My grandmother made wedding gowns for a living.   My family was well off but dysfunctional – emotionally abusive - and denied the truth of what was happening.   I was driven to somehow make beauty out of that discomfort.  The most beautiful things in my world at that time were my grandmother’s creations, hanging in the hall closet with their voluminous satin squiggles, and her scrap bag of magenta, sky blue and ivory silks.  I drew  dresses, hiding my real feelings in the folds.

You don’t need to see bodies to understand that these drapes of fabric hold communication.  The unspoken thoughts, wishes and fleeting impressions of the moment are mapped.  Folds (spills of energy) move toward or attempt to cover up vulnerability.