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The Thread That Became Cloth
The story of cloth, comfort, and the search for belonging.
The Pull Toward Cloth
I am instinctively drawn to wrapping myself in things that are comforting and luxurious. It is the idea of creating a sacred space for myself, separate from the outside world, that I find so appealing. Within that space I feel more connected to mySELF — the self that is greater than my personality, my identity, my ego.
I design each throw from one of my original paintings, turning pieces of art into luxurious cloth that can be lived with. They can wrap the body, adorn a room, or hang on a wall as a reminder of what is real and true.
Remembering who we are, making a deep connection with ourselves, and then surrounding ourselves with those things that help us maintain that connection, is a prescription for a life of meaning, belonging, and fulfillment. It is also an essential part of creating a world in which truth and authenticity can thrive.
Where It Began
It all began in childhood.
Life itself did not feel safe. With mostly myself for company, few friends, and a feeling of alienation in my own family, I turned to the first thing I identified with love and safety for comfort. It was my blanket, which I affectionately called “Bonkie.”
Bonkie was a pink and cream woven baby blanket with pink satin ribbon sewn around the edges. The feel of the satin between my fingers gave me a sensual experience that I came to associate with love.
Bonkie went with me everywhere. Without it I felt lost, exposed, and unsafe. Whenever I misplaced it, I panicked. The only other object that gave me anything close to the comfort that Bonkie did was my stuffed monkey, called, of course, “Monkey.”
Both of them were irreplaceable because I knew precisely the feel and smell of each one. Nothing else would do. When either of them was lost and replaced with a substitute, I rebelled.
I knew the real thing.
And I was inconsolable without it.
Real.
True.
Authentic.
The roots of my lifelong search for what is real and true.
“I have spent an entire lifetime seeking the love and comfort contained within that little piece of fabric.”
Place image here Bonkie
The Longing
As I grew up, Bonkie was no longer considered an appropriate companion. Still, I secretly hid a piece of the tattered fabric in my room. It was literally in shreds and tied together in knots to keep it from completely falling apart.
It still carried the smell and feel I remembered, and I treasured both.
Monkey was long gone — I once tried to give her a bath by flushing her down the toilet, and that was the end of her.
But Bonkie remained my one true love, the one thing that never made me feel like I was too much, a burden, a disappointment, or simply unlovable.
I have spent an entire lifetime seeking the love and comfort contained within that little piece of fabric.
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The Thread Returns
When I entered my teen years my aunt taught me how to sew, and my attachment to fabric found a new life.
I remember wandering through fabric stores simply to touch the cloth — each bolt holding the promise of something beautiful and comforting. I made many of my own clothes throughout my school years, though I never imagined pursuing sewing or design as a career.
My grandparents had started a knitting mill when they immigrated to this country, so working with textiles was literally in my blood. But anything I loved was considered foolish by my parents, so I tucked that passion quietly away where no one could touch it.
My mother was always knitting something. She taught me to knit when I was very young, and those moments knitting beside her created a rare sense of closeness between us.
The feel of yarn slipping through my fingers stirred the same sensations I remembered from the satin ribbon on my childhood blanket — a physical reminder of comfort and belonging.
For me, touch was the language of love.
Without it, I felt lost.
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The Turning Point
When I was diagnosed with cancer in 2017, it began the unraveling of everything in my life that was not real or true.
I remember the terror of realizing that time might be limited. Suddenly there was no space left for living a life that did not belong to me.
As I began to recover enough to work creatively again, the thing that called to me was fabric.
It brought me back to the sense of safety and comfort I had known as a child, and to the desire to create that feeling again when everything around me felt uncertain.
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Wearing the Truth
For years I had dreamed of bringing the energy and truth discovered through painting into textiles.
How incredible would it be to wrap myself in that energy — to feel with my body what I knew to be true in my soul?
I began imagining ways to transform the jewels of my inner journeys — the paintings themselves — into colors and textures that could adorn my home and my body.
If I wasn’t yet ready to speak my truth, I could wrap myself in it.
Designing these fabrics became a step toward embodiment. It felt safer than declaring who I was to the world, but it was also a calling I could not ignore.
I found myself unable to stop working on the first piece I designed — a shawl adorned with stones and gems. Hour after hour, stone by stone, I watched something awaken inside me.
Through that piece I rediscovered the self I thought I had lost as a frightened child.
“If I wasn’t yet ready to speak my truth, I could wrap myself in it.”
Place image here textile with a painting
The Grown-Up Bonkies
The blankets, pillows, and wraps I make now are my grown-up Bonkies.
I began by making what I needed, and over time that impulse transformed into something larger — a desire to extend the same love, safety, and comfort I had been seeking to others.
Painting had already been a way for me to find myself amid the noise of the outside world. It allowed me to chronicle my inner journeys and bring the jewels I discovered there into the light.
Textiles became the next expression of that journey.
“The blankets, pillows, and wraps I make now
are my grown-up Bonkies.”
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The Offering
The frightened child clutching her Bonkie still lives in my heart, but she is no longer hiding.
Creating these pieces and sharing them with others has helped to heal something deep within me.
The paintings and textiles that emerge from my work are more than objects of beauty.
They are touchstones.
Reminders of love, safety, belonging, and comfort in a world where those things can sometimes feel scarce.
They are my way of saying:
You are seen.
You are loved.
You are worthy.
You belong.
You matter.
You are not alone.