2021. Mid Pandemic. The focus shifts from words to stitches, from pen to needle and thread . . as if I need to feel the form in my hands rather than see it on the page.

I turn this shift over and over searching for a rationale and all I find are threads and raw edges, glimpses of myself and women I have known.

The process is similar: all begins with image. But rather than writing or tapping on a keyboard, I cut and pin fabric, stuff the spaces until the piece lifts into three dimensions, stitch for both function and form, for strength and meaning.

They’re poems perhaps. Little stitched narratives…

Starratives.