Cloth is the theme of this box. I have been involved in textiles all my life. As a child, I learned to sew and crochet, embroider and knit. It was supposed to be what a woman contributed to the family: the skills in household craft.
In Guatemala, the women of the countryside sit on their heels on the dusty ground, tie themselves to the nearest tree by the waist and weave intricate family patterns into huipils for themselves and their children. They are surrounded by chickens, children and chores, but there they remain, tied up and in control of all the family.
In Japanese painting, often cloth is the star of a picture. Cloth drapes, floats, lends stature or conveys languid, sensual pleasure. Its colours and patterns are a message, coded. Geishas wear multiple layers of soft printed kimonos; Lovers get lost in the profuse confusion of patterns and folds.
In Africa, women wrap themselves with lengths of Indonesian printed cotton. Sometimes the prints are abstract and of strong contrasting colours; sometimes they wear the portrtait of their favourite ruler or visitor. The capulana serves as cover against the cold, shroud, swadling; it makes a good pad to protect the head carrying the water pot; it hangs at the door like a curtain, for privacy; it is a picnic cloth, a flag, a sofa.
When cloth is pushed and bunched, it drapes and curls mysteriously. I try often to reproduce that movement but it defeats me every time.
The glaze in this box ran freely and carried separately each of the elements of the slip beneath. It chose its path capriciously and so it flames and quivers, consuming itself in light and shade.
Inside, the first of the strip poems. The innaugural vessel of memories and secrets, first of many.
