Woven landscape taking in sun. A jam jar with sticky raspberry seeds. (2020)
A garden for us to discover our selves / each other in. Sowing many seeds these days….. (2020)
The chicken as the egg’s way of making another egg (2020)
Putting this one together I was thinking about a place that I’m not sure really exists or if it’s a muddled memory mix of many places, but it’s an afternoon fading into evening in the middle of the summer with my Mom and brothers somewhere in the country and I’m young and there are lots of other friends and families there and I follow some of the other young people up a trail into the woods where there are a lot of fire flies. When we come out of the woods it’s dark blue and all of the adults are dancing in a barn. Twinkly lights and lush long wet grass.
The air smells so sweet there. (2020)
This one is sitting cross legged (always uncomfortable) on the rug in my third grade classroom, and Mrs. Armstrong gives each of us a little taste of molasses, and it’s the first time I learn that not all sugar is sweet. (2020)
freshly squeezed, extra pulp (2020)
A late 90s mini with a French pedicure as a treat, ‘cause we all deserve it (this one has three tiny windows).
The candy factory that my Aunty Lisa’s former partner worked at or owned or maybe just had the keys to …… the buckets we filled. (2020)
Kind of like a symbol of undying love, persisting through all seasons (2020)
A series of impulsive movements, electricity, synapses, constantly moving moving moving one idea to the next…ellipses….pause, reflect, restart. This one is a cherry pit taking in the shade of our magnolia tree. (2020)
A collaboration with my friend Vannessa Barnier, inspired by a special weekend last summer and a poem that V wrote about it at the time (copied below, it makes me feel warm like I can feel the sun on my skin). This one was started and finished in the same backyard, waiting for those tomatoes to come up again this year. (2020)
Tight by Vannessa Barnier:
It’s afternoon in the yard
You are powerful with the sheers
The tomato plants are too long and you go at them
Cutting to their posture
They can’t stand on their own
And you’re the type to take care
There is rope and a wooden wall
With knots, I ask you,
Can you tie a tomato vine too tightly?
Choking is the term and undesired
You loosen all ropes with you knees bent
Drop the sheers from a height in the middle of it
I pick them up and cut my hand
I put my finger in my mouth and you hand me a tomato for my mouth instead
You collect some from the vines for me
Inside, you put oil in the pan and then salt and then the tomatoes
You cook them whole and I don’t let them cool
I bite down on the hot tomato
It pops and burns my mouth
I almost do it again but you wink at me
Easy to forget logic for desire
We take care
Desert, red rock (2020).
Sipping strawberry milk and star gazing on Moon’s moon (2020)
Thinkin’ about the quiet ocean. The last time I was close to it in Belle île last June with Annie, Danny and Paolo. This one was tough, cause how do you do justice to something that could swallow you whole? (2020)
Thinking about my grandma April through this one. Never got to meet her (she died quite young) but it’s nice to imagine what her presence might have felt like. Now that I see this weaving through the camera lens it’s a bit camo too, and I wonder what it’s trying to conceal………….! (2020)
In exchange with Joseph Shabason ~ (2020)
The only weaving I made in June. Thinking about desert moss and the morning dew that sustains it (2020)
Began this one sometime in May, kept trying to figure out what it was. Still kind of am? It’s sort of like looking up at constellations and looking down at a mind/emotional map. Taking in the interaction of hues next to each other. In starting to review the journal that I kept for the first two months of lockdown ( I just lose track of things yknow?), I come across this line that I don’t remember writing, but reminds me of this night sky/map:
mirrors of each other, but not quite the same reflection, like twins with different rising signs.
A weaving for every body of water I got to dip my body of water into over these past warm months.
Inspired by the greenery growing through unexpected places like sidewalk cracks, and the birdsongs I’m trying to learn to identify. Funny to hear a birdsong and learn whose chirp it is and place that sound to a certain time and space, like the familiarity of long hot summer mornings in Toronto with the sounds of cicadas and the northern cardinal. Attempting to create my own context through simple gestures like this.
The bright yellow here was from a carrot top dyebath, and the dusty rose shade from cutch.
This one is dedicated to my attention span (working on it). And to disappointed lovers everywhere (lol).