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.
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.
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.
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.
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
Love, decentralized. No roses. No candy hearts. Just an annual flood of art-as-affection.
Here & Now Project
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
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 days 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.
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.