Weaving is my memory. It is to weave my body, as well as recreating it. The act of weaving, unifies to my ancestors, my female precedents who have practiced this activity as an act of resistance and subsistence. To weave, carries me on to distant times when grandmas and mum entangled their times in yarns, made emotional skeins, and unraveled anxieties. Tangling wool, making skeins between us, intertwining, and being together in our pasts and in our contemporaneity.
Nowadays, I knit and unknit my body. I use my menstrual blood to disassemble and unhide myself in the act of being a woman, with everything it involves. In the action of weaving, I resignify my history and I knit it. I befriend with my fluids and weave intergenerational stories . I weave my clots, my memories and disarm cycles. I untie, knot, disassemble and tie again. This takes the artistic possibility to rethink some paradigms between private and public, personal and political , interior and exterior.
Menstrual blood is my matter and my identity. It's the material pushed out by my body, and the non-human reproduction. It is waste and rest, mixture and conjunction. It is an emotional activator.
Its recollection and use implies to perpetuate my biological memory and to change its state to objectify. It is to make it external from the interior. It is to perceive its agency, its action and interaction with the environment. It is to observe its oxidation, its changes, my changes.
The knitted object is a container which houses emptiness.It is a symbolic organ: stretchable, flexible, soft, fragile but strong. It is a clot, an uterus, and endometrial tissue. It's me, being matter.
