A Little Food is a Feast
A Little Food is a Feast
Whippersnapper Gallery
Dec 1, 2021 - Jan 1, 2021
Toronto, ON, CAN
A little food is a feast (2022) is a collection of stories - of love, grief, tenderness and vulnerability. They’re stories that are meant to be shared with you, but the details are mine to keep. As a racialized artist and arts worker, I move through the endless microaggressions of existing in spaces that weren’t meant for me. Something that’s become unwaveringly important to me is centering joy - it’s something I’ve continued to think about, and have brought into this work with me.
I’m tired of thinking about the ways that we as racialized folks and artists are disadvantaged, and I want to create spaces, and works that feel nurturing, caring, and tender; that make space for grief and growth as part of praxis. My practice explores ideas of legibility, of editing and redacting, and writing within the margins, which is where I’ve tried my best to carve out space for myself to thrive.
Through weaving, I think about the fact that woven cloth is built similarly to writing. Materially, a woven cloth is built line by line, much like writing on a page. Textiles hold histories and stories within them - they are passed through countless sets of hands and those hands mark them in every interaction. They are created and worn down over time, their physical forms are marked by their histories, and act as a record over time. Well loved textiles are constantly re-created - mended and patched as they wear down, unwoven and woven once again. Through this process of degradation and recreation, they build their own lives that parallel ours. Textiles are records in their own right, and are mirrors of ourselves.
This work is a way of recording stories through textiles - stories that keep secrets in order to keep us safe. They aren’t linear, but told in bursts and pieces in fragile moments. The stories I’ve tried to tell are deeply important - they hold the relationships that are most dear to me, of the family that I’ve built for myself and the joy that grows within reciprocity and repair.
