Indian textiles, art prints and a few paintings by local artists used to line our walls. Last weekend, I unhooked all of it and started over. This time I hung work I stitched – fabric married to poems.
One series features the imagined soles of my ancestor's shoes. The “sole” of my grandma is planted in a field of tulips, gilded with gold beads and a poem I wrote for her eulogy. Several pieces feature fabric I printed from photographs and then embroidered with words and hundreds of French knots and satin stitches. Two are trimmed with tangled hair I pulled from my brush.
All these pieces used to hang in the back-most rooms of our house and my office. In remote stairwells. In the bathroom. Where the Matisse print and the framed saris now dwell.
Photo: My dad’s worn sole fashioned for my “Sole Series”
One series features the imagined soles of my ancestor's shoes. The “sole” of my grandma is planted in a field of tulips, gilded with gold beads and a poem I wrote for her eulogy. Several pieces feature fabric I printed from photographs and then embroidered with words and hundreds of French knots and satin stitches. Two are trimmed with tangled hair I pulled from my brush.
All these pieces used to hang in the back-most rooms of our house and my office. In remote stairwells. In the bathroom. Where the Matisse print and the framed saris now dwell.
Photo: My dad’s worn sole fashioned for my “Sole Series”
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