My Studiomate
The tapestries I weave are often challenges of technique, puzzles of production, and inconsistent save the hand that wove them and the loom on which they were woven. I built that loom myself, every saw cut, every drilled hole, every planed surface, worked by my hand. It grew from a handful of sticks as warp weighted loom, to the overwrought scaffolding upon which I weave now. My tapestries are my skin, out for the world to see, but my loom is my bones, without which I feel as though I can’t even stand. And for me, the most interesting artworks are interesting, not upon first glance, but upon inspection. Works which are complex, and whose material screams the tedium of technique and time. That’s what I hope to achieve when I weave. I hope that someone sees the pretty image on the wall and thinks “oh that’s nice,” and then stops, and slowly realizes the complexity of the artform. And if so inclined, they may read about the process, they may see images of my past works in progress. They may, for a moment, feel the gravity of the loom before which I sit, and the weight of the time and process I commit to with each new tapestry.