I scavenge for the lowliest fabrics. Rough and humble cloth. Tablecloths from meals gone by, overworked denims, frayed linens. I see beauty in imperfections wrought by time, use, and accident.
I join pieces of fabric and paper into new cloth with both machine and hand sewing, creating lumps and ridges along the way. I apply acrylic paint, waiting to see what it hides or highlights. Trails of thread, gobs of paint, nubby cords, and clusters of knots follow. The cloth grows under my hands, insistent, anything but seamless.
Designs emerge from the sense memories of a childhood lived near city and shore. Peeling billboards, smoke and noise, jazz and Giacometti. Bare feet in mud, seaweed and stones, gulls and waves.
From the right angles of a weaver’s loom to a loosened grid that supports improvisation and intuition, my work contains threads of both consistency and change.
I wield my needle and thread in defiance of all that is virtual, remote, and untouchable!