A washing line.
Some of my earliest memories of my mother are bound up with the washing line and the rhythm of laundry. I remember lying among the drying sheets in the garden while she hung clothes in the sunlight. The washing line, for me, has always been a portrait of family life in flux.
What is strung across it reveals a household’s stage of life—men’s and women’s clothes, children’s garments, underwear, uniforms, all offering quiet glimpses of who is present and who is absent. Just as clearly, it reminds me of loss: the empty spaces left by those moments no longer there. In this work, I pressed pieces of my family’s clothing into paper, embossing their forms.
These impressions hold the silence of garments once worn—clothes that no longer fit, items that must be left behind. To me, they embody the ongoing cycle of care within a family: the acts of tending, growing, and letting go. They speak to the natural process of change, the way a family evolves over time.
