Dino Dreams with Heather

We’re so excited for our February exhibition to open this week!

We had a chat with our featured artist, Heather Lang-Cassera, and we wanted to share her thoughts with you all!

Brianna: For folks who are meeting you through this exhibition, can you tell us a little about how dinosaurs found their way into your work?



Heather: People sometimes assume I was obsessed with dinosaurs as a child, but I don’t think I loved them any more than most kids did. Sure, I liked the movie The Land Before Time, but I wasn’t begging my mom for a brontosaurus bedspread or an ankylosaurus action figure.

As I got older and learned more about how the world works, it felt like there was less room for pretending, and I struggled with that. I’ve always found a lot of comfort in imagination. Dinosaurs are a wonderful subject for this because they were undoubtedly real, yet—from feathers to scales—we don’t know exactly what they looked or sounded like. That uncertainty invites creativity and nuance.

Brianna: You make this work in downtown Las Vegas, right next to the Mojave Desert. How does that landscape—and living in a place shaped by extremes—influence your imagination?


Heather: After I moved to Nevada about ten years ago, I wasn’t yet practicing ceramics, but I noticed my writing change quickly, and for the better.

Just beyond Las Vegas, the night sky deepens into profound darkness, set against the electric glow of neon. There in the desert, beauty and severity are intertwined. The same scarcity that threatens life makes every bloom and shadow feel miraculous. Southern Nevada encouraged me to lean into juxtaposition and metaphor in a refreshing way.

That attention to contrast later carried into my ceramics, where I continue to explore tension through color, form, and concept. The smallness of a strawberry rests on the snoot of a sauropod, it’s vivid red against a patina green. The shadow of a daydreaming dinosaur flickers, its light snuffed out millions of years ago. A tender-hearted tyrannosaur waits, awake beneath the harshness of midnight, perhaps wishing her evening cup of coffee would’ve been a decaf. These are some of the places to which my mind wanders.

Brianna: There’s a lot of tenderness and humor in your work—binkies, rubber ducks, bath-time scenes—sitting alongside ideas like extinction and deep time. What draws you to those contrasts?


Heather: This may sound a little strange, given that we’re talking about long-extinct creatures like dinosaurs, but I’m drawn to contrast because of its realism. Life can be extremely hard, and it can also be exceptionally joyful. While I wouldn’t wish the more difficult aspects of existence on any of us, life is full of these juxtapositions.

I was a creative writer long before I was a ceramist, and through writing I learned that contrast suggests conflict and change, which are essential elements of storytelling. I don’t want to lose that aspect of my work when I shift mediums.

Brianna: People often smile when they first see these pieces, and then notice something darker or deeper underneath. What do you hope viewers feel or linger with after that first reaction?


Heather: For me, the act of creation is one of discovery. When I begin a project, I often have only a loose sense of where I’m headed, allowing curiosity to guide me. If a piece can’t surprise me, why should I expect it to move its audience? 

Once a work or a series is finished, its meaning becomes clear to me. Each piece tells me a story.

My hope is that viewers feel something deeply, that the work invites reflection on their own experiences and connections, and that whatever they discover resonates in a personal way.

Brianna: When you’re creating a piece, do you start with a story, an image, or a feeling? Or do things emerge during the creative process? How does your process differ when you’re writing a poem versus shaping a ceramic piece?


Heather: These days, nearly all my poems are born from metaphor. I’ll compare one thing to another in a way that, at first, doesn’t quite make sense to me: ocean as sunrise, birdsong as bloom, marmalade as midnight, bedrock as lace. Next, I freewrite to unpack that moment. I work to uncover why my mind paired two seemingly disparate elements.

Metaphor works because it offers both recognition and discovery, and this is a space that fascinates me regardless of artistic medium. In this way, writing mirrors my ceramic practice, though in clay, juxtaposition, and therefore metaphor, often emerges later in the creative process.

Brianna: What are you curious about right now that hasn’t made its way into the work yet?


Heather: I might explore vintage-style robots. One thing I love about art is its ability to take the abstract—our thoughts, ideas, and emotions—and make them concrete. Robots offer one way to contemplate the complexities of AI in a more tangible form.

I’m also drawn to the color schemes, exaggerated scale, and occasional awkwardness of science fiction pulp cover art. The way some stories from the 1930s through the 1960s foreshadowed our present is both fascinating and, of course, concerning. And honestly, robot designs can be fun. I’m not sure whether I’ll move fully in this direction. I’m not giving up dinosaurs! But, I do find myself thinking about kitschy robots.

Brianna: You’ve said your work doesn’t try to resolve contradictions. Why is it important to you to leave space for uncertainty or curiosity?



Heather: This nods back to our conversation about contrast. Juxtapositions invite the audience to participate. In a static scene like sculpture, there can be ample room for a viewer to contribute meaning. For example, a bubble bath with a favorite rubber duck should feel playful, so why does the baby parasaurolophus frown? When viewers bring their own ideas and experiences, they help tell the story of the work, which allows it to resonate more deeply.

Brianna: As people move through the exhibition tonight, is there anything you’d like them to notice, wonder about, or imagine for themselves?


Heather: Despite the theme of dreams, something quite ephemeral, I hope viewers might remember that dinosaurs are creatures who, across time, shared with us the same air, the same land, and the same sky. Remembering that the world is much bigger than us can soften our pain without dismissing it. It can also offer the joy that comes with a sense of awe and wonder.

Brianna: Lastly, do you have any advice for creatives who are just getting started in their careers? Especially for artists navigating multiple disciplines like yourself?

Heather: Lean into your curiosities. When an idea excites you, that energy travels outward and invites your audience in. When the primary goal becomes publication or anticipating the preferences of a gallery curator, the work often loses its genuine spark. Believe me, both your work and your messy heart need that flicker and glow.