Cotton and silk on silk gauze, hemp fiber10" h by 6 1/2" w
This is an image of myself as a vessel for my baby---stretched, loose, and fragile, shot with pangs of pain which I perceived at the time as being brightly colored. The head of the baby is emerging confidently.
Silk, wool, and cotton threads, cotton fabric, and unspun silk on silk gauze7 3/4" h by 6" w
This piece is about the experience of pregnancy: the heightened emotional state, the acute awareness of my body, and the sense of heaviness. It is a portrait of myself as a vessel for my baby, worked at a time when my only glimpse of her had been through a sonogram.
This piece was my response in fiber to the demonstrations across the US on March 24, 2018: people of all ages standing together trying to use determination, signs, and in my version also quilts and afghans to form a barrier shielding children from guns. Hand-stitched quilts and afghans are not very effective as physical barriers, but not knowing how to provide physical protection, I kept embroidering them.
Cotton thread, wood, paint, stain.6" h by 9.5" w by 6.25" d
This piece is part of my hyperbolic series which consists of crocheted hyperbolic surfaces, each housed in a miniature room with a chair for the viewer. Hyperbolic surfaces can be made using crochet by keeping increasing stitches at a fixed rate. This leads to a lot of ruffles. Every consecutive row increases the ruffling and can qualitatively change the feel of the whole piece---almost as if the surface were alive. This appealed to me because I always look for ways to mix predictability with unpredictability---and what could be more predictable than crocheting long rows in a single stitch with a single thread? It also makes the process addictive: soothing and exciting simultaneously. The basic parameters---what thread you use, what rate of increase of stitches, whether you work in rows or in the round---affect the look of the surfaces dramatically, and so different hyperbolic pieces have had very different meanings for me. This one is about loss. The evolving nature of the white surface as it was being worked is analogous to the development of a relationship between two living people. Both go on for a period of time, undergoing many changes, but then at some point the work is done and the thread is cut, or the people are separated and all you have left is the chance to contemplate the relationship as it was.
cotton, silk, and linen threads on cotton; matboard and metal base. 7.5” h by 3.25” w by 3” d
The desert's dryness changes the way you feel about water. If you suddenly see a lot of it, all that water is startling, rejuvenating, and truly delightful. And sometimes, in an oasis, water that would otherwise lie underground, hidden by layers of rock and sand, really does gush forth!
cotton, linen, wood, nails, board8" by 8" by 2" high
This piece is about the process of crochet. The different colors of thread sit in spools on the table, ready to be used, and more and more of them are incorporated into the work as it progresses. The richness of the final cloth comes from the variety of different threads which have become part of it.
This shoreline connects the sea and dry land. It also connects the more fluid medium of tapestry with the more rigidly structured tent-stitch embroidery, which has often been called tapestry embroidery. From the land side, one can see the sea through large buildings---or are they sand castles? This weaving and embroidery was inspired by Tel Aviv, the White City, a showcase of Bauhaus architecture built on coastal dunes.