Tuesday, December 5, 2023

Work in progress

 I have been compelled to create this work based on the statue of The Emigrants in Helmsdale, Scotland.  I have been pondering what home means to us: what it would take to re-build a home; how hard it would be; what you would need; what you might try to replace; what you would seek to establish in a new country?

I had to work in amongst the blues and greys. The statue, the weather, and the water seemed to demand it and so I went along with it. Not a familiar place for me!

This is my work desk as I beavered away during the week. It has been stinking hot and steamy here, so despite my best efforts to stay cool, I had to have the air-conditioning on. And what a hoot that turned out to be as all my light as a feather Japanese papers went flying and drifting all over the place.  I had to keep checking my bins as so many fragments ended up in there... but I persisted!


The imagery coming together.



Some of the words I have been thinking about.


 


Beginning to now think about stitching. Does it add anything? Does it distract? 

Testing on a piece I realised after completing it, was 0.5cm shorter than the others.


4 comments:

  1. these remind me of log cabin quilt blocks ... metaphors for home and hearth

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    1. That's a good connection Liz. I wondered about tearing the edges and going more free-form but the structure worked better for me. Somehow they feel more like building blocks, more secure and steadfast...

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  2. As a member of a family that immigrated in the 1950's, and I then later returned to the country of origin, I would like to say that while one might come to be at home in a new country or then again in the old, but one will probably never feel the same rooted connection as those that stay in their place all their lives... Just to give you another perspective to your present project and your work, that is always deeply thoughtful and inspiring.

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    1. Dear Renate - what wisdom there is in your words, and such a remarkable experience to leave, and to return, and to learn home all over again. I often ponder what makes home home, sometimes a place, sometimes people, sometimes a feeling perhaps. This story is about being forced to leave and having to make a new home in a foreign place, and what that might mean...it feels so very hard to me. Thanks and go well.

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