holding one's breath (November 8, 1973 - August 1, 1975)
Cotton and embroidery floss
(hand and machine embroidery)
2013
(hand and machine embroidery)
2013
My history consists of a diasporic narrative; a history of ancestors leaving their homeland as indentured laborers through colonization and migration to the Caribbean. It continues with my mother's diasporic narrative, one about a woman who left her homeland of Guyana, along with an identity enmeshed in a culture that differed significantly from the land she immigrated to, a land where my ancestral identity continued to become fragmented.
As with many members from diasporic communities, my mother immigrated to Canada with pieces of her life from 'back home'. 'Back home' is a phrase my mom uses whenever speaking of Guyana. Home is not where she currently resides, or the country she set down roots when she arrived alone; it is the country where she was born and where her family was left. From time to time over the past 30 years I've come across some of these items from 'back home' meticulously placed in boxes and drawers throughout our 'home'.
Tucked in the drawers of an antique cabinet are discolored pieces of cotton salvaged from used flour sacks. My mother told me that my grandmother would go to the corner store and ask the shop keeper for any empty flour sacks. She would bring them home and together they would bleach the sacks until the printed text on them was no longer there, and they would then be hung up in the sun to dry. The flour sacks would be cut into rectangular shapes, the edges stitched, and it was on this cotton that my mother was taught how to embroider. These pieces of cotton immigrated with my mother to Canada in July 1970.
Once in Canada, the distance between my mother and my grandmother was bridged with handwritten letters. These letters contained my grandmother's observations of the local climate, the state of family affairs, and questions of her daughter's wellness; all of which are lined with sentiments of a mother longing for the presence of her daughter. This work consists of twelve cotton flour sacks that have machine embroidered text appropriated from these letters. The excerpts selected begin to record how one family attempted to deal with separation as a result of migration, and this separation is further emphasized by the disruptive act of concealing words through hand sewn gestures.
As with many members from diasporic communities, my mother immigrated to Canada with pieces of her life from 'back home'. 'Back home' is a phrase my mom uses whenever speaking of Guyana. Home is not where she currently resides, or the country she set down roots when she arrived alone; it is the country where she was born and where her family was left. From time to time over the past 30 years I've come across some of these items from 'back home' meticulously placed in boxes and drawers throughout our 'home'.
Tucked in the drawers of an antique cabinet are discolored pieces of cotton salvaged from used flour sacks. My mother told me that my grandmother would go to the corner store and ask the shop keeper for any empty flour sacks. She would bring them home and together they would bleach the sacks until the printed text on them was no longer there, and they would then be hung up in the sun to dry. The flour sacks would be cut into rectangular shapes, the edges stitched, and it was on this cotton that my mother was taught how to embroider. These pieces of cotton immigrated with my mother to Canada in July 1970.
Once in Canada, the distance between my mother and my grandmother was bridged with handwritten letters. These letters contained my grandmother's observations of the local climate, the state of family affairs, and questions of her daughter's wellness; all of which are lined with sentiments of a mother longing for the presence of her daughter. This work consists of twelve cotton flour sacks that have machine embroidered text appropriated from these letters. The excerpts selected begin to record how one family attempted to deal with separation as a result of migration, and this separation is further emphasized by the disruptive act of concealing words through hand sewn gestures.
