Concept: “Testing, 1,2,3,4,5,6”
Rationale:
Diabetics have this incessant regiment for managing blood glucose, aside from diet, physical activity, prescriptions, and insulin dosing– and have plenty of highs and lows that come with it (no pun intended). I wanted to find a way to disguise, yet also highlight, the emotional and physical perspective of someone performing this non-negotiable maintenance every 3-4 hours. I know that I wanted to use repetition as a part of my fabricating process for this piece, as well as incorporate opposing structural challenges. It’s very hard to keep a brave and smiling face some days, when you are keeping such a secret ritual under wraps. Most people cringe at the sight of needles, but now I’m so desensitized that I don’t think twice about it. It’s unfortunately part of the deal.
Artist Statement:
Who? Anyone interested becoming familiarized with the emotional, and repetitious aspects of the Diabetic condition, as well as the Diabetic Community.
What? An autobiographical chapter of my physical and emotional journey with Diabetes through fabric.
Where? Currently as of now placed on the floor in the middle of my dining room, but ideally in a large indoor space, with white walls and white flooring. I think my roommate would appreciate me being able to give this a real home at some point.
When? Anytime, I would love to ideally build a series of these Diabetic “chapters.” I really feel like I’m striking onto a narrative here, and I’m finding a stride. Now I wish that I could just take a trip into NYC to grab some more amazing fabric. I feel that the textiles are definitely a large player in guiding my hand in how and why, as well as in really speaking for my intent.
Why? I think that the everyday maintenance as a part of the everyday experience for someone with Diabetes is known, but not really felt. I wanted to find a way to emotionally strike someone with a contradicting image, because that is what this glucose checking– oxymoronic. Knowing that in a few hours you will be pricking your finger, and you don’t have a say. You anticipate the pain, but should be comforted knowing that the technology exists, to be able to measure and read your glucose accurately and help in keeping you alive the best you can. Checking your glucose is only one aspect of the job that you can’t ever quit, it’s 24/7 and never leaves you alone. I’m striving to keep finding ways to bring awareness to these different aspects for viewers, to help others living like this to find validity in solace in the shared experience and quiet suffering.
How? I had 800 boxes of lancets that I had stored for a few years now, especially in times of COVID-19, I wanted to have an extra stock. And then seeing all of these boxes in a row made me ill, I couldn’t believe how much this one aspect of managing myself was so wasteful– considering too this was aside from my glucose strips, and insulin pump equipment (syringes, screw-on needles, tube insets, cartridges, alcohol swabs, medical stickers, skin tack wipes, insulin vials).
I wanted to pick fabrics that had very different weights and composition in terms of knit/woven and stretch, with very distinct wrong and right sides. The right side being more vibrant and lush, where the wrong side was the visually washed out, or dulled out version. I wanted to pick thread colors that also held meaning. Any black thread was representative of trauma, while the yellow and gold threads where places of connection.
