One of my guiding impulses is to mark a history, to excavate a thing buried within itself and obscured by the naming process or the passage of time. I work with what I have. The sliver, the slice, the glimpse, the periphery. I try to capture the whole through its parts. What is the larger narrative, and at what point does it become discernible? Small mysteries mirror a larger state of not knowing. The writings of Raymond Carver resonate with me as he so effectively captures living as an act of departure from a time and a place when we once knew ourselves.
It interests me to see what and how others see. For instance, the child’s perspective articulates a confident stance in the midst of not knowing. Matter and meaning bend for the child. Antoine de Saint Exupéry’s Little Prince declares, "Only the children know what they're looking for. . .[t]hey spend their time on a rag doll and it becomes very important. . . .”
A word about knitting: As a process, knitting presents the beginning, middle, and end at once. The first and last stitches are received simultaneously. It is analog. Each stitch marks a unit of time, and the beginning and end are concurrent. Past is present. Knitting is the smaller narrative in which it is possible to capture a thing in its entirety. Sewing also marks time and, as a process, runs parallel with my interest in beginnings, middles, and ends.