INSIDE OUT
Discarded moth cocoons have been my material of choice for the last several years. Using the material feels like my artistic call for an increased awareness of the often unseen natural world. The cocoons also operate as a metaphor for mankind’s need for a transformative return to the Self, too often just as invisible as nature, and the personal responsibility required for that process. If we begin to realize that parts of ourselves exist outside of our awareness, it may become easier to imagine that the natural world also possesses aspects of “life” beyond what we can see and understand.
I most often use discarded Cricula trifenestrata and Ceranchia apollina moth cocoons, their inherent gold shimmer a reference to the true value of our overlooked inner qualities. Like so many soft sculptures made from fibrous materials, these cocoon pieces constantly shape shift each time they’re moved. While hand sewing, I sometimes hold the pieces out in front of me, almost a gestational pose. The proliferating, generative nature of the material and the work is as mesmerizing to me as the second hand on a clock. As I sew, I periodically wonder about the point at which a particular artwork began, where it will end, or if it ever will. Isn’t each piece, in some way, a continuation of the one before? In this way, my artwork often operates as a metaphor for life, a realization I hope to evoke in my viewers. Some of the cocoons are riddled with holes, allowing the viewer to see both the outside and the inside of the work. For me, the artworks’ hollow, lacy ephemerality highlights the space around and within the work. Could it be that it is this space that I’m most in search of (even longing for?) when I’m creating an artwork? Objects are necessary: they help us to define culture and provide boundaries that direct and delineate. But it is in the open spaces, the emptiness that holds structure in place, where everything new arises.
I most often use discarded Cricula trifenestrata and Ceranchia apollina moth cocoons, their inherent gold shimmer a reference to the true value of our overlooked inner qualities. Like so many soft sculptures made from fibrous materials, these cocoon pieces constantly shape shift each time they’re moved. While hand sewing, I sometimes hold the pieces out in front of me, almost a gestational pose. The proliferating, generative nature of the material and the work is as mesmerizing to me as the second hand on a clock. As I sew, I periodically wonder about the point at which a particular artwork began, where it will end, or if it ever will. Isn’t each piece, in some way, a continuation of the one before? In this way, my artwork often operates as a metaphor for life, a realization I hope to evoke in my viewers. Some of the cocoons are riddled with holes, allowing the viewer to see both the outside and the inside of the work. For me, the artworks’ hollow, lacy ephemerality highlights the space around and within the work. Could it be that it is this space that I’m most in search of (even longing for?) when I’m creating an artwork? Objects are necessary: they help us to define culture and provide boundaries that direct and delineate. But it is in the open spaces, the emptiness that holds structure in place, where everything new arises.
