one slow stitch at a time...

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untitled (i want to hold your face in my hands)
filet crochet curtain
angela simione, 2014




i need a much taller window.  :)

the full text reads: i want to hold your face in my hands but you go on backing away away away.  the text is from a poem i wrote over a year ago that will probably never see the light of day, save for this excerpt.  and i like that...  the secrecy of it...  which is very much what this work is about. i like the idea of hanging my secrets in the window, allowing the light of day to use the twists and turns of my private thoughts (and the hook that has given them shape) to make shadows sigh and heave on the adjacent wall.  i like the tease of it.

this piece taught me a lot.  it's still teaching me.  not merely about the method of production and where i failed and where i succeeded in using it, but also how i want to use light and shadow as materials themselves...  transparency...  absence and presence.  in this regard, this method is very much like drawing.  the emptiness of the page is just as important as the mark.  it's poetry.  the things that aren't said add weight to what is.

it's hung up in the window of my bed and i stare at it for a little while every day.  i finished it over a week ago and i'm still so bowled over by it.  it's a new "first step".


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i loved every second

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confession #1
filet crochet banner
angela simione, 2014

I WANT TO BE HOME FOR THE WORST PARTS OF YOU

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this is a horrible picture of this piece.  this isn't even how i think this piece should be displayed.  it's simply that i want to live with it for awhile.  i want this net of poetry falling all around me, encircling my bed, greeting me in the half-light of early morning when the brightness of the day first spills in through my window:  I WANT TO BE HOME FOR THE WORST PARTS OF YOU -  my masochism sunning itself in the twists of black yarn, stretching its limps in the slow patience of each stitch, as pleased and self-satisfied as a cat.

these games of exposure are sticky.  how much of this ends up being Persona?  how much of myself am i actually exposing?  how much do i want to expose?

the level of redaction i employ when culling phrases from my diary is steep.  i look for poetic turns of phrase, a nod toward a particular shadow of self.  i tell the truth but not the whole truth.  these sentiments are divorced from their original context.  entire paragraphs and pages that flesh out the original meaning and situate the phrase in a more complete environment and atmosphere have been obliterated.  one sentence remains.  a fragment.  and that fragment is let to sparkle in the rays of sun that come filtering through the broken blinds above my bed. 


a tease.

a hint.

a half-truth?


lying by omission?


my banners wave, endlessly endlessly, in the soft light of fantasy and desire.  in just such a light, it is easy to fashion whatever truth one wants, whatever truth one needs.  i can be whatever you need me to be.  my desire, a chime that beckons yours.  




a spider's web.


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this unshakable loneliness

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crochet
angela simione, 2014


finished this just today.  :)

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in the wee hours of christmas eve...

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one slow stitch at a time.


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