Your hand is so cold, may I warm it with mine?
My grandma taught me how to sew and how to knit. She didn’t have the opportunity that I have now: to study textiles. She made clothes for her family and items for everyday use, designed knitwear and patterns for sewing and experimented with colours and textures without calling it art, design or crafts. She did all this without getting paid and her work was labelled ‘wasted female labour’. My grandma was a storyteller, her stories never ended and she like to tell them over and over again. Sometimes too many times – I had to keep switching the phone receiver from ear to ear during our calls. In my work I intend to highlight what we had in common: the love of knitting and clothing, but also our differences: she created all her life, sitting by the kitchen table, whilst I get to have agraduation exhibition. I think of when my grandma was bedridden and had a hard time moving. She held my hand in hers and quoted an old song: your hand is so cold, may I warm it with mine? Even though she was the one with cold hands. I have done my best to keep my grandma’s stories alive and wish that she was here today to tell them again.
