Light on the fabric of creation

Making a canvas with an old 1920's dress, so full of wear and tear that it is no longer functional as clothing, and instead the dress is reimagined as a memory keeper in the form of a canvas. From the armhole a gush of tulle streams down as a beam of light. A portal shining soft light on the the broken, dark unconscious pieces that got stuck in the storyline of the fabric. The act of making is both preservation and transformation.

Ever since I was a baby I loved pieces of fabric. I would hold them between my fingers while sucking my thumb. Rub and squeeze the edges under my fingernails. Touching a soft fabric gave a sensation of comfort and safety. It would make me dissapear completely in my own mind space, a meditative bliss.

As a baby my mom would dress me in handknitted cotton vests that she found in the charity shops and hand embroider them with bright coloured threads. They were beautifully knitted and from a time when it was still custom to create your own garments.

This dress, also from a time when it was very common to sew you own garments, was unlabeled and handsewn. I wore it until it could not longer be mended.