The people in my family die young. The responsibility of remembering feels heavy these days. The act of hand-stitching bakes the memories into my body, and the subversion of traditional forms for narrating darker themes is a way for me to stay me, despite my role as memory-keeper.
My friend Mary says that I use soft materials to convey hard subjects, and it's discomforting.
I have more questions than answers. I make art that dances around those questions and plays in the middle of intersections. Where is the line between craft and art? What is the difference between aesthetically pleasing and kitsch? When does interesting become gross? I like my things to be complicated. I like my things to be all the things.
I was trained as a writer at a school that considered writing an artistic process. Now I'm an artist and refuse to leave narrative behind. For me, every piece is a story, every story a part of a larger conversation.