I have been musing a lot recently about palimpsests and the idea of working on top of original text. I have also become quite fascinated by the idea of drawing and stitching on top of OS maps.
Tim Ingold comments in his book ‘Lines,’ that to ‘retrace in ink my path across the surface of the map, I would be judged to have committed an offence tantamount to writing all over the printed text of a book.’ (Ingold, T 2016 pg88). Something about the idea of adding layers to original maps and text excites me. It speaks to my interest in traces of things that have gone before. In my quest to discover my artist self, I am exploring my outer landscape. I am doing this because I believe spaces have a sense of spirit, that they resonate with us individually. I feel that places have this spirit because of the traces left on them both physically and metaphorically by those that have gone before us. The meaning in my making of palimpsests is a literal representation of the traces that we leave as we journey through time and space.
Sewing is a representation of my journey – the needle comes up in unexpected places, unthreads and knots occur. I am transforming the fabric or the original text through my thoughts and emotions whilst transforming myself by developing skills.
Sewing is not a skill that comes naturally to me, despite growing up in a family with a rich history connected to sewing. I have had to develop this skill, developing my artist self at the same time. My daughter, who has inherited the natural flare for sewing, offered to teach me how to use the sewing machine. I couldn’t help but think about how, like a rhizome spreading, this moment left another sort of trace – on the memory of my child.
Traces – not just following them and seeking them out but leaving them by stitching, drawing, writing a line on fabric, paper and on the earth and in time and in memory.
