Synthetic

I find myself in the studio, swirling pulp for hours on end, dropping in precise pearls of pigment like an alchemist, stitching until my hand sings with soreness, a tune of torture — all in an effort to portray the truest version of myself. A version of myself who knows no pain, who bathes in the perfume of wildflowers and blooms with color around everyone he meets. Through the use of intricate appliqué and assemblage of handmade paper and hand-dyed fabric, I question the reality of my own truth — a plea for honesty about my identity following the rending of trauma.

The carefree and bright expression on this self portrait, paired with vivid colors of paper and fabric, contrast the embroidered text: asking, “Am I grown or sown?” The question evokes imagery of a natural process of growth — like one might witness in the summer as wildflowers emerge from the grass — juxtaposed with the manual process of sowing seeds — like one might do every winter in hopes that a few spring buds will trudge upward from the soil. Both acts share a product: a picturesque garden of color and petals that passive onlookers might call one and the same. I compare the arduous process of sowing to the process of sewing, the technique used to assemble the pieces of this self-portrait. The lengthy process of fibers techniques — like papermaking, fabric dyeing, embroidery and sewing — much more resemble sowing rather than natural growth, and a self portrait made of fibers meant to display the truest version of myself calls forth a sense of irony, signaling that no true version of oneself is built without labor.