Hannah Rothschild
Allelopathy, [2023], Hannah Rothschild, 2023
Ficus aerial roots, thin pecan branches, Araucaria leaves, red and black cotton thread, plant fibres embedded in cast PVA adhesive 55 x 55 x 5
The term allelopathy derives from the Greek allēlōn, meaning “one another,” and pathos, meaning “suffering” or “harm.” It describes the ability of one plant to influence or inhibit another through chemicals released into its environment. Allelopathy emerged from my observation of the garden surrounding my home, where plants continuously compete for territory and for limited resources—soil, water, and sunlight. The ficus dominates this environment through its spreading aerial roots and by releasing substances that inhibit growth beneath it, suppressing even its own seedlings. Materials gathered from this contested garden—ficus aerial roots, pecan branches, and Araucaria leaves—are coiled, woven, bound, and stitched together with red and black cotton thread. At the centre, plant fibres are embedded in cast PVA adhesive, appearing simultaneously preserved and trapped. By bringing these competing species into a single circular structure, the work embodies a naïve wish that they might coexist peacefully. Yet they already live side by side—not in harmony, but through an unending struggle for space, light, water, and survival.
Hannah Rothschild
Where Do You End and I Begin?, [2026], Hannah Rothschild, 2026
My late mother’s hair, my own hair, cotton thread, and wire; three-dimensional hand embroidery 24 x 30 x 30 cm
Where Do You End and I Begin? examines the shifting boundary between my late mother’s body and my own. Her hair was collected from her hairbrush and, with her permission, after her haircuts; mine was gathered from my own brush. Through three-dimensional embroidery, our hair is intertwined with cotton thread and wire to form a fragile, porous structure. The work explores the boundaries of time and memory, and the material and spiritual traces that remain after the living body is gone. My mother’s hair meets mine: two bodily remnants, detached from the lives that produced them, encounter one another within the artwork. Their interweaving unsettles seemingly fixed territories—between self and other, mother and daughter, living and dead, presence and absence. The openings within the form hold absence as a tangible part of the work, asking where one body, identity, and memory end and another begins. Photo credit Photograph: Daniel Hanoch
Hannah Rothschild
Stop the Erosion, 2023, Hannah Rothschild, 2023 -2026
Fragile soil clods collected from Nahal Ashosh in the Arava Desert, Israel, red cotton thread; piercing, binding, and hand-stitching 31 x 28 x 5 cm
The work is made from clods of earth collected from Nahal Ashosh in Israel’s Arava Desert, a landscape where an ancient seabed meets alluvial sands, forming cracked masses of soil. This earth is inherently unstable: it erodes, drifts, and accumulates anew with seasonal floods, carrying within it a material memory of movement and change. The clods are joined through piercing, binding, and hand-stitching with red thread. The act of stitching moves between healing and wounding, between the desire to preserve and the process of disintegration itself. Each stitch emphasizes the fracture while simultaneously attempting to hold onto the memory of a wholeness that preceded it. Yet the material revealed a paradox: the more tightly I tried to secure the earth, the more it crumbled. The work reflects on the attempt to stop a process that cannot be stopped—to hold onto land, borders, place, and a sense of belonging. Through the tension between fragile earth and taut thread, it considers political, psychological, and ecological conditions in which the effort to tighten, fix, and preserve exposes the fragility of a structure—and may even accelerate its collapse.
Hannah Rothschild
A Wrinkle in Time_2026_Hannah Rothschild, 2026
My late mother’s hair when she was 16 years old, my own hair, cotton thread 50 x 50 x 0.5cm
Human hair becomes a delicate lace-like surface connecting two moments in time: my mother's hair at sixteen and my own at fifty-eight. Through stitching, these strands meet across generations and ages, bringing together youth and aging, presence and absence. The work imagines a material encounter between two bodies at different stages of life, where time folds rather than moves in a straight line.
