Anamaria Morris is Creating All Kinds of Objects

There’s no place like home, especially when it’s filled with objects that remind us of where we’ve been and who we’ve become. Anamaria Morris—book designer and creator of All Kinds—understands this sentiment.

The San Francisco native moved to London for a good portion of her childhood before relocating to New York and ultimately returning west. Morris then made her way back to the East Coast for college and later began teaching art to kids. After growing restless, she decided to study graphic design in the evenings and slowly transitioned into the profession full-time.

Throughout her career, Morris has had a hand in designing titles like Ellsworth Kelly: Catalogue Raisonné, Vol 2, and Camp: Notes on Design with Joseph Logan. (She also recently helped bring Sofia Coppola’s highly-anticipated Archive to life.) Morris has always been a big reader and notes that her “interest in the book design world [specifically] arose while teaching art—I used books so much with my students.” But given that book design is often rooted in rules and precision, All Kinds is where Morris’s artistic playbook can really expand.

All Kinds was born in the throes of the pandemic when working on physical projects was a necessary balm for Morris. “I had a practice of making a collage every day for years to do something with my hands away from the computer,” she reflects. “As lockdown set in, it was much harder for me to be out finding sources to make collages. I was looking for a way to transition that need for tactile work to something else. I happened to have this clay at home and started making things that way.”

Look at All Kinds’s small but mighty assortment today, and you’ll learn a distinct visual language: dollops of berries sit atop pastel cake clocks, big—red, robin's egg, ombre!—bows add intrigue to any dining room centerpiece. In the world of All Kinds, objects assume a role beyond functionality and act as a gateway to delight. Though Morris didn’t always identify with the more feminine aspects her work is recognized for now (she was a self-proclaimed tomboy growing up), her eye for detail was born early—and remains constant. “I was obsessed with certain details from movies, like the baby Pegasus horses in Fantasia or a purse in Cinderella,” she adds.

Aesthetics aside, Morris also credits her global upbringing as a lesson in treating objects with reverence—they made each place feel like a home. “I think when you go into someone’s home and see how they decorate, it can teach [someone] a lot about the person whose home they’re entering,” she adds. In fact, Morris fondly remembers visiting her grandmother in New Mexico, who, despite not having overtly colorful or whimsical decor, owned a particular object that caught Morris’s attention. “She had these miniature Siamese cats with blue crystal eyes. They seemed so out of character, and I always wondered what the story was there. Where did they come from? Why are they here?”

These seemingly small questions have embedded themselves into Morris’s work, which she currently characterizes as fluctuating. “I think part of what makes a creative process successful is to keep changing and challenging yourself to move out of your comfort zone,” she says. “I aspire for things to be in flux in a good way.”

Are objects a reminder to use our imagination?

"They can be. I think there’s a reason I never asked, 'Where did these [Siamese cat miniatures] come from?' I liked creating a whole story and imagining what would lead these random miniatures to end up in my grandmother’s home. She didn’t even like cats. [Laughs] I get that reaction sometimes to my work. People will ask, 'Why are you making cakes to put on your head? What’s the story?' I like letting them think what they want and figure it out without explaining the background story. Not that there always is one!"

Why do you think we assign meaning to some objects but not others?

"Some objects are more significant because they were given to you or you acquired them at an important place or time. For me, it depends on the object—if the object feels like it has a little soul, you can imagine what that story would be. It’s fun to see people interact with my work and have a different idea, reference point, or memory that it brings up."

On that note, what is the story behind All Kinds’s name?

"I don’t know why, but for years I would always say, 'It takes all kinds.' [Laughs] It became an accidental catchphrase. I [also] didn’t want to use my name and wanted it to feel like I could do anything under All Kinds—it could be all kinds of things. It was a way to allow myself the freedom to explore different things under one name."

For me, the name also brings to mind the nature of how your objects appear—which is that they all look kind.

"I’ve never heard or thought about that, but I love it. Thank you."

What kinds of things or themes were you curious about?

"I used to make gifts for people, like earrings, but I wanted to try to make something more sculptural and less wearable, just fun and decorative. It was October 2020, and I was thinking about birthdays—for some reason, everyone in my life is a Libra—and how it was much harder to celebrate together. One aspect that was always really sweet was watching someone blow out a candle on their cake. I had the idea to make a cake slice candle holder so you could blow out a candle, and it wouldn’t risk infecting people because it wasn’t real cake. That was the first thing I made, and I think of it as the first little character in the All Kinds world. From there, others started coming to mind, opening up a fountain of characters I wanted to create."

I love that you’re calling them characters. What delineates an object from a character in your work?

"Because they’re handmade and hand-painted, they take on character, which I had to learn to embrace because I’m a perfectionist. Originally, I really wanted all the lines to be perfect, and that’s hard to do consistently. It doesn’t feel like the work has soul when you’re trying to make it look like it wasn’t made by a human hand. I started to warm to the idea that each piece I make is a different character. They all feel like they could live in the same world, talk to each other, and come to life when you’re not looking. It brought me joy—especially in 2020—giving these little narratives to the objects."

From tulips to cakes to bows, many objects—or characters—you create are fleeting in nature: a clock ticks on, tulips wilt, bows can come undone, and cakes are eaten. I’m not sure if that’s conscious for you, but I’m curious how All Kinds has impacted your relationship with time.

"I love that. Obviously, spending a specific amount of hours every day making clocks makes you consider time. [Laughs] That was definitely something I thought about with the cakes … just by nature, the real object decays, but this one lives on forever on your wall. I liked that contrast. I also want to hold onto flowers forever, though I hadn’t thought about that [idea] with the bow! I like the idea that everything can come undone, but All Kinds has frozen them in time."

What motifs or symbols feel exciting to you right now?

"I want to continue exploring freezing flowers in time. I’m also really excited about exploring new materials, like porcelain. The nature of the clay I currently work with feels wonky, whimsical, and silly; it goes with a certain aesthetic. With porcelain, it’s a bit different and more elevated, so I’m figuring out how to work with that while also holding on to things that make All Kinds feel unique to All Kinds."

This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity and length.