My approach to art is somewhat anthropological: I am a flâneuse in the rich lands of textile handicraft and literary writing.
Through fibre, I can explore the working properties of different materials and the structural relationships among them – from natural materials that grow locally, to found objects that are full of stories. Fibres have a day-to-day-ness about them; they are diverse, and so entwined in histories and geographies that besides their visual and physical characteristics, they also come with culturally implications.
Through working physically in and out of my new home in the countryside, I feel the coordinations between eye and hand. I feel out my approaches amid order and disorder, repetitions and variations. The creative labour is my intimate relationship with nature, as I lay out the rhythms of living, and make works and art in the coming and going of seasons.
I returned to nature, and back to animism. But my fields were not in the remote country of Brazil, nor with the deities in art history. They were on my architect friend’s construction sites, across old clutter and paper piles.
It was not the language of forms that I had known best, but rather the imaginations in writings and words, and the compositions of ink and brush in oriental calligraphy. The true intention of creating may be to compose poetry with the language of fibre, to explore the nervous systems of matter with structural order, to mend and patch abandoned objects, and to cook the distiller’s grains of life – engaging with the world of gradual decline, the world of entropy.