A poem of creating a textile of my life. I have always been inspired by Incan quipus – the language of knots. The idea of transferring information as a textural pattern intersects communication, art and music. I also subscribe to the idea of a life being measured by its whole, rather than its parts. Once can not be judged until they are complete, which can not happen in one’s lifetime.
The Weave of Life
I could master fate
If the days of my life
Were stitches
I could knit a fabric
With colours of happiness
And textures for hardship.
Each knit is a day
The purls the shades of night
I watch the skien of potential
Become skeletal
As I learn to pattern
A chronical of my time.
For some time I frustrate
To look back
At my primitve first rows
What could have been
Bleeds into nostalgia
Before becoming endearing.
A textile without end
From my perspective
As stretching from my birth
Is an unending robbon that
Form from cordage
Of my experience.
I’ve weave him in strands of blue
The strands of red are you
The others brighten and fade
As gradients of relationship
Fray into tassles
And fall out.
Let this tapestry
Serve as my shroud
For when my sotry is complete
The pattern emerges
And the weaving
Will be done.
Richtig Haus 