Size: Approx 130cm high x 62cm wide
Materials: wool, bones, acrylic, thread, turmeric
Techniques: screen print, inkjet print, stitch
Going home has always entailed suitcases and tickets, waiting for check-in, for boarding, for take-off, for landing and interminable pot-holed dirt roads leading to a place where the most familiar aspects are the occupants, my parents. There is no smell of baking and bubbling of pots, no flowered curtains and ticking clock, only my parents, my sister and me.
This piece is based on the Mongolian nomadic home, the yurt, whose thick, soft, felted canopies provide the divide between inside and out. Even for the non-nomadic, a landscape (physical and social) changes incrementally until the original has morphed away. The only home that can really exist is your body that tells you about the outside world through its sensors. The hearth of that home is the collection of emotions, sensations and memories you hoard, the oldest and most familiar being of my parents, my sister and me.