I was working on this moth. After a conversation with a friend Ana Cozendey this object became a starting point for an interactive project called Memory Weave. Ana has experience in organising creative workshops, so the memory theme grew into a memory exchange. Where the participants are encouraged to share their memories and weave an object – cocoon together. A throwing of a ball of wool is used to mark the participants turn to both symbolically and physically contribute towards the creation of the seed object.
There is a story attached to this object. It is a part of the piece -the object and the story together.
I have started something new. This is a joint project with my husband. It is again connected with psychology, exploring how we set ourselves for the day and wear our faces and bodies in a way presenting a side of us to the world.
This is obviously work in progress, it is called ” Masks for every day”.
Being a mother draw my attention to another aspect of my self, the one of being a daughter and a granddaughter. I started looking backwards and looking for a root or a stem ending in a string of mothers stretching backwards perpetually. There is a sense of mystery of something venerated in the past in a form of a deity as these figures turn gradually less familiar, blearier and abstracted. So here started the Russian dolls. They are transparent and it is possible to see the adult female figure inside, with another smaller adult female inside itself.
I have now finished the nest. It is about getting to terms with a miscarriage that happened years ago.
A field of glass, just opening, lily buds with little teenagers inside. The potential is just hinted. The buds are just a foretaste of things to come. Puberty is a fragile time of change. The fragility of this potential is moving. Not all the buds open.
Recently in our community we lost two teenagers. This sad experience deeply affected me. As a mother myself, it is easy to put myself in the place of the parents. I also remember being a teenager. It is a turbulent time.
Balance is hard to sustain. So many things pull in an opposite direction. We only have fragile moments.
Another reminder of fragility is a book I read recently .The Buried Giant by Kazuo Ishiguro is in some way closest to Don Quixote.
This is a tale of fragility both of people’s memories and of civilization itself. He uses mythical language and conveys a mythical wisdom.
It is a multi-layered and beautiful book. It takes only a little while to get used to his way of talking in this book. The ever present fog of forgetfulness is such a powerful symbol. It is timeless just like the most excellent myths and Shakespeare’s best plays. Without this fog of illusion no civilized values can be promoted to anyone, as they would remember too well how it all started.
In the same time a personal, touching story of an aging couple, love, humanity and a story about collective fog of forgetfulness- politics of severely controlled information.
Recently my art is starting to reflect my self and my thoughts better than ever before. I am casting embryos as a memory of pregnancy, loss and fertility. Male and female essence mixed. Exploring the strong impulses to generate, the desire to have an offspring. What drives the amoeba to split in two? In the same time the early embryo –combination of male and female can so often not work, and miscarriages seem to be a lot more common then what I imagined. These are difficult contrasting feelings on the limit of conscious and unconscious.
I use memory or a personal emotion as a staring point leading into deeper universal base. This is sometimes raw and painful. It should be similar to searching for, distilling an archetype or a myth. If we dig deep enough we reach a common base, even with the animals. Our embryos have stages. Our selves have deep set instincts and fears outside of our control.
Here is my sketch book:
Pain and tissue gradually falling apart at one end, probably resin but I need to do some research on how to make it react differently in the same object.
Self portrait in crackled glaze, I will paint this.
Blind eels wriggling in slime (this creature exists at the bottom of the ocean), I think I will call it blind snake, on maleness and sexuality.
I am going to make a dove out of marble, spirit out of stone.
Look up mythical images and fetishes again. There is a wealth of experience encoded.