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3” wide fluorescent yellow ribbed ribbon, hundreds of hand (Singer sewing machine) sewn button holes, Swarovski crystal strands, curtain rods, ziplock bag
I could write an essay on this work but for now, in a nut shell, it speaks broadly on upbringing, shelter, familial care, subtle personality quirks, living remembrance, subconscious memory, instinct, awareness, and customs passed down through generations.
It all started with an heirloom, a small linoleum block cut that my mom hand carved when she was 19 years old… my most prized possession. On it she carved a version of herself looking towards the horizon, flying a kite. On the back, she wrote in pencil “Normal Day—Let me be aware the treasure that you are.”
Titled appropriately in reference to the feeling of needing mama time. (IMY= I Miss You, ILY= I Love You)
The work is an abstraction of that kite she envisioned herself flying, made physical and sharing that feeling with me, through her hand-carved linoleum block cut she made when she was 19 years old. The strand representing that metaphorical kite reel, the crystals denoting the handwritten note my mom wrote to her horizon/future self on the back of her hand-carved linoleum block cut. In search of and reeling in inward treasure.
The ziplock bag holding the crystals, comes from a time in my immediate family’s life, that changed things forever. My middle school years, a very personal time period for my family that caused me to lose much of my memory due to family trauma, including cancer and divorce. A fond memory from those formative years was a snippet of my mom’s quirks— the use of ziplock baggies as her “purse”.
Fluorescent yellow ribbed ribbon representing Awareness that comes to me as an alarm through material and its tactile feeling, often asking myself how a material makes me feel, while both looking at it and feeling it. The gathering, the ruching, representing the many layers there are to memory, remembering, and re-remembering. The ribbon, gathered by hundreds of hand (Singer sewing machine) sewn button-holes, twisty turning in their playfulness, giving the illusion of something that wants to be felt, drawn, opened and closed like a curtain or blinds. Hung with curtain rods, in remembrance of home and the shelter that had been provided for me with such love; the semblance of windows and vistas through composition and hardware, so meta.
And even yet, my first memory in life— standing in my crib after a nap, knowing my Mammaw (my mom’s mom) was coming to visit, and peeping through the curtain in anticipation of the moment she would arrive.
Only my mama has known me from the very beginning, she has kept the curtains open and has so unconditionally made sure the light can flood in, through and despite it all. The ultimate encouragement of the gaze in to the horizon.