My crocheted outfits skirt the border of reality as a way of thinking about bodies, bodies that buckle under the strain of difference, and draw their lifeblood from it. Initially very much anchored in the real, the shapes became freer, stranger, and at the same time more concentrated. The quaintness of the medium, its look and sensory qualities, make a direct link to a lived (and imagined) past, as do the colours and tonalities chosen. Along with the scale of each piece, which relates directly to a child's body, the viewer is stirred to recall (if not recoil), reconnect, but also discover.
Singles | Pairs | Changelings | Foundlings | Riefenstahl's children | All the soldier's children
SINGLES
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| Tickled with love |
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| Not filth, not hair |
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| The limit of my dreams |
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| To live so small as I |
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| Changeling |
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| Gym turtle |
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| Regression blues |
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| Darling dixie dawn |
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| This is the room I've never lived in |
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| Sometimes I think that when I'm sleeping I must most perfectly resemble them |
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| I am a stick, I am a stone |
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| Moult |
PAIRS
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| About a-one who set off to learn about fear |
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| We were wicked, we were wild |
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| Everyday we tried to be good |
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| One and one walked hand in hand |
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| Growing pains |