Staring out a window we tend to focus on the world outside and not the glass or the screen.
I fuse the meditative interiority that is intrinsic to this kind of daydreaming with the outside. Like a book of days, the resulting images are a way to hold on to the passing of time.
In NYC, I pasted paper scraps and found objects directly on top of the window panes, or dripped paint across the glass. A few years later, I moved to Somerville where I had window screens. As a new mother, caring for my infant son, I spent a lot of time thinking of my own mother, who passed away when I was a teenager. One day while looking out, I noticed a similarity between my screens and her ubiquitous needlepoint mesh. I began cutting, quilting and sewing my screens as a way to engage her in conversation.
Joining present-day thoughts and experiences with memory is a creative and poetic thread I have been mining for a long time. To continue pushing the metaphoric possibilities of the original sewn screens, I used them like a photogram to make cyanotype and van dyke prints.
