Ties That Bind
'Ties that Bind' delves into the often invisible labor of women, particularly the repetitive, unacknowledged tasks that form the backbone of domestic and social life. This labor encompasses physical, mental, and social aspects, reflecting the multifaceted roles women play. Using a simple burgundy yarn—Red Heart, a brand synonymous with practicality and accessibility—long, continuous crocheted chains are fashioned as both metaphor and material record of these efforts. The yarn’s ubiquity, its lack of uniqueness (no dye lot), and its medium weight mirror the perceptions of women's work: necessary, enduring, but frequently dismissed as ordinary.
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This work unfolds through two installations. The first piece is not interactive; it features a crochet hook displayed on the wall, with a chain descending to the floor, forming a tangled mess. The crochet hook remains attached to a ball of yarn, indicating that the work is paused, not complete. This piece invites viewers to reflect on creation, interruption, and the fact that this invisible labor is never truly complete. It is necessary and unending, reminding us of the ongoing nature of these contributions.
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In the second piece, the crochet hook and chain are still connected to the ball of yarn, which rests atop a dark red, floral-patterned armchair. The chain cascades down, pooling around the chair in a tangle. This installation invites the audience to sit in the chair and actively continue the work of creating the chain. The chair, one of a pair, mirrors the one I use in my living room—a space relegated to domestic life—where much of this work begins. The chain travels with me from errands to the doctor’s office to work, symbolizing not only the physical aspects of invisible labor but also the mental load women carry. As I juggle these tasks, the act of crocheting serves as a grounding practice amidst the chaos.
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For the longest time, I referred to this piece as ‘the world’s longest umbilical cord,’ a name that captures both the nurturing role of women and the unspoken, often unseen labor that binds families and communities together. In a world where men often proclaim their achievements, women roll up their sleeves and quietly get the work done. These chains embody this dichotomy—each stitch a silent testament to the countless, uncelebrated actions that sustain our world.
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The title, ‘The Ties that Bind,’ reflects the complexity of these connections—how the invisible labor of women forms essential bonds of support and obligation within families and communities. By rendering these labors visible, “The Ties that Bind” confronts the ways in which such contributions are woven into the fabric of our daily existence yet remain largely unseen. Each length of yarn reflects the persistence, resilience, and tenacity of those who continue to build, mend, and create without fanfare.
Play/Collaborations with My Son
As cliché as it may sound, my son is the best thing that has ever happened to me. Apologies to my husband, but he would agree—our kiddo takes the cake for both of us. I never realized how challenging it could be to balance parenting and work. Explaining to my son when he was smaller, why Mommy has to go to work was tough. The heartbreak for both of us when I left and the joy when I returned were intense. Hearing "Mommy, you're home!" followed by hugs and the instant demand to "Play with me, Mommy," sent us off to play with his trains, cars, or Minecraft (on peaceful mode).
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On the flip side, some days, especially through the demands of work and life all I want is a moment of quiet. The incessant "Play with me, Mommy" can be frustrating. There's so much to do, and playing is the last thing I have energy for. I get irritated, then guilt descends. I think of families who have lost their children due to illness or violence and realize how lucky I am to have my little boy. Guilt also comes from knowing that one day, he'll grow up and won't ask me to play anymore.
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Instead of dwelling on the guilt or letting irritation take hold, I've started making artwork with my son. We play with watercolor, crayons, pencils, markers, and his toys. Once everything is dry, I work back into the drawings we make together with stamps, ink, markers, and other mixed media materials, reflecting on his words as I work. This way, we both have fun together. I get to teach him about one of the things I love most—art—he gets to be creative with me, and when the collaborative part is done, I have my quiet time when he's asleep to process my thoughts on life as a working mom and my feelings about the world he will grow up in.
Chasing the Years
The pandemic was a hectic whirlwind of anxiety, where time sped by and then slowed to a crawl. What it did provide was ample time to reflect, and revisit the memories and moments that have made life, at least my life, what it is. Too often we rush ahead, as a society, chasing whatever it is that drives us-- for some people that is fame, money, power or escape. Rarely do we reflect on what was, or just take time to live in the moment.
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"Chasing the Years" is an autobiographical series which explores the passage of time and the role of memory. Images taken with my cell phone serve as snapshots from my point of view, of all the moments that make up every day of my life-- from moments of intimate quiet, to the repetitive daily grind. From the significant to the mundane.
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Each image is worked, and reworked, sanded, layered obscured and revealed in such a way as to attempt to preserve the moment. By the same process, however, the integrity of the memory is compromised, as the images become disintegrated with each new layer, echoing how memory fades over time.
