What is very liberating with thinking about metamorphosis, is that it is nothing new. Creativity in relation to change is claustrophobically associated with the new. I don’t understand what this new is supposed to be. Something pops out of the Black hole? But how can I think something that is not already here? So therefore, I think everything. The potential for metamorphosis is right in front of our eyes. The question is then not how far you can see, but how close.
The folded and unfolded work. Unveiling the words and story.
The word window, carries the meaning “an eye to the wind”. Wind-eye or vindauga in origin. A photo and image is like a window, to look out, but to stay separated and protected from the wind. For the being of folds, the wind is inseparable. The textile folds. It is very very windy. The folds of the earth would be it’s sand-dunes perhaps. the folds of water it’s waves. A folded textile work. Thoughts ready to travel or be unfolded. Or perhaps stay folded from sight.
Making the words and images inseparable from it’s form. The thoughts being a thread stitched with a needle into the textile. At the moment the form was given to them, the images and words, thoughts and notes, they grounded and became. A line from a text became a pattern, a color, an image, a shape, an open book, a tale. The works have a life on their own. To release a thought, believe and matter.
Launch, to set in motion an activity, thought and product. An art-practice as launch is to send into orbit. The orbit then, can be thought of as a sphere of activity, interest and believe.
The traveler, taking with him, his thoughts, believe and matter. The rst traveler on the silk road, with little landscapes of his homeland embroidered on the back of his cape. Perhaps so he would not loose ground when he entered new spheres with his departure.