I’m haunted by the notion that every object has a story to tell.

My assemblages and domestic sculptures are fashioned out of objects that speak to me - old suitcases, unfinished hand-stitched pillows, a child’s dress from the turn of the century. I may begin with a personal item that has outlived its use in my life -- such as an old nightgown, a sweater of my mother’s wedding dress. I then add scraps of piecework - - domestic crafts that have outlived their usefulness and are filled with unrepairable holes. In this way, the work of n unknown craft person can be preserved into something new and beautiful.

All these objects, fabrics or pieces of clothing have been used or worn by someone, lived in and animated by the previous owner. I manipulate the fabric and add weight and strength to what can often be a fragile material by layering thread, adding lace, embroidering text and staining the fabric. This is my version of storytelling, and an outward expression of an interior dialogue.

The process is slow and meditative - a reaction to the perfection of mass-produced, cheap, disposable goods. The work becomes an exploration of the time and intimacy of handiwork. I spend hours and months bent over a piece. As I stitch, I am further integrated into the work - sweat from my hands, a spot of blood from a pricked finger, a strand of hair that gets tangled into a piece of embroidery floss - are all literally incorporated into the textile.

Each tangled piece of thread is part of the memento mori, celebrating the complexity, messiness and ultimate decay of human life. I seek to explore the space between our individual and collective memories from the perspective of story and experience. I want to challenge our perception of the object, its worth and our memory of it. I’m creating repositories for our joys and sorrows; sculptures which summon ghosts and keep our stories