felted hand knitting, canvas, zip, stitch
All the babies I might have had, 2011, detail, installed at the Art Foundation End of Year Show, at Bristol School of Art, June
(Click for full image)
All the babies I might have had was my final piece for my Art Foundation at Bristol School of Art in June 2011. It was originally installed as a diptych - a suspended web of felted knitting partly obscuring a life-size sticthed canvas torso with a zipped opening. (See images 01 to 05 below.)
However, since then, I've realised that the red, felted web alone has a bigger impact and I've exhibited it a number of times in various different settings. As with much of my work, I install it site-responsively and it changes form each time. In hindsight, it's probably my first shapeshifting sculpture. (See images 06 -18 below)
For me, holes signify absence and loss. As the title suggests, this sculpture is a response to my own experience of infertility. Although I am very fortunate, and grateful, to have one wonderful child, I still grieve for the babies I might have had. For many people, the complex issues associated with pregnancy and childbirth are a hidden grief. My own journey of ectopic pregnancy and 'trying' to conceive, followed by a rather gruelling set of fertility treatments resulted in our miracle baby....but a second round of treatment for another child was harrowing and unsuccessful.
Its a personal experience which many others relate to.
I was asked to write about it for Pattern at Fringe Arts Bath in 2016. This is what I wrote:
'All the babies I might have had was knitted intuitively as a response to an outpouring of the losses associated with childlessness- the anguish of infertility, the grief of miscarriage, the pain of an ectopic pregnancy, the agony over the ease with which others seem to conceive, the longing for a child.
Instead of knitting baby clothes, I knitted holes as absences.
Its form is abstract, organic, flexible, until suspended, when it becomes something other, vulnerable, floating, yet controlled by tension and gravity.
That it has been felted is another change in control. It’s out of my control.
Some people think it’s quite shocking, as knitting is meant to be passive, private and benign. Using knitting to communicate things that are normally hidden creates an uneasy tension. It should be soft, cuddly, functional, but instead it’s hard hitting, difficult, abstract.
Knitting’s meant to be comforting but this is disquieting.
It’s the dark side of knitting.
It is abject.
It is a memory of all the babies I might have had.
Knitting is a meant to be an easy conversation starter; having to tell people ‘I’m knitting a uterus’ was rather awkward. Sometimes I’d say ‘I’m experimenting with knitting holes’ instead.
It makes me feel very vulnerable talking about it.
I don’t think the sense of loss ever really goes away. It changes with time, but it’s still there.
The colour is the colour of blood.
That something exquisite comes out of this deep sorrow is cathartic.
The title disrupts the viewer’s preconceptions.
The significance of a name.
I’m making public things that are normally private.
It would probably be called confessional art. It’s my own story but it’s actually also a story that I have in common with many, many others…. and that helps. I hope it helps.'
This piece was a first in other ways too. It was my first knitted sculpture and the first significant piece that I felted. It was a very hard decision- to felt or not to felt? Felting is obviously irreversible, the knitting shrinks by about a third and what would it add to this work made over many months? In the end, I decided to felt it and I'm glad I did. It was a transformation!
All the babies I might have had, before felting (Click for full image)
All the babies I might have had, after felting (Click for full image)
Before felting, the knitting is clearly recognisable; afterwards, its transformed into something less familiar. It's alien, distorted, more dense, smoother and it has more intrinsic form. It's also quite a bit smaller and, as felt, it's less floppy so hangs differently.
I normally suspend it using red thread or wool, tension and gravity. It's very time consuming but highly effective. I often feel as if I'm stitching it into the space:
Installing All the babies I might have had at Pattern, Fringe Arts Bath, June 2016
Please see All the babies I might have had 2 which I made in 2015. It's a stitched sculpture, which also explores my experience of childlessness and loss. It's very different in material, colour, process and form, but making it helped me to express my anguish too.
All the babies I might have had 2, 2015,
installed at The Embroiderers' Guild Graduate Showcase at The Knitting and Stitching Show, London Oct 2015
(Click for full image)