MONSTRESS PRODUCTIONS

Paper Products to Save the World
Monstress Productions was my way of fighting fire with cardboard. Born during my time at Cranbrook Academy of Art, it was a fake company with a very real mission: to dismantle consumer culture from the inside out—using its own tools.

I took the tricks of advertising, packaging, and propaganda and turned them toward healing, awareness, and resistance. The goal wasn’t to sell more stuff—it was to help people want less and feel more. Each piece I made was a Trojan horse: funny, handmade, and deceptively small, but carrying the power to reframe someone’s day, or maybe their life.

The name Monstress? A nod to the misunderstood feminine, and a jab at the polite expectations of the design world. The logo—an eyeless, toothed mouth—was inspired by Vagina Dentata, that old fear of female power. I used it to bite back at the art-world gatekeepers and marketing overlords who insist we must endlessly strive and consume to be whole.

Instead, I made paper tools for emotional survival.

Essay: What is Monstress?

Portrait Products

Each of these was designed for a specific person I loved—and a problem I couldn’t solve with words alone.

Associativity Charm™
For my friend who was homesick no matter where she went: a miniature welcome mat she could touch to conjure a sense of belonging, wherever she landed.

Thought Hawker™
For the dreamer with no traction: a pocket-sized street vendor’s stall, so she could “sell” her ideas to the world—or at least start talking them into existence.

Tranquility Mask™
For the perfectionist who couldn’t sleep: a dream-stage mask to let her imagination run wild at night, freeing her days for realism, grace, and rest.

Anti-Self-Defamation Device™
For the self-critical friend: a compact mirror paired with affirming prompts—designed to intercept the spiral of self-sabotage with clarity and care.

Valentines

Valentine’s Day was the only holiday I could stomach. Not because of romance—but because of the raw possibility: to declare love of all kinds, out loud and unapologetic. Every year, I’d create a single large artwork, then send it to 150–500 people as a hand-addressed valentine.

Love, decentralized. No roses. No candy hearts. Just an annual flood of art-as-affection.

Here & Now Project

Stress lives in the future. Regret lives in the past. I wanted to make a way to return to the present, fast.

This was a letterpress kit with die-cut stickers reading "HERE" and "NOW." Users scattered them around their homes, commutes, and lives. When they ran across one later, it served as a nudge—a sacred slap—to return to the present moment.

I built a website and app to share stories and sell kits. We even ran a Kickstarter. People loved it. Because sometimes, presence is the most radical act available.

Here & Now Kickstarter

Ennui Free

This project was simple: catch the days you don’t feel like trash.

I printed chalkboard kits and labeled them Ennui-Free Kits. People could mark the days they escaped boredom, apathy, or despair. The idea wasn’t to perform happiness—it was to spot the subtle moments when things didn’t suck, and to learn how to make more of them.

The project grew into a website where users submitted their own hacks for surviving the blahs. It was therapy, rebranded.

Monstress Productions: Ennui-Free Count-Up Kit
from Libby Clarke on Vimeo.

Why It Matters

Monstress wasn’t just a thesis project or a sarcastic brand. It was my first true ministry—a hands-on practice of design as care, subversion, and connection. I was designing from my guts, for the people I loved, in the world I was tired of watching spiral.

Every product was a love letter in disguise. Every project asked the same question:

What if design could help us be more present, more kind, more free?

Turns out, it can.

LIBBY CLARKE ART | DESIGN | TEACHING | SERVICE | WRITING

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