With the air dry and cool, I am putting the last details on my sculptures. Long-ago lessons in making armatures reawaken. Plus secret knowledge gained years ago, when I interned at the RISD museum's textile department, about how bustles stayed up.
Both pieces are thoughts made visible. What is memory? How do we assemble our identity? How to we incorporate loss?
I also made a series of sticks and stones wrapped in old lace and fabric. I have disintigration on my mind. The real shock is how large-scale ideas emerge as I finish these smaller ones. I want to make whole trees from fabric. I can see them in my mind. Lace, sheets, silk. I can see it. How to get them to stand up? How to move them? Where to install? First I have to solve the problem of hanging these.
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