3 steps for... Basic Human Interaction

Our very first assignment as students at UArts was to complete on artist book in one week. They assigned it to us on Friday, and it was due the following Friday. The piece was meant to be whole in its content and form. 

3 steps for... Basic Human Interaction

handmade kozo paper, cotton embroidery thread, pen and ink. With covers wrapped in handmade paper made of recycled cardboard, with a band of marbled paper made by Loni Diep. 

 

 

 When you pull where indicated, the page opens out to reveal a 

hidden drawing of a soundwave inside.

 Again when you pull where indicated, a drawing is revealed.

 

 The final revealed drawing.

diagrams of embroidery stitches... embroidered

 

These are part of a taxonomy project: 10 collections of 10 things, each created with a different technique. I still have to embroider the other six in this series (with all of my imminent free time), but I'm excited about these I've made so far.

what is otherwise lost

A project I created for a course under Daniel Heyman. This was probably the most fulfilling piece I created this semester, as I was able to define it from start to finish and actually bring it to fruition in almost the exact way I had initially conceived it.
It requires interaction from the viewer to experience the piece; I have attempted to capture this through the images. Please let me know what you think!

The first drawer holds a book which serves as a table of contents for the rest of the drawers. It is printed in handset Baskerville type, with book cloth covers screenprinted with a drawing I made - a map of a place that doesn't exist. The title, what is otherwise lost was kwikprinted with gold foil. The little book lifts out of the drawer with a small cord handmade of cotton embroidery thread.

the guide that was never enough to help find our way

Handmade origami box, made of handmade flax paper with suminagashi. 

Inside the box is a small pouch made of pig suede, closed with cotton embroidery thread.

 Inside the pouch is a small compass.

seventeen percent of the air you breathed while we watched the meteor fall from the sky

 

three percent of the fog that enveloped us when we parted and I cried

a glass vial filled with fiber, topped with a small piece of handmade flax tied with cotton thread. 

your thought that I shared when I knew what you were thinking

a glass vial filled with a single strand of cotton embroidery thread, crocheted, then topped with a small piece of handmade flax tied with cotton thread. 

the space between your sigh and mine

handmade flax paper, hand-embroidered with silk thread. 

Two writings

Intuition 


She waits with confidence, observing everything, witnessing the paths that stretch out before time, fully aware of all the intricate choices necessary. In conversation she is more often the listener than the speaker, watching with a soft, quiet, knowing smile, at once calming and infuriating. 


When finally her thoughts are vocalized, her voice is clear and unhurried, with the confidence of one who has all the time in the world, and her words are concise, each chosen for its efficiency as well as its meaning.


She is femininity in the truest sense, with soft curves that defy boundaries; no beginning and no end. Ever-expectant, she constantly waits for the next event, her sense of anticipation exuding from every pore. Her clothing is elegant and feminine, but understated, made of colors that constantly transition, subtle earthy hues that open to the next shade like gates lying in wait between gardens. 


Under her watchful gaze we all trip, and at times stumble, eliciting a slightly more pronounced smile on that wise face as we again find our footing.






Weather Formations (working title)


There have been times I believed I could do anything.

I could make the wind blow if I wanted. One day I even stopped the rain.

I visualized the rain clouds passing overhead and dropping their moisture on the
next unfortunate place – but oh no, not here, not here where I am standing strong,
where I am powerful, where I am in direct communication with nature and she is
being lenient about the execution of her plans.

There was a power in me, one that could sense changes of energy and respond to
them, one that felt heat others could not perceive.

And there have been moments so fortuitous that I felt that the world had a plan
specifically for me, that I was walking on a predetermined path, and on occasion
that there were road signs confirming my direction, moments when there were such
revelations of perfection that the concept of coincidence was rendered absurd.

Our friendship has been one of these.

One evening, the nighttime was suddenly filled with fireworks unlimited in color,
and it was humid like a warm night in North Carolina. We were two hand-holding
silhouettes, lost in the ephemera of the moment, marveling that we were standing
there together in our early twenties, witnessing a moment that makes life worth
living. The people around us milled around like centipedes, and we didn’t care, in
fact we barely noticed their movement attempting to interfere with our perfection,
failing to distract us from the light that danced in front of us.

I miss that girl, and that time, the unyielding optimism so inherent in both of us,
before it got lost along the way. I wish I could see her and cuddle with her and laugh
with her and be close to this girl who became like my sister, who helped define who
I am, with whom no amount of time could ever be considered too much.