I've noticed something interesting about my art-making. When I'm in my studio working , I'm living in a world of verbs - I'm stitch-ing, dye-ing, design-ing, and creat-ing. It's active, messy, and alive with possibilities. The joy is in the doing, the finished piece doesn't yet exist, even in my mind it rarely looks like my end result.
But here's the funny thing - once I'm done and my work is out there for others to see, it transforms into a noun. It becomes "a textile piece" or "an artwork." The much loved and reviled process freezes into a product.
This shift got me thinking: my viewers only see the end result, not the journey that meant so much to me. They didn't witness the happy accidents, the frustrating do-overs, or those moments when everything suddenly clicked.
When people ask about my process, I sometimes wonder how much to share. Textile art can be technically confusing, and explaining free-motion stitching or fabric manipulation techniques to someone unfamiliar with textiles isn't always easy. Plus, the jargon can be confusing…. Are they genuinely curious, or just being polite?
I've found it helpful to have a few different ways to talk about my work. Sometimes a simple explanation works best: "I begin with white fabrics or papers in all my work and develop the colours with paints or dyes." For those who seem genuinely interested, I might go deeper into my techniques. And for fellow textile artists, I can geek out about the specifics!
I don't think it's my responsibility to make sure everyone understands every step of my process. There's something special about letting the finished piece engage the viewer - the way I got there is my journey to share or not. The art becomes a meeting point between my experience creating it and the viewer's experience seeing it.
What matters most to me is celebrating my private creative journey - the verb part that keeps me coming back to my studio day after day. The product matters too, of course, but it's the process that I learn from and I love so much.
In the end, perhaps my work lives two lives: the one I experienced making it and the one others experience viewing it. And maybe that's exactly how it should be.
These photos are my other secret passion - I'm always looking for sea glasss at the beaches - I've been collecting it where ever I travel.
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