Practice as Story // Story as Method
My pracitce is a weaving, a spilling of self into landscape, into plant. An initation, a conjuring, underfoot.
We will begin in 2019, when my grandfather died as mist settled among pines in north west Poland.
We walked the woods behind the block as the veil thinned and we said goodbye to summer.
Leaves started to turn, flurries of red suspended beteween slender trunks of 100 year old trees.
The forest was much younger than I had imagined.
I wanted to hold it. capture. preserve. keep. remember.
I gathered.
I pressed.
Emotions archived as petals, roots, leaves.
Lost.
This grief spilled forth and soaked the forest floor. Footsteps cushioned by needles and ghosts.
...
Working with glass is walking a fine line between preservation and loss. I have experienced two significant breaks in the last few weeks. Each time I heard it shatter before I saw the broken pieces. Both times in a studio. I am waiting to see how the mega 1m long bramble cast will turn out in a few weeks time.
Casting as practice in finding presence in absence.
Burn out.
We will begin in 2019, when my grandfather died as mist settled among pines in north west Poland.
We walked the woods behind the block as the veil thinned and we said goodbye to summer.
Leaves started to turn, flurries of red suspended beteween slender trunks of 100 year old trees.
The forest was much younger than I had imagined.
I wanted to hold it. capture. preserve. keep. remember.
I gathered.
I pressed.
Emotions archived as petals, roots, leaves.
Lost.
This grief spilled forth and soaked the forest floor. Footsteps cushioned by needles and ghosts.
...
Working with glass is walking a fine line between preservation and loss. I have experienced two significant breaks in the last few weeks. Each time I heard it shatter before I saw the broken pieces. Both times in a studio. I am waiting to see how the mega 1m long bramble cast will turn out in a few weeks time.
Casting as practice in finding presence in absence.
Burn out.