It is 3:27 am and my eyes snap open to unforgiving shadows on the ceiling. Anxiety mounts at the prospect of an exhausted day ahead. A ticker tape of thoughts begins its relentless journey, frustrating the struggle to return to oblivion; big and small worries occupy the same space with no hierarchy. Would that these night thoughts might include a more balanced perspective, but truth to tell it is a litany of anxieties that mirrors the sweep of car lights on the ceiling to the soft rise and fall of passing engines. Each pillow captures a different trajectory of thought, offers a different rabbit hole to disappear down.
This modular way of working, one pillow at a time, is one way in which I am able to build a body of work in the face of limited studio time. The appropriate reference to the domestic art of needlework combines with the speech bubbles and truncated text of comics.