2019
fiber reactive dye, cotton, acrylic, pencil
72 x 40 inches
As Hurricane Michael reached our beaches, I was throwing the first few picks of dye-coded yarn for this weaving. My loom was festive—decked in battery-operated twinkle lights. I squinted to align the weft while outside, wind skinned the trees. I would realize that I had been foolish to wait it out. But I was thinking about seashells and making up for lost hours. About fossil ruins, the non-human, scalloped and bleached by time. I was thinking about exoskeletons while making cloth. About the limits of vision. How a soft object can out-survive hard armor. I thought about my skin and the shuddering building I was in. I was preoccupied with what to leave behind, and whether the weather would erase us for good.
2019
fiber reactive dye, cotton, acrylic, pencil
72 x 40 inches
As Hurricane Michael reached our beaches, I was throwing the first few picks of dye-coded yarn for this weaving. My loom was festive—decked in battery-operated twinkle lights. I squinted to align the weft while outside, wind skinned the trees. I would realize that I had been foolish to wait it out. But I was thinking about seashells and making up for lost hours. About fossil ruins, the non-human, scalloped and bleached by time. I was thinking about exoskeletons while making cloth. About the limits of vision. How a soft object can out-survive hard armor. I thought about my skin and the shuddering building I was in. I was preoccupied with what to leave behind, and whether the weather would erase us for good.