Detritus
Detritus is an ongoing series that delves into the journey of creating a work of art, exploring the fascination with the process versus the finished product. It asks the question: which holds more value?
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Is it the process itself—the act of creation? This stage can be tedious, mentally and physically taxing, and often results in remnants that are neither beautiful nor aesthetically pleasing, and sometimes even repulsive. Yet, it brings a deep sense of satisfaction.
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Or is it the completed product? Though it may be beautiful, it risks being dismissed after only a cursory glance in our visually inundated world, where attention spans are ever-shortening.
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Which should be celebrated more: the process or the product?
Nike:Wrapped
When Diana Marta invited me to participate in "Ordinary woman" she requested something along the lines of my wrapped figure paintings from my graduate work. This being something I had not explored for a few years, I dug up my old artist statement and found this:
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"Though it is a personal dilemma, there is a universal facet to this struggle, in that every person experiences this stage of development at one point in their life. I can only experience it as a woman, and I feel that even in this era it is more difficult for a woman to overcome the ingrained societal expectation of bending to the will of others.
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For Nike: Wrapped, I drew upon this statement, and my love of classical Greek sculpture. I have always admired how something as solid as marble is made to look like cloth over the flesh underneath.
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I've never had the privilege of seeing the Nike of Samothrace in person. But I remember my art history professor describing the groove worn in the wall of the Louvre from where millions of cameras have been propped against to get just the perfect shot of that graceful winged personification of Victory. The slide (which he took himself) and his lecture on the statue have remained burned in my minds' eye and ear, and served as inspiration for this piece. The ancient Greek statue stands poised and powerful, a symbol of triumph and freedom. Though the statue itself is headless and armless, its dynamic form, with wings outstretched and drapery that appears to be swept by the wind, exudes a sense of motion and liberation. It captures the moment of victory, the instant of breaking free from struggle.
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Nike: Wrapped is a figure encased in layers of cloth, so constricting that she's denied her own agency and identity. The cloth binds so tightly that it conceals all features, the figure a mere silhouette of potential and existence. Every layer represents a barrier—social expectations, personal fears, external pressures—that strips away autonomy and self-expression.
Autumn Leaves: Birch Group
Birch "Leaves" was a compelling collection of narratives and performances, featuring a diverse group of individuals, each with their own unique story and contribution to the community, as a part of Peter Bruun's Autumn Leaves project (visit the page here)
Autumn Leaves showcased the resilience, creativity, and dedication of its participants, weaving together a rich tapestry of experiences.
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I had the opportunity to meet with and draw portraits of the following seven individuals. At the end of the exhibition, each of them were given their portraits. I attempted to receive each story and retell it through their portrait with authenticity and respect.
In conjunction with my portraits, spoken word poet Art Vandalay's powerful performances brought these narratives to life, adding a dynamic and emotional layer that deeply connected with audiences.
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At the time of this project:
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Juanita F. Brown was a single mother of five girls, grandmother to nine, great-grandmother to two, and godmother to another. Her journey took a significant turn in 2004 when she went to Marian House, where she was given a new beginning in life.
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Tori Burns had been a dedicated fundraiser for the Community College of Baltimore County since 2010, leveraging her skills to support education and the arts. With a background in fundraising for various arts organizations, Tori’s passion for creativity extended to her personal life, where she designed and made clothes.
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Seth Knopp, a renowned pianist, served as the Artistic Director of Yellow Barn and was a founding member of the Peabody Trio. His musical journey had taken him around the world, performing with the Knopp-Melançon Duo, and winning the USIA Artistic Ambassador Competition.
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Robert Ginyard, an aide to City Councilwoman Sharon Greene Middleton, was a prostate cancer survivor who had become a passionate advocate for the power of positive thinking. His experience with cancer had fueled his dedication to helping others face life’s challenges with resilience and optimism.
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Donna Jackson Nakazawa was an award-winning science journalist, health advocate, and author of influential books such as The Last Best Cure and The Autoimmune Epidemic. She received the 2012 AESKU award for her lifetime contributions to health and immunology sciences.
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Paul Freedman originally hailed from Connecticut and New York but had called Baltimore home for most of the past 30 years. A Union College graduate, Paul worked in international business development and programs management at Northrop Grumman.
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Felton Williams, Jr. had served as a pastor for over 50 years, first in Michigan and then in Baltimore. Married with five children (one deceased) and numerous grandchildren and great-grandchildren, Felton had been a father figure to many through his ministry.
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