Updated: May 18
In making a drawing on fabric, I sit still and allow the pen to move up onto my feet, encountering the boundaries of fabric and flesh, a sense of touch shifts. The pen traces along from one point to the other, appearing as webbed plateaus with threads that shoot off in various directions and speeds, a non hierarchical structure. A shift sends me to gesture and I pick up the spool of thread arriving in a new space of unravelling , spinning the thread at various speeds and directions... Revolutions, a longing to reverse time, revisiting and untangling the clusters of knotted enmeshed thread, circling and snagging I as moved around the room. Trinity, a solar system of ancestral constellations. I take my place, tie my tongue and pull the fabric of time from beneath my feet.