she/her
The ‘Shrinking Violet’ longs for a world where they are seen, as the narrator who closely observes yet abides apart, she sees the world through the lens of anemoia- a wistfulness for a time gone by but never lived. We follow along on her narrative thread that quietly invokes us to participate in a cultivated art of observation. As a project that dwells on the nostalgia for a vicarious experience of the past, ‘The Sight of Anemoia’ walks the line between the immediacy of textiles and focal of fine art.
‘The Sight of Anemoia,’ utilises the language of textiles to illustrate, a narrative around the singular experience of ‘Anemoia’- for those of us who are shrinking violets and wallflowers. An intimate and immersive collection, exploring fibre manipulation, cyanotype exposure, monoprinting, loom woven fabrics and jacquard, fulfilling an anemoia tinted film, of transcendent blues and violets.
Excavated from the ‘Shrinking Violets’ internal world of warped memories, the quiet observations are constructed from her hidden desire to belong in the world she was born into, but destined to never belong in. The bittersweet distortion of memory becomes a safety blanket, to ease her tumultuous emotions, shifting the puzzle piece memories into a nostalgic anemoia tinted image.
The collection is an expression of an internal turmoil, influenced by expressive theories of Edward Hopper: “Great art, is the outward expression of an inner life in the artist, and this inner life will result in his personal vision of the world.” (Edward Hopper, 1953). Focused on blending analogue and digital textile techniques to create a developed material led artistic narrative, focused on material process and purpose, representing the interdisciplinary significance of design today.
J.J. Grandville’s ‘flowers personified’ is a significant creative impetus for the sight of anemoia, exploring floral anthropomorphisms, much like that of the shrinking violet being an idiom for a wallflower. Layers of imagery vibrant blues, violets and purples explored through the materiality of yarn gradients which were carefully curated to develop a transcendence of blue, forming a surreal dreamscape of the shrinking violets reconstructed memories.
The visual emergence of the shrinking violet represents the wallflower herself, with the buildings and dream structures becoming a frame, to tell the story of those who are often unheard, capturing memory that has never existed together at once, reflecting the shrinking violet in an inescapable anemoia, wishing for a time that can never be had.
Visually inspired by finding the beauty in the shadows and observing what others miss, step into the sight of anemoia, savour the narrative, and observe her dreamscapes…
Perpetually, life has been portrayed by my ability to never belong.
Living on the outside, introspectively, watching from the sidelines and seeing my dreams slip before my arduous eyes.
Fulfilling my supposed destiny of becoming a shrinking violet.
Withdrawn, timorous and meek, are all terms that are unambiguously associated with the weak description, although supposedly accurate, often finding a wall against my back in any social scenario.
However, I prefer to see my shortcomings as a superpower.
Memories react at my fingertips, the command remaining a fundamental safety blanket to ease my tumultuous emotions.
Using my imagination, as a strength replaying my memories and editing them, considering what could have happened if I had stepped away from that anchoring wall.
Revisiting times that felt simpler to me and unravelling narratives that never occurred but maybe belonged in a different time.
I believe that is called anemoia.
My vision is hazed, as though looking through an anemoia tinted film.
Blues, purples, yellows and warm peach tones are how I see the dream narratives, blurred imagery and soft illusions.
Nostalgia seeping in around the edges, rewatching the scenes play out, remembering when I felt the most myself protected in the warmth of being a shrinking violet.
Revisiting a time when life was simpler, not plagued by the anxieties that fill my vision, a time that felt safe to be adventurous.
Childhood.
But not only do I see the childhood I lived but the one of my siblings and my parents, my ancestors, and those who lived in this space before.
Funnily enough I see life constructing like puzzle pieces, reliving times I would rather not forget and seeing how they shape people.
Archiving the memories once they are causing more pain than comfort and reaching for them again when I need reminding of who I am and why I matter.
The likes of Gatsby were right; you can repeat the past.
Remaining in the present but with one foot in my archives of the past.
Basking in the nostalgia and remembering who I am.
