In feminist writing, there is often a search for language that is connected to the body, to bodily experience. There is a need, as Adrienne Rich describes, “[t]o reconnect our thinking and speaking with the body of this particular individual, a woman.”
My own body is tied inextricably to my role as wife and mother. Though not trained in the domestic arts, much of my time is spent doing those things we're told that housewives do. I sew. I clean. I fold laundry. My body loathes and loves these things. It seeks solitude in these things. It screams for recognition. It rages against the tedium. It caresses each task like a lover. It is from my occupation of gendered domestic space that my work emerges. The tangible traces of feminine labour that litter my carpet (dryer sheets, lint, bits of thread, stray clothing) fuel my studio practice, and the laborious nature of my creative work acts as a metaphor for the interminable work of keeping house.
Recently, my work has taken on a new voice as a personification of household labour, as domesticity calling out to be heard, cherished, cleansed, sexed. The repetitious and mundane tasks of family life carry within them a shocking intimacy and sensuality. My hands touch these clothes like they touch you. You wear these clothes like you wear me. I wash these clothes like I wash you, I fold them like you fold me.
Using the language of traditional women's work and of feminist visual culture, my work examines the intersections of the erotically-charged and the unremarkable, the familiar and the mysterious, the sexual and the nurturing.