My most cherished childhood memories center on fabric - the comfort of a blanket edged in silk, the feel of a well-worn cotton tee, the nubby texture of a hand-knit sweater. As the daughter of a mother who teaches in the field of fashion and design, I was acutely aware at a young age of the transformational properties of clothing. My artistic interests were equally shaped by my grandmother. Guided by her firm hands, unwieldy lengths of fabric were coaxed to behave, ultimately shaped into a variety of forms marked by perfect, crisp seams. The drama that surrounded the cutting of the fabric felt epic – she possessed such confidence as she sliced thorough layers of cloth, following the edges of the whisper-thin tissue paper that outlined its eventual shape. My grandmother taught me to decode the language of patterns, to sew, and later, to knit, crochet, and embroider.
While all of my work fiber-based, not all of my pieces are intended to be worn. I am drawn to old garments that show evidence of the hand that created the piece as well as the person who wore it. These indelible marks—stitches, stains, mended holes, and spots rubbed almost bare by continual contact with the body—speak to the hours invested in the making of the garment as well as the years that have passed as it was worn, again and again. I am interested in ways in which to transcend both the utilitarian nature and the inevitable entropy that continually affect these garments and reimagine them as enduring, sculptural artifacts. In so doing, I aim to defy the viewer’s expectation of what fiber is, can, or should be. In my most recent work, I have been working with both narrative and context, exploring how garments can be altered to reflect as well as defy societal norms and expectations, particularly of women.