Yasuragi 安らぎ The first in the Michi Collection

Art starts as a small thread that can eventually weave itself into something we can see.

When it becomes fully embodied, communication begins: what the artist felt then, and how you interpret it now.

Yasuragi 安らぎ

When she entered, she came through a crack into this world.

I promised myself that, starting with this piece, it would be different. I can't remember when I had last done this—simply let it happen. I would let her guide me instead of planning.

It was daunting. I often found that I had to stop. A full stop, sometimes for a day or two, to slow my mind so I could hear and feel what came next.

Creating this piece felt like writing poetry in a language I was still learning.

Each step needed space, just as notes need space to create music. And in that space, the next step was shown to me.

It was a gift.

I had twigs and a leaf. 

That is where she started.

The vintage kimono fabric for her dress. 

Paper to design the garments. 

Dyes, threads, gold watercolor.

Listening. 

Hand-sewing. Painting. Dyeing.

The color change happened spontaneously to this brilliant green of nature.

And listening.

I found the fabric's interior more in keeping with its beautiful threadwork.

The dress, dyed, showed the beauty of the threads.

Then the vintage sheer woven cotton appeared. 

I love the threads that run through, showing how the fabric was woven.

Dyeing stages of the apron after the appliqués.

Two pieces of vintage shibori wrap her neckline.

Silk runs along the hemline with embroidered leaves.

Pantaloons are of Australian cotton depicting its native flower.

Yasuragi 安らぎ:
a deep, comforting peace of mind; a feeling of being completely at ease.

At home in your soul.
That is where she was complete.

道 — Michi
The Way. The Path.

How did twigs play a role in this piece?

Read This Meaningful Life:

I AM Koi

Koi is quietly beautiful. 

There is a softness in her face, a sweetness that feels almost vulnerable, yet she carries herself with a quiet strength. 

The koi has long been associated with perseverance, transformation, and the ability to move through difficulty with determination. 

But for me, Koi is less about any one symbol and more about movement—the way water carries us, changes direction, and continues on.

I wanted that sense of movement to live within her clothing. 

The translucent blue of her overskirt drifts around her like water, revealing what lies beneath while never quite settling into one shape. 

She seems to stand in stillness while everything around her moves. 

Perhaps that is where her strength lives: 

not in resisting the current, 

but in knowing how to move with it.

PROCESS of Skirt:

PROCESS of skirt: Grasses in paper, cotton, silk, vintage kimono

appliqued onto hand-dyed vintage cotton'

Hand-painted mulberry paper as fish.

Topstitched.

I Am Lotus

The Elephant opened the door.

Lotus crossed the threshold...

There comes a season when becoming is

no longer the work.

Being is.

Not the kind of being the world measures by accomplishments or titles.

The quieter kind.

The kind that settles into your bones after years of searching.

The kind that no longer asks,

"Who should I become?"

but gently whispers,
"Who have I been all along?"

She began as The Dreamer.

But somewhere along the way,
her hands found heart center.

And she whispered,
I am Lotus.

I Am Lotus arrived during one of those seasons.

Not as an answer.
As a recognition.

For years my work has been about symbolism.

Every stitch, every fragment of cloth, every found object carries meaning.

I have always believed that objects remember.

But recently something has shifted.

I find myself listening less to what a symbol traditionally represents and more to what it wishes to reveal through the piece itself.

The lotus has always been associated with rising from muddy waters into bloom.

We know that story...

But this Lotus was not interested in telling me about the mud.

She was interested in telling me about the flower.

She appeared quietly.

Her eyes are closed—not in sleep, but in knowing.

Her hands rest over her heart.

Lotus leaves cover her robe. Layer upon layer, they hold traces of time, wear, and light. 

They remind me that the flower does not exist apart from the place that nourished it.

She wears no armor.

Only remembrance.

As I worked, I realized she wasn't becoming Lotus.

She was introducing herself.

I am Lotus.

Not,
"I hope to be."

Not,
"One day I will become."

Simply—
I am.

Interior: Silk kimono fabric dyed yellow as the sun.

Lotus:

Hand-dyed Japanese paper, silk, pod from nature, vintage stamens.

Leaves:

gold silk—the light already present.

dyed paper—the places where life has worn through, leaving openings rather than perfection.

blue silk—the deep water, the quiet.

metallic stitching radiating outward—the invisible connections, almost like veins or the memory held within every leaf.

Until one day we no longer introduce ourselves 

by what we have accomplished, overcome, or become.

We simply place our hands over our hearts,

and remember.

I am.

I am the Elephant

There comes a quiet moment when an artist realizes she is no longer making what she once made.

The materials are familiar. 

Cloth. Needle. Thread. 

Found fragments gathered over many years.

But something has changed.

The work is asking different questions now—

not What can I create? 

but What wishes to become visible?

I Am the Elephant is the first piece in Creatures of the Divine, a growing collection of Stitched Relics. It feels less like the beginning of a new series than the opening of a gateway into worlds I have only begun to explore.

I began, as I often do, by studying. I printed photographs of Asian elephants and spent four days sculpting, carefully following what I saw. The form was accurate. The proportions were right.

But something essential was missing.

I had sculpted an elephant.

I had not yet met this Elephant.

So I set the photographs aside.

I began again.

This time I worked in companionship rather than control—not directing, but listening. The clay softened beneath my hands. The features became simpler, quieter, more my own. 

Five days later, the Elephant I had been searching for quietly appeared.

Or perhaps...

it had been waiting for me all along.

The Elephant knew who it was before I did.

Garments

Before and after dyeing.

Gathered over time:

India

China (Hmong textile)

Liberty London

I am the Elephant

The cloth remembers before the artist does.