The meaning in simple things

These are my entries for the Small Works show at Charles Taylor Center in Hampton VA. I need to deliver them today and want to give a video artist statement to help the viewer figure out what I think I'm doin.'

So, spent some time this week knitting long blades of grass from my garden into tiny fragrant, fragile prayer rugs. Buddha would like them I think. I'm sure I'm not the first artist to do this, but it felt right and helped me to reconnect with my home, land, garden, air, earth. (I've been away in Ireland for a while, another story to begin in tomorrow's blog entry).

Why knit grass? you might well ask. Your grandmother could do it? But wouldn't?

I wanted to do something small and meaningful:

• Natural materials are simple, plentiful, not toxic and generally free.
• Utilizing women's "work" in art-making – knitting, for instance – feels comfortable, and reminds me of the importance of the domestic arts in everyday life.
• Knitting in itself is a repetitive activity and can be very meditative. To do something over and over again – like this simple stitch – is ritual-like, and brings on a serenity I don't often find elsewhere.
• The use of a live material that will wither and die – change over time – illustrates the ephemeral nature of all living things. We are only here for a short time.
• Bringing nature into the gallery – even ordinary grass – points out its beautiful properties of life, color, strength, fragrance and utility. I wanted to show the viewer something he or she probably sees everyday, but ask them to look at it in a different way.
• From the beginning of the work, I called them prayer rugs, albeit tiny ones (maybe for your Buddha nature?). A bit sacred, a bit ordinary.