I arrived at Zab's studio on a Tuesday afternoon in late August. It was definitely too late in the day to brew coffee, but at Zab's place, time feels relatively elusive and irrelevant. When I walked through the emerald green door at the base of their building (affectionately named Green Door Studio), they were in the middle of organizing piles of zines and rolled-up canvases to take on their journey to Los Angeles and then New York for upcoming shows and workshops, with a birthday road trip sandwiched between it all. They seemed curious to find out how the trip would pan out. Or rather, how the end of one year and the start of another would feel, as they celebrated their birthday in solitude for the second year in a row. "I'm working on not calling it running away," Zab told me later. "I'm calling it resetting."
Zab Shavrick is a Portland-based artist, tattooist, and natural pigment maker whose work can hardly be contained to any single medium, let alone five or even ten. They work in layers, literally and figuratively, often exploring combinations of watercolor, pastel crayons, and natural pigments made from flowers they pick on neighborhood walks or undercover co-op missions. If you saw Zab plucking petals from your neighbor's yard, no, you didn't. Ask Zab what their true medium is, though, and the answer is simple: color. “I’ve always known how to mix colors, and that’s helped me realize that the colors themselves are a medium. That's as simple as it is."
That concept shows in everything that they do, from retiling their kitchen in an array of colorful scrap pieces to arranging various beverages on a tablescape. For instance, rather than making a traditional pour-over for our studio visit, Zab scooped out the center of a ripe cantaloupe, strained the vibrant orange juice into a small cup, and brewed our Chapina, Guatemala right into the hollowed-out melon. The milk chocolate and nougat flavors of the washed, single-origin coffee paired insanely well with the summery melon juice. It was a small, beautiful, entirely on-brand act of experimentation — color, flavor, function, and a little bit of theater, all in one gesture.
Arriving in Oregon by way of Connecticut and then New York, Zab first came to Portland to join the team at Sosta House, restoring an old family home and vineyards into the beloved bed and breakfast Portlanders know and love. They were also, it turns out, in search of earthen materials. On that first trip to the vineyard, they pocketed the deep red Oregon Jory soil (volcanic earth left behind 17 million years ago from the Columbia River basalt lava flows), and carried it back to their apartment in New York, where they cooked it into a mud, using it as the print paste for their first-ever business cards.
This one story explains a lot about Zab — and what follows is our conversation on creativity, freedom, and what it actually means to build a life that feels like yours.
Better Habits is really about the difference between habits and routines — the idea that the most creative, fulfilling lives aren't always the most structured ones. Where do you land on that?
I was literally just talking about this in therapy today. My therapist asked why I'm going away for my birthday by myself, and I said “so no one has any expectations of me — so I can wander freely.” A year ago, I went on a solo road trip for my birthday, thinking it would be the thing that made me feel more healed, but it felt lonely. Now, a year later, I want to see what it’s like. It's sort of like a marker of how much has changed.
What's changed?
I think for myself now, first. I know what things make me feel good. I don't think I knew that before. I've done a lot of practice on being present and building better habits — maybe ones that are based on a lack of routine. But sometimes the lack of routine drives me crazy too. So it's really just searching for balance between one way and another.
You took a pretty significant leap of faith this year — you met Santiago, a fellow artist, on a trip to Oaxaca, felt some kind of pull, and then went back months later to live and work with him. What was that like?
It was the first time I was fully engrossed in a living situation that tried to balance creative freedom with routine, and it was really hard. He was very structured, very disciplined. Discipline was his big word. It felt almost fear-based, like if he stopped, he wouldn't know how to start again.
I relate to that. When I'm feeling momentum in a creative flow, I want to get everything possible out of me, like juicing a lemon, because I know that a month from now when I don't feel that way, I'm going to miss it.
Santiago paints 10 to 15 paintings at a time. When he isn't feeling one, he moves on to the next. I found myself doing that this summer, and it was really fun. It allows you not to feel guilty about not finishing something — you're not abandoning one thing; you're just working on an entire ocean of things.
That seems to have unlocked something in you this summer.
It's been the first time I've been making things without knowing who or what they're for, and that has been very freeing. I'm trying to be less precious. When I can wander and am thoughtlessly making things but feel connected to the material, that's when I've always made my favorite pieces.
You've described this as a scrappy summer. What does that mean for you?
I'm an extroverted Virgo, and the way I get my rest is by being around people, but I have a productivity mindset. Once you start feeling like you need a clone, that's when you should take a step back and realize you have too much on your plate.
Tell me about the natural pigment work. Where did it start?
I had this professor in undergrad named Luther who essentially said, “you can do anything.” The class was Friday nights, seven to ten — you had to give up your Friday nights (which at the time felt like a sacrifice), but it meant you could take the best class ever. He pushed me deep into natural pigments, screen printing with nori paste, seaweed glue, trying things on fabric. It planted something.
And what reignited this practice for you?
Coming back from traveling this spring and seeing everything blooming. It was my first spring single, and with a clear head and a lot of excitement. I went on a walk, picked eucalyptus and roses, cooked them into dye, and taught the most meandering, joyful natural pigment workshop. Ever since then, it's unlocked this desire for making things that feel like time capsules — things that exist right now and aren't trying to last forever.
What is it that makes your work feel like yours across all those different mediums?
Color. I’ve always known how to mix colors, and that’s helped me realize that the colors themselves are a medium. That's what creative expression is, at least for me.
Tell me about this piece (Shabbos Lunch in the Dining Room, the House on Silver Hill).
It traveled with me across three studios. It sat unfinished and unstretched for about a year and a half. I work really quickly, and sometimes I know what a piece is going to look like before I start, and sometimes I don't. This one I just felt I needed to take my time with. I know it’s finally done.
Broadly speaking, why do you make things?
When I was in college, I spent a summer really heartbroken because I thought being an artist in today's world was just a means of producing waste. What's the point of making anything? My thesis ended up being about natural pigments partly because of that — if you're going to make things (and as a creative you can't not make things; it's an inherent need), then at least be thoughtful with your materials. And I think the answer I keep coming back to is: we're not making things to last forever. We're making things that are meant to exist right now. That's enough.
One last thing — what's your morning beverage habit?
First thing in the morning, a hot Americano with vanilla and half and half. And then later, an iced almond milk matcha or hojicha. Depends on the day.
Catch Zab's upcoming show at Bar Noto, opening October 9th, or explore their work online at zabshavrick.com.