"My body has become large and hard, a fortress built with dried tears and spilt milk. A protective shield for her and for me, but we are locked in it together even when we need to escape.

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I want to be soft and light again, to run like the man I saw, floating through the air, floating like I do when i dream. When I used to dream. When I had time to dream."

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"And bit by aching bit, we sneak back into our bodies from before. Before the tide, before the storm came thundering in. Before the hot sleeplessness and cold restlessness. Before the warm, sweet everythingness that is you."

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"I melted beneath the ancient oak in the climax of the summer and the million screaming silhouettes of the devil shivered towards me. "

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Excerpts from Fault Lines (working title Inward are Infinite Landscapes), an ongoing textile project exploring post-partum mental health through the body as landscape. The writing informs the work’s topographical approach, where emotional states are translated into layered, tactile form.

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