Tumble Blindly
Tumble Blindly
24.75” x 37” x 3”
Hand dyed yarns and wool, vintage wedding gown, silk sari, vintage playing cards, toy horses, ceramic,embroidery thread, found wood.
About the work:
People generally know me as a clay artist, though I am continuously exploring all kinds of mediums. I had never thought about weaving until recently and would not consider myself a true weaver by any stretch of the imagination. I’m simply a maker of things who found a need, and then filled that space with a new experience.
In March of 2020, just as a global pandemic was changing our world, I was caught in the midst of a logistical nightmare involving the sale of one home and purchase of another. I had no place to live for two months, a time in which few were willing to offer accommodation to a person still navigating a world of schools and real estate offices. We all remember the atmosphere of fear, uncertainty, and death. When others were able to fully quarantine, I was not. I tiptoed through weeks of Airbnb rentals and a couple of weeks at a relative’s home, never feeling at ease. Although many thousands of others suffered through more serious circumstances that I, this was nonetheless a painful feeling to bear a sort of exclusion from a home and family.
Once securing the new house, I realized it would be quite some time before any furniture or belongings would come into the picture, much less the components of a clay studio. What I craved and needed was an outlet for art making, and it needed to soothe and calm. I found a loom and some donated vintage yarn at the school where I taught. I shredded a few old shirts. I taught myself to weave using basic stitches found on YouTube videos and had no goals or intentions other than to let my fingers work autonomously while enjoying the softness and color. To say that I became completely immersed in weaving is an understatement. Often I would work on textile pieces for eight hours or more, fully losing myself in the process. Sourcing more hand dyed/spun yarns opened the candy store that is the artisan world of fibers and textures. My woven pieces seemed to have a mind of their own, subconscious journeys filled with imperfections and voids. I found that weaving a color scape of perfectly aligned rows and columns was only the beginning of something that could be ripped apart and reconstructed, a sort of healing repair.
As the world began its slow unfurling, the furniture arrived, as did a dear friend. A sweet neighbor left red beans and rice on the doorstep, and the new house began feeling like a home. My beloved dogs returned after two months of separation, and my soul began to heal. I was not ready to dive back into ceramic work and continued creating more textile pieces.
After a year of working exclusively in fibers, I stepped back to reflect. What I observed was a tangible response to an unraveling world, a grouping of woven webs that had held me together and created a softness not found elsewhere. I could feel the chaos of mixed emotions being pulled together, a melding of weeks in solitude expressed through lovely fibers made by others, each having their own lives and stories. I discovered the use and symbolism of wedding gowns and sari, relevant mediums after my own marriage in 2021. Recently, small clay milagros have found their way into the work, small tokens which for me represent hope, memory, and wishes. I view these mixed media pieces as totems to a time in my own life that I am still processing. Chaos, life, death, rebirth. The kintsugi of a personal world, an acceptance of adaptation.
Tumble Blindly
24.75” x 37” x 3”
Hand dyed yarns and wool, vintage wedding gown, silk sari, vintage playing cards, toy horses, ceramic,embroidery thread, found wood.
About the work:
People generally know me as a clay artist, though I am continuously exploring all kinds of mediums. I had never thought about weaving until recently and would not consider myself a true weaver by any stretch of the imagination. I’m simply a maker of things who found a need, and then filled that space with a new experience.
In March of 2020, just as a global pandemic was changing our world, I was caught in the midst of a logistical nightmare involving the sale of one home and purchase of another. I had no place to live for two months, a time in which few were willing to offer accommodation to a person still navigating a world of schools and real estate offices. We all remember the atmosphere of fear, uncertainty, and death. When others were able to fully quarantine, I was not. I tiptoed through weeks of Airbnb rentals and a couple of weeks at a relative’s home, never feeling at ease. Although many thousands of others suffered through more serious circumstances that I, this was nonetheless a painful feeling to bear a sort of exclusion from a home and family.
