Geology

Working with cloth is slow and allows time for reflection. The act of weaving allows the maker to build an image or pattern directly into the structure; the idea is intrinsic to the material itself, and the material has a voice in where the work goes; it is a collaborative practice. The slowly accumulating weaving gestures that assemble something out of a pile of string on the floor has a weirdly sensuous aspect that is both seductive and horrifying. Dyeing the yarn adds an additional opportunity to intervene on the material. Printing and dyeing fabric and subsequently sewing it together permits a different kind of intervention on an already existing material by changing forms, colours, patterns or graphic marks without altering the physical nature of the cloth with its own history. Reconciling these divergent impulses, some slow and controlled, others recklessly fast and unpredictable, is fascinating, even thrilling, but can also be mindlessly frustrating. 

For me this work process can become a metaphor for geological and evolutionary actions over time. While considering rock and plants I hope to comprehend, if only distantly, the vulnerable, layered, multiple lives and functions all around us and beneath our feet, while also noting the mind-bending function of geological time, which stretches into millions and billions of years. During our current global and political moment, it is comforting to take the long view of life on planet Earth, and to maintain hope in some kind of future, despite the liklihood that it may not be something we can imagine right now.

Nova Scotia is the site of very interesting geological movement;  the bedrock and upper layers of rock influence which plants can thrive, so that one might read much into the long history of the place by noting what wants to grow here. The land speaks to us if we can learn to listen.