Id like my work to be a monument to the resiliency
of the human spirit and a wish for wholeness. Within each piece
is emptiness, chaos, paths chosen or passed by, despair and repair.
I rip and tear fabric that once belonged to someone
else. I burn the cloth or use it to wipe the floor. I pick up band-aids
that lie on the ground. Symbols of pain or symbols of healing? I
am moved by the remnants of others lives.
I work these scraps together by hand, one stitch leading
to the next.
Needle in needle out, the work is a meditation. I
work with intention and devotion. I listen for and feel the rhythm
of the piece. I strive to attend to the mark. Sometimes taking a
stitch as if it were the first and the last.
I will forever be compelled by the stitch
and the metaphor of it as a mark to catalog time, events
and emotion. The line of the stitch fascinates me, knowing as I
follow those marks my own story will unfold.
I am humbled by the infinite quantity of stitches that have been
sewn by generations of women. Their work is the work that inspired
me to practice. I know that those stitches carry within them secrets,
prayers and dreams.
About the Bandages
I found my first BAND-AID in 1999, as I walked in
grief around one of the many lakes in Minneapolis following a loss.
Seeing that bandage on the pavement, I thought about how easy it
is to soothe a childs wounds, and give comfort. How often
had I relieved my wailing child simply by applying a band-aid? And
I laughed at myself, wishing it was as simple to repair a broken
Since then, I have an uncanny ability to spy these
discarded coverings (at parks, playgrounds and on sidewalks) and
I know that somewhere another wound has been exposed. And, prodded
by these symbols, I continue to discover metaphors to contemplate.
I question how it is that we heal ourselves, body and soul, after
personal or social devastation, whether our healed scars protect
us in some new stronger way, and how fragile or resilient we will
be once we have been wounded.