Family memories can often feel precious, especially as we grow older.We remember the storybooks our parents once read to us, gentle moments of learning and bonding.
This project explores how fabric might become a new language to rewrite those stories, and to stitch beauty back into memory.
I returned to the stories, gently pulling them apart, replacing paper with new materials — weaving a different tale with the same soul.
I drew my feelings; pencil and pigment became my voice.
Through each stroke, I remembered, and in remembering, I found my way back to my family’s memory.
I knitted a blank fabric and drew my family’s portrait onto it.
Then, I unraveled it — turning the cloth back into thread. The story I had made disappeared, dissolved into silence.
But from that silence, I began again. I reknitted the yarn, and a new story was reborn — carrying traces of the old, yet speaking in a new voice.
As children, our parents told us stories — guiding our hands to write our own. As adults, we find new languages.
Mine is fabric.
In every thread, a memory, In every fiber, a whisper.