Once securing the new house, I realized it would be quite some time before any furniture or belongings would come into the picture, much less the components of a clay studio. What I craved and needed was an outlet for art making, and it needed to soothe and calm. I found a loom and some donated vintage yarn at the school where I taught. I shredded a few old shirts. I taught myself to weave using basic stitches found on YouTube videos and had no goals or intentions other than to let my fingers work autonomously while enjoying the softness and color. To say that I became completely immersed in weaving is an understatement. Often I would work on textile pieces for eight hours or more, fully losing myself in the process. Sourcing more hand dyed/spun yarns opened the candy store that is the artisan world of fibers and textures. My woven pieces seemed to have a mind of their own, subconscious journeys filled with imperfections and voids. I found that weaving a color scape of perfectly aligned rows and columns was only the beginning of something that could be ripped apart and reconstructed, a sort of healing repair.
As the world began its slow unfurling, the furniture arrived, as did a dear friend. A sweet neighbor left red beans and rice on the doorstep, and the new house began feeling like a home. My beloved dogs returned after two months of separation, and my soul began to heal. I was not ready to dive back into ceramic work and continued creating more textile pieces.
After a year of working exclusively in fibers, I stepped back to reflect. What I observed was a tangible response to an unraveling world, a grouping of woven webs that had held me together and created a softness not found elsewhere. I could feel the chaos of mixed emotions being pulled together, a melding of weeks in solitude expressed through lovely fibers made by others, each having their own lives and stories. I discovered the use and symbolism of wedding gowns and sari, relevant mediums after my own marriage in 2021. Recently, small clay milagros have found their way into the work, small tokens which for me represent hope, memory, and wishes. I view these mixed media pieces as totems to a time in my own life that I am still processing. Chaos, life, death, rebirth. The kintsugi of a personal world, an acceptance of adaptation.
Tumble Blindly
24.75” x 37” x 3”
Hand dyed yarns and wool, vintage wedding gown, silk sari, vintage playing cards, toy horses, ceramic,embroidery thread, found wood.
About the work:
People generally know me as a clay artist, though I am continuously exploring all kinds of mediums. I had never thought about weaving until recently and would not consider myself a true weaver by any stretch of the imagination. I’m simply a maker of things who found a need, and then filled that space with a new experience.
In March of 2020, just as a global pandemic was changing our world, I was caught in the midst of a logistical nightmare involving the sale of one home and purchase of another. I had no place to live for two months, a time in which few were willing to offer accommodation to a person still navigating a world of schools and real estate offices. We all remember the atmosphere of fear, uncertainty, and death. When others were able to fully quarantine, I was not. I tiptoed through weeks of Airbnb rentals and a couple of weeks at a relative’s home, never feeling at ease. Although many thousands of others suffered through more serious circumstances that I, this was nonetheless a painful feeling to bear a sort of exclusion from a home and family.
Once securing the new house, I realized it would be quite some time before any furniture or belongings would come into the picture, much less the components of a clay studio. What I craved and needed was an outlet for art making, and it needed to soothe and calm. I found a loom and some donated vintage yarn at the school where I taught. I shredded a few old shirts. I taught myself to weave using basic stitches found on YouTube videos and had no goals or intentions other than to let my fingers work autonomously while enjoying the softness and color. To say that I became completely immersed in weaving is an understatement. Often I would work on textile pieces for eight hours or more, fully losing myself in the process. Sourcing more hand dyed/spun yarns opened the candy store that is the artisan world of fibers and textures. My woven pieces seemed to have a mind of their own, subconscious journeys filled with imperfections and voids. I found that weaving a color scape of perfectly aligned rows and columns was only the beginning of something that could be ripped apart and reconstructed, a sort of healing repair.
As the world began its slow unfurling, the furniture arrived, as did a dear friend. A sweet neighbor left red beans and rice on the doorstep, and the new house began feeling like a home. My beloved dogs returned after two months of separation, and my soul began to heal. I was not ready to dive back into ceramic work and continued creating more textile pieces.
After a year of working exclusively in fibers, I stepped back to reflect. What I observed was a tangible response to an unraveling world, a grouping of woven webs that had held me together and created a softness not found elsewhere. I could feel the chaos of mixed emotions being pulled together, a melding of weeks in solitude expressed through lovely fibers made by others, each having their own lives and stories. I discovered the use and symbolism of wedding gowns and sari, relevant mediums after my own marriage in 2021. Recently, small clay milagros have found their way into the work, small tokens which for me represent hope, memory, and wishes. I view these mixed media pieces as totems to a time in my own life that I am still processing. Chaos, life, death, rebirth. The kintsugi of a personal world, an acceptance of adaptation.