This is part of a larger body of work around my family history as a first-generation citizen and daughter of a refugee. The country my mother was from does not exist anymore. The place names have all changed as has the language spoken there. I was raised with stories of expulsion and execution. There was a black and white photograph taken after a large family gathering following dinner and within a year, half of the people in the picture had been killed.
Although I was born in the states, I feel unmoored and like an observer much of the time. These works are a way for me to enter into dialogue with what has been lost.
This piece includes ostrich shell and fedora straw as part of my language for family. The tablecloth is woven through with horse hair as means to seek some sort of continuity with those family members who are unknowable to me.