Hannah Rothschild
Why Are You Sitting Idle?_Hannah Rothschild_2025, 2026
My late mother’s hair, my own hair, my daughter's hair & cotton thread 120 × 50 × 5 cm (H × W × D).
Created from the hair of three generations of women—my mother, myself, and my daughter—this work explores the inheritance of expectations surrounding women's labor, productivity, and care. Through repetitive hand-stitching, individual strands become a shared textile surface. The work reflects on the demands passed between generations and asks what it means for a woman to rest, to create, or simply to be.
Hannah Rothschild
Teeth of Time_Hannah Rothschild_2026, 2026
Elderly friend’s hair, artist’s own hair, cotton thread, Washingtonia palm spines. 60× 55 × 2 cm (H × W × D).
Combining my own hair with that of an older friend and the sharp, tooth-like structures of the Washingtonia palm, this series explores aging, vulnerability, and protection. Through free-form stitching and assemblage, soft human hair merges with rigid plant material to create unfamiliar, creature-like forms. These hybrid bodies suggest transformation and survival, holding tenderness and threat within the same fragile structure.
Hannah Rothschild
Teeth of Time II_Hannah Rothschild_2026, 2026
Elderly friend’s hair, artist’s own hair, cotton thread, Washingtonia palm spines. 60× 15 × 1 cm (H × W × D).
Human hair from two generations forms a delicate vertical textile, gradually shifting from dark brown to silver-white. Suspended between two rows of sharp Washingtonia palm spines, the loosely stitched strands evoke the passage of time through the aging body. The contrast between soft hair and rigid thorns creates a tension between vulnerability and protection, while the gradual blending of colors suggests that aging is not a sudden transition but a continuous process of transformation.
Hannah Rothschild
Whispers of Faraway Places_Hannah Rothschild, 2023
Recycled cotton and synthetic sewing threads. Variable, ranging from 16–29 cm in height, 16–28 cm in width, and 16–27 cm in depth.
Inspired by a brief encounter with a flower seller in Tamil Nadu, India, who told me I would carry her to faraway places, this series explores the lasting traces of fleeting human connections. Created through wrapping and molding colorful threads into sculptural vessels, the works explore the relationship between interior and exterior, fragility and resilience. Their open, porous structures suggest containers of memories, experiences, and invisible connections. The series was exhibited at the World of Threads Festival, Canada.
Hannah Rothschild
Like Moth To The Flame_Hannah Rothschild_2018, 2018
Recycled cotton and synthetic sewing threads 170 × 200 × 200 cm (H × W × D).
Presented at Grow Op, Gladstone Hotel, Toronto, Canada (2018), this suspended installation consists of delicate, translucent cocoons created through wrapping and molding colorful fiber threads. Gathered into an organic, floating formation, the cocoons evoke processes of growth, transformation, and metamorphosis. Their fragile, interconnected structures suggest the tension between individuality and belonging, creating an immersive environment that invites viewers to reflect on the delicate relationships between living forms and their surroundings.
Hannah Rothschild
The Greenhouse_Hannah Rothschild_2020, 2020
Polyethylene sheets and plastic trellising twine from agricultural greenhouses, galvanized 120 × 70 × 50 cm
The sculpture was created during an artist residency in Tzukim, in Israel’s Arava Desert. The materials were brought to me by local farmers who were gradually abandoning greenhouse cultivation due to increasing competition and declining economic viability. Among the agricultural waste were spools of black plastic twine, originally used to support peppers, cucumbers, tomatoes, and eggplants as they grew vertically. In retracing the practice of trellising, I chose knotting as a gesture that recalls the support and shaping of plants, allowing them to grow upward while making efficient use of limited agricultural space. Over time, exposed to the desert sun and wind, the polyethylene sheets yellow, gather dust, become brittle, and eventually fragment. The work reflects on transformation and the passage of time, as wind moves through the concealed interior of the plastic structure. Like fruit beginning to decay from within, the black threads trace an elusive, hollow boundary, suggesting both the memory of growth and the inevitability of deterioration.
