One morning I was sitting at the kitchen table drinking some much-needed coffee when my roommate offered to make us breakfast. She ended up making me a large plate of scrambled eggs, with a Pillsbury biscuit covered in melted butter and strawberry jam. A wave of nostalgia washed over me as I remembered the special occasions with my family when my mom would make the same meal, almost the same way. This got me thinking about how it is our senses (most often those that are not sight) that trigger our memories. These triggers are all around us, but it is only when we interact with them – through touch, taste, or smell - that we become aware of them. We learn through our senses (not our words) about “presence, absence, and traditions, and how to cope with them.” (Goett) Our memories are everywhere, hidden within textures we are already familiar with. Hidden in plain sight.
Like those experiences that prompt the remembrance of a moment, each textile has its “own history, relationship with its origin, unique sensory experience, texture, and weight” (Goett). The accumulation of that in which we touch becomes a form of language before we can even speak. It is the physical making of memories. This piece focuses specifically on touch and the textures associated with my own personal history.
The central idea of this work stems from a saying my mother has consistently repeated throughout my entire life. Her overused phrase, “you know how much I hate white, it’s just not practical” as well as the idea of memories being hidden within us are the binding threads of the work. I have chosen to make the piece entirely white on white, consisting of differing fabrics, thicknesses, textures, and objects. Not only does this work focus the act of touch conceptually, but it forces the viewer to physically interact with the work on a closer level. However, it is important to consider how to order and organize the materials in a useful way “without losing the richness of their actual and potential meanings” (Goett). Divided into eighteen squares, each square represents a year of my life (my age at the time of creating this work). Each year is then depicting a specific memory from that year, told only through the textures associated with that memory. The work functions as a rug to bring the work full circle and act as physical record of everywhere it’s been and everything that’s touched it. This story will be told by its wear, rips, stains, and whatever else it collects.