A Quilted Statement
This artist book was inspired by the Unlimited Narratives course I took this summer. The book is encased in a keepsake box, a place to store secrets and treasures. Inside the box, is another box, crafted from milkweed fibers and flax fibers, stitched together by a pink thread. Tied closed with a bow of pink fabric, once opened it reveals a skin-like stained quilt. The quilt is stitched together, piece by piece, with the words of 32 stories from the #whatwomenwear project I started in the Spring scratched into its surface. The quilted statement tells the unique stories of each woman woven together, the individual stories combine to tell the collective narrative. The scratched statements are permanently there but buried away. Permanently there, but not obvious to see. The stories are tucked away but begging to be heard. When she says ” They wait years to say Me Too… but I never heard them complain” I ask first, why did no one listen… I ask next, why did no one ask?
Wooden Box- Upcycled antique box with glass frame, 5×7 inches
Paper Box- Handmade milkweed and abaca paper, handmade flax paper, embroidery thread, adhesive, and fabric, 4×6 inches
Statement- Handmade flax paper dyed with soy sauce and red wine, scratched with needle tip tool and stitched with embroidery thread.
The full statement is written below, a sentence from each of the 32 letters I received for #whatwomenwear woven together into one.
“In a world where I was conditioned from adolescence to fix myself for others, cover my face with powder, straighten my posture, speak quieter, don’t interrupt, maybe don’t speak at all… I cannot disconnect my being female from the trauma it has gifted me.- worried my absence would leave her to wilt, I stayed- take care of everyone else and put myself last. My feelings weren’t as important as anyone else’s… I let myself be controlled by a man for many years- my life has always been about sex… I was 5 when he asked me to marry him…I never told my mom.- When I got my period my mom came home from work and we both cried. I knew what it meant. She was a woman. I was no longer just a girl. I lied for five years and pretended I didn’t have it.- Tampax- we all have them- The nice girls were virgins… I don’t want to die before I have sex- and wasn’t allowed to get my ears pierced because it was a sign of a loose woman… so intellectually I know I ran to NYC and slept around and had a grand time- I began walking to my car, the man who raped me in 9th grade walked by me as I walked to my car and asked me how I was.- suicide becomes the only remaining source of hope, hope that the pain will stop.- scars on my body and years I want to erase- some say I am too young to have these scars- pleasure through punishment- My skin is meant to keep me safe, protected, secure. Why then does it show me all the hardships I’ve endured… These marks are a relic of behavior I no longer condone and they will push me to grow until my body is once again my own- Loss and gain has me wondering how powerful I am or am I the one to blame? – They wait years to say Me Too… but I never heard them complain- I carry a needle and thread so I may sew myself up again if they cut faster than I do – When I dump all of these items on the floor when they finally get too heavy, inevitably I’m putting them all back in my bag – my physical appearance allowed me to disguise my sexuality even from myself… I was accepting what others pictured for me as my reality- As a woman, a mother, a wife, I carry my mistakes, my poor or tired or not optimum parenting- I start to reflect on my life, shy , quiet, peace-maker, these were the words that were used to describe me… but I have found my voice… fighting for my son.-When I was told to be quiet I made sure I was the only thing they heard- I led a Take Back the Night walk… That night there were several death threats against me… He was told by his friends that if he chose to stay with me they would no longer be his friend.- my ambition was to be a nurse and a mother… together.- My wife self, my mother self, my friend self, my lover self, and my caregiver self, from time to time feel like a loose self.- something resplendent, a liquor that laces my blood with gold.- I try to keep a balance and stay positive… so many people live in constant trauma- I carry my nieces reminding them to walk in the Light- I think of all the hats I have worn, some being more comfortable and as light as a feather, and some heavier and more cumbersome, but I know that I value each and every one of them and realize that they all helped make me who I am today. I consider myself to be an extremely lucky woman.- There’s my little poem thingy about being a lady.”