Harvest

The repetitive movements of crochet is something that can’t be made by machines. It’s too complex to be programmed in machinery but well memorized by my muscles. It reminds me of the inability to explain what trauma feels like while the body and mind remember vividly.

There are a lot of stories and skills that are shared, explained, and taught but not fully understood. The sorrow of what’s been done that can’t be undone left grief and stained the movements of our next steps. How can these stories be heard and acted upon?

As a woman from a family with many women who do craft work (either as a job or hobby), I build my bridge between craft and art. Letting go of any negative connotation, I picked up the crochet hook and left the painting brushes aside. Making a feminist statement in material and work manners; my social political standpoints, position as an artist, and personal life, merged.