THRESHOLDS
This week I am preparing for my next exhibition on the heels of just having arrived home. It's a threshold, a hiatus, a liminal place in which days go by without seeming to move forward.... without knowing what concept I will tackle next, which materials will present themselves. At this moment, I am still walking in the direction of women whose voices were silenced, like Violeta Parra, and oh my, what a voice she did have for the time she was on this earth. That she silenced herself through suicide can feel both heartbreaking and selfish, though who among us can be the judge or jury on lives, illnesses, emotions, and pain?
As I sit with her story, listen to the words of her songs,
many inspiring sounds, even to the end of her life.
What will her huipil be made of?
How do I stitch the pattern of her voice?
The beauty of her beloved Chile?
Her brilliance in art and fervor for politics?
Of what do I weave her tortured heart?
What color of paint contains her passion for life?
How do I stitch the pattern of her voice?
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