Walking along the dirt road behind my grandpa’s house, I am entranced by the endless rice paddies activated by the wind, the slender leaves swaying in unison like waves in an ocean. As a granddaughter, I know the family history attached to these fields; they were not always as beautiful as my projections.
Yet I am still in awe of that view, that green landscape and the time spent with my family, feeling the wind blow across our fragile bodies. Can phenomena transcend these human-made constructions, like East vs. West, feminine vs. masculine, etc.? I want to change the filter through which I often see things, the one that provokes anger and bitterness. Through touch, I feel burdens lifted. By distorting the image of the rice fields into woven cloth, I want to create a haptic experience, to speak to the feeling of smallness and oneness with your surroundings. As a blade of grass, you have no eyes, so you feel with your being.
But as humans, whose eyes are bound to the task of decoding language, I’d like us to resist judgement, to find safety and solace in the tactile world around us. In threadbare blankets and tattered sweaters, there are felt signs of love and belonging. Every night, cloth caresses my skin, evoking a sense of calm and protection, and I become like grass.
Yet I am still in awe of that view, that green landscape and the time spent with my family, feeling the wind blow across our fragile bodies. Can phenomena transcend these human-made constructions, like East vs. West, feminine vs. masculine, etc.? I want to change the filter through which I often see things, the one that provokes anger and bitterness. Through touch, I feel burdens lifted. By distorting the image of the rice fields into woven cloth, I want to create a haptic experience, to speak to the feeling of smallness and oneness with your surroundings. As a blade of grass, you have no eyes, so you feel with your being.
But as humans, whose eyes are bound to the task of decoding language, I’d like us to resist judgement, to find safety and solace in the tactile world around us. In threadbare blankets and tattered sweaters, there are felt signs of love and belonging. Every night, cloth caresses my skin, evoking a sense of calm and protection, and I become like grass.
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through woven cloth, i ask the eye to touch.
touch as a means to understand, when signs and symbols lose meaning. wind puffs the tiny hairs along your arm. like grass in a field. the field is an ocean. anger and bitterness singed by touch. man-made distinctions smitten by a more-than-human embrace. beyond binaries, there is a place of belonging. a sheltering smallness. 
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