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I started to work with the gifted bags of woolly remnants. I wrapped the fibres around the gnarled, twisted, deformed trolleys. And as things started to take form, I began to have a sense that saying goodbye can be a healing and letting go, a process of growth happening by moving into the ruins. I continued to spin (badly) and weave navigating her passing, repairing the trolleys as an act of remembrance, folding and threading things into renewed forms. Repairing the broken, the harshness of the steel frame with the warmth of thread, heat-forged materials wrenched from the earth with the gift of soft fleece, the domestic, the labour of home.
Gifted homespun, knarled rusty boat steel
In progress
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