My precious memories, like most others, are constructed from repeated experience. Driving in the car, sharing tears over a favorite song of a loved one who had passed - the heat of mid July, the endless expanse of sky, the sweet smell after summer rain. There is a current that brings back these experiences again and again.
What I make grows from this atmosphere - I am existing in a timeloop, a continued cycle of my emotion, this atmosphere that envelops. I feel like I’m trying to put words to something I can’t explain. I don’t know what makes me recall the emotions that embrace me, I feel blanketed by their weight, a comfort and an ache. I cannot give you a timeline that makes sense, I cannot give one to myself. I react to a past feeling that has come back to me, or made itself present once again, and I try to provide a form to that feeling. Can I convey to you their significance to me? Do they surround you a fraction of the amount they surround me?
The form comes from materials where I can use my whole body to create them, where this atmosphere holds me, something slow and involved that becomes immersive. Weaving and ceramics feel right, built up line by line, pulled with careful fingers. They provide a body for this atmosphere to exist, where repetition builds a home for my memories to live.