The textile world has grown exponentially since the time I started serious exploration.
We have always had a rich history and amazing intersection but now have the capacity for international projects in a simultaneous way with the onset of travel and the advancements with technology.
Often these explorations reveal work that is fundamental and simple in appearance. What is not simple is the expansiveness of some of the work and the intelligence with which it is created.
I am not talking at all about the plethora of techniques available and the huge range of chemical process. I am talking about what is created with deep thought and simple process. One simple object that is hand wrought that implants itself in our hearts. That comes simply from our hearts like a glance or a smile.
The work of Dr. Ahmad Nadalian from Iran is like that. A primitive fish carved on a rock or a snake pattern imprinted in the earth that causes no harm, that lives where it is placed, that is recognisable through culture and time, that creates wonder and understanding.
Abigail Doan accomplishes this basic astonishment while wrapping each work. I know that. I am charmed. I want to do it. I guess we all wrap things and re wrap them. A tidy and organized action. A fundamental textile task.
I studied with a young woman named Ursala. She seamed to put little effort into her involvement in class. She often didn't attend, came late, handed in haphazard assignments.
The last day of our class together she quietly handed in a simple package and left. The instructor took it out of the package and stood astonished. Ursala had made a mobile with leaves. She has painted the inside of each leaf with the sky and the impression of a cloud. She had captured the unusual colour of the cloudy sky perfectly. As the leaves spun they disappeared for one single moment into the air. They danced and floated in and out of vision.
It was the single most beautiful project of my years of study.
I dreamt of a white room last night. This is a recurring dream. There is a long white cord and I slowly stitch a circle and then drop the cloth on the floor and dance a slow circle around it.
Ursala, Ahmad and Abigail fit into that circle now. Perhaps we are all now spiders or moths just creating our web.