Family linens, fence parts. 8' x 4 ' x 3.5'
They waited for eight years to receive paperwork to leave their native home. While my father was determined to get out, my mother was less sure. Neither one of them really knew what they were going towards, they could only imagine. During the course of those eight years, I was born and normal domestic life went on. Meals were cooked, linens were washed. They tried as best as they could do prepare for a new life, by packing things they felt they would need. Some of our linens from the USSR traveled with us, others were acquired when we arrived. Some were frayed, some were new. Most sat in closets through out various homes we lived in. During my residency at the Santa Fe Art Institute in 2011, I began to weave a few of these older linens into pieces of fencing I found in the desert. In 2017, the idea of a fence in America’s Southwest has much more menacing meaning. I read harrowing stories of desperate immigrants crammed into tiny vans crossing the boarder from Mexico. Some of them don’t survive and some of them permanently traumatized. My family’s experience was one of many, with the underlying theme of hope and desire for something better. Linens, in their softness and malleability bring that hope and comfort. Woven together, this sculpture titled ‘Exit Visa’ presents the hundreds of voices vying to arrive to a safer place.