of divine inspiration will strike.

LP: Yes, you've got to be present for it. I love thinking through material problems, like getting a certain texture or color or making something stand or bend without seeing a joint. These things entertain me for hours. When I was sick, I constructed stuff in my head. When I returned to my studio, what I made wasn't talking back to me. It took weeks of showing up daily, making a lot of bad stuff, and throwing it away.