This particular body of work is ethereal and some pieces are difficult to explain. I have taken things that are disjointed already and torn them apart, and then reconstituted them into something still abstract, and that functions largely in the realm of the tactile, emotive senses. Looking at this relived art is a feeling that is hard to explain with words. But the feeling is strong, and I relate it most of all to the word Lament. 

 

Although the relics used in this body of work are in one sense a precious family heritage, they are also undeniably forgotten pieces of women as a collective. Discards that have fallen into my lap through time and space. There is some irony in the fact that I ripped up a seemingly precious - or at least sentimentally meaningful - inheritance up for art,  but I found the process to be valuable for the light it cast on the essential thinness of life. Creating the work brought the fragility of the idea of "us" to the surface, exposing the transient nature of families and kin and the things we find important, and raising questions about what we choose to bring with us through life’s journey, and what we choose to pack away. 

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