If I Could Leave

This piece is where my tree rings were born. The repetitive concentric pattern draws inspiration from the counting of rings to age trees. In my work, these rings represent the passage of time and routes taken in a labyrinth. This expresses periods of my life where I feel I am surviving but not making growth. I feel stuck in place with the passion but not the courage to leave. Green, brown, and khaki hues symbolize camouflage and echo the feelings of being overlooked and hidden in plain sight. 

It All Comes Out In The Wash

 Growing up, my dad, who I inherited my worry from, would tell me “It all comes out in the wash” to remind me that things out of our control will all be okay. It would be perfectly fine to not give him the leftover change from the twenty he gave me because well, it all comes out in the wash. I hear this phrase even now while preparing for this show in a much more literal way; the imperfections of the cloth will come out in the wash. 

This body of work celebrates the beauty of resilience and the importance of remembering the spaces and moments that shape who we are. Each textile is a narrative thread from my experiences, inviting viewers to reflect on their connections to family, nature, and the labyrinthine journey of self-discovery. My artwork evokes memories of southern past times like porch sitting with my family and the passing on of stories, as well as my journey through personal struggles and discovery while apart from my family. 

I have grown through adversity, struggling with the dichotomy of feeling disconnected from my family since I have been away from my hometown, but feeling grounded when I am in nature. The tales I learned sitting on my grandparents’ porch prepared me for the changes I am going through today. 

Throughout the work, tree rings represent the passage of time, the history before us, and the paths taken through our choices. My grandparent's home brings a lot of creative inspiration for me, especially with color: the blue bottles collected on the kitchen sink window sill; the interior window shutters collected from the first bookstore in Goldsboro; the azaleas my grandpa rooted that blossom in the front yard. I am reminded of my roots in the South and my undying connection to my family with the phrases passed down to me that sometimes get funny looks. The perseverance echoed in my work highlights the powerful impact of family traditions and the lessons learned from observing those I love. 

Good Grief

Stripes in cloth have historically represented oppression. In this weaving, I use stripes of compositional changes on the left side of a tulip tree that grows outside of my dad's childhood home to represent the oppression he faced after suffering a stroke that immobilized his left side. The use of champagne gold stripes resemble the light that has come from this change in my dad. Since his stroke, he has been forced to slow down and take care of himself, after a life of putting my brother and me before himself. My dad is softer emotionally, at least on the surface now, I think he was hiding it in himself all along. I’ve never seen him tear up over so many movies!

The image is essentially divided in half, the right side being the original image. With this work, I aim to show the stages of grief through the splicing of the left side of the image through weave structure and color change. As the image progresses across the plane, the next section doesn’t have much change from the right side; it’s still readable as the tulip tree just inverted to represent the beginning reactions to my dad's stroke; this isn’t permanent, the effects can be reversed. 

The next section is darker to recall the hurtful reality that it is too late for my dad to be who he used to be physically.

The final section uses point twill to communicate the realization that he is both a cross of his old self and his new self and that’s a damn good person. Nothing could change that about my dad.

The tree rings that hug the tulip tree are a recurring image in my work that represents paths taken. In this piece, they represent the paths taken that led to my dad’s stroke, paths taken in and of grief, paths taken that encounter ableism, and the path of the parent taking care of the child until the child then takes care of the parent.

 Pastoureau, Michel. The Devil’s Cloth: A History Of Stripes. Washington Square Press, 1991.

You’ve Found Me Out

You’ve Found Me Out is a bead weaving using the square stitch and bugle beads, it reads, “My Mystery Fades” and gives a snapshot into a feeling that follows me into my relationships with people. We love shiny things, and we love mystery. When we first meet someone there are endless opportunities for what can blossom; it is the beginning of a connection that a person can be who we want them to be. Am I shiny at first? Do I dull over time? Did I meet your expectations? Do you like who you wanted me to be better than who I am? Did I accidentally deceive you? Did you find me out?

Piggly Wiggly

If you are a regular on the porch you can hear the faint sound of a walker clinking against the tile flooring, even though my grandma passed away years ago. Cha and Billy picked my brother and me up from school every day and we would go back to their house until it was five o’clock porch time. Five o’clock was our cue to gather on the warm, glassy porch on North Andrews Avenue and wait for our family to arrive. Uncles, aunts, cousins, and family friends gathered as the porch became a place to wind down after a long day of work. It was a time to reminisce on what seemed to be the good days and even laugh about the bad ones. The porch always had crackers. I never saw the crackers being put out, but they were always there and often accompanied by Cha’s pepper jelly. The porch fan was always on, but it was always warm. In between breaks of conversation, the sound of ice tapping a glass calls for action. The faintest of sound, yet we all heard it. That meant it was time to add more water to Billy’s vodka drink.  Two seats remained reserved on the porch, my grandma taking one side of a white wicker couch, and my grandpa in his green wicker chair, which was strategically placed behind his bonsai tree. Running out of seats became an issue as the people filled the room until our good friend, Madison, started the tradition, “Piggly Wiggly!” on our porch. When someone says, “Piggly Wiggly!” their seat becomes saved as they go up to get some crackers or a drink refill. It did not matter if you were young or old, all was fair in Piggly Wiggly. 

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