Personal history is inescapable. All people are shaped by their environment and experiences in varying degrees, but even the subtlest influences can be traced to the past. I choose to embrace the impact of the past in my work, drawing from family dynamics and relationships in conjunction with thoughts on what “normal” or ideal situations would be like. The idea of home has become very important to me after reflecting on my lack of solid roots while growing up. When you don’t have one physical place to call home, you have to make a home inside yourself. If home is where the heart is, it’s beneath skin and muscle, inside of the ribcage; a safe place that no one can take from you. Bones are like the framework of a house: supportive and protective, but as strong as they are, they can break and offer no more protection than a piece of lace. I’ve started to think of lace as representative of what is untouchable or unattainable. It is everything I never had: the stable family life indicated by predictable patterns and clean white lines. It’s also a fragile fabric, easily snagged on sharp objects, ready to tear and unravel, not unlike real-life ideals.
My work attempts to find the balance between what I am and what I want. Now I know the infinite reassurance of sleeping in the same bed every night, but I’m still trying to dissect the state of mind that home really is, while making objects that reflect myself, and inevitably, my history.