After the passing of my maternal grandmother, I began having recurring dreams of being in the home in which she and my grandfather lived when I was a child. Their home was the backdrop for numerous family events and, for me, represents the essence of my childhood. After my grandmother moved, the old house one sat empty and fell into disrepair. The land was later sold and the new owner tore down the ruins. Although the property no longer resembles my grandparents’ home, the sense of place remains the same in my memories and in dreams.
There are other places to which I feel a visceral connection: my paternal grandparents’ home, my father’s business, and my childhood church. Although these structures still stand and I could visit these places, the spirit of place is lost as the people who once inhabited them are no longer present. What is it within us that bonds us so firmly to a physical place?
This series of pod and nest-like forms is my attempt to wrestle with these questions. I am fascinated by birds’ nests—the large outer twigs which form the exterior of the nest and the soft, curving interior lining formed from soft, flexible grasses. Insect cocoons and shells are also an inspiration for this series—structures briefly inhabited, and then abandoned.
As I created each piece, I imagined the painstaking work of some creature forming a structure. Most pieces have ragged openings, as though a creature or its young tore free when the time came to leave. I began with what I know—fiber art and sewing. Each piece began with a stitched fabric base. Some pieces were bound to the end of deadfall twigs or branches, as though attached to a tree by a creature and later harvested for scientific study. Surface treatments include plaster, sand, latex and acrylic paint, thread, twigs, and grasses.
There are other places to which I feel a visceral connection: my paternal grandparents’ home, my father’s business, and my childhood church. Although these structures still stand and I could visit these places, the spirit of place is lost as the people who once inhabited them are no longer present. What is it within us that bonds us so firmly to a physical place?
This series of pod and nest-like forms is my attempt to wrestle with these questions. I am fascinated by birds’ nests—the large outer twigs which form the exterior of the nest and the soft, curving interior lining formed from soft, flexible grasses. Insect cocoons and shells are also an inspiration for this series—structures briefly inhabited, and then abandoned.
As I created each piece, I imagined the painstaking work of some creature forming a structure. Most pieces have ragged openings, as though a creature or its young tore free when the time came to leave. I began with what I know—fiber art and sewing. Each piece began with a stitched fabric base. Some pieces were bound to the end of deadfall twigs or branches, as though attached to a tree by a creature and later harvested for scientific study. Surface treatments include plaster, sand, latex and acrylic paint, thread, twigs, and grasses.