Weaving Vulnerability into Form + upcoming expositions

Sometimes I think back to how it all began — not with knowledge, but with questions.

With materials, with whatever happened to be at hand.

A pile of leftovers, a found object, something that lingered because… why, exactly?

By looking and listening, I slowly found my direction.

Thanks to Nicholas Wilton from #Art2Life for the phrase loud and silent conversation —

a reminder that what I hear must be what I want to hear.

Loss has always been part of that listening —

loss memorised in history and the potential loss happening right there in the studio,

where ideas and materials come and go,

where nothing stays fixed for long.

It’s often in moments of absence, grief, and imperfection that new forms emerge.

(thank you, Clarissa Callesen, for that insight).

The voices of ancestors — mine and others, including those of my husband — live on in me,

and in what I create.

Not as nostalgia, but as an undertone.

They speak through fabrics, forms, and gestures I’ve sometimes inherited without knowing.

I move between household and art, between duty and play —

worlds that keep each other alive.

As I continue working on my Key Series,

I see how I have evolved from the initial concept of openness and vulnerability

toward a more defined form.

Each key seems to open new layers of meaning

and carve its way into reality beyond me —

The keys can speak for themselves, without words.

It feels as if the assembled materials always knew where to go.

My language has evolved into a self-invented 'material language' —

Perhaps one day it will find another name.

What I am most proud of is the ongoing practice of attention:

the courage to begin again, to follow curiosity at risk of overwhelm and chaos,

and the willingness to discover what reveals itself naturally, with an open mind.

Soon, several of these keys will travel

from the quiet of my house and studio

to the walls of Warmond. The exact time and place will be announced later.

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