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August 3, 2024 In

Life You Like A Prayer 2024

Embroidered shroud – macro photography transfer on reclaimed, pigment-dyed fabric, branches, leaves, butterflies, bird nest, feather-made bird, clay frog, soil
Installation size variable

Building on the idea of conversations between the known and unknown, possibility and stagnation and ultimately life and so-called death, this installation features a shroud as its focus.

The 226 x 112 cm l 89 x 44 in fabric piece is made from well-worn, reclaimed bedsheets hand-dyed with graphite and pigment, photo transfers of macro-photographed decaying plant-life hand-stitched with silk backing. It is suspended away from the wall and draped in front of a collection of tree branches, dried leaves, butterflies, stones, a bird nest with sleeping bird and a single clay frog who also appears to be sleeping.

Close to four hundred dots were embroidered with turquoise wool, spelling in braille the following lines from a poem by 13th-century mystic poet Jalal al-Din Muhammad Rumi.
‘I have come to drag you out of yourself and take you in my heart. I have come to bring out the beauty you never knew you had and lift you like a prayer to the sky.’

For me, these words encapsulate what it means to really see beneath and beyond the surface of our lives; to hold space for grief, loss and vulnerability; to embrace with all our senses the living and that which has passed on from the material world yet is held precious in our living memory.

Photography by Toni Hafkenscheid & the artist

August 3, 2024 In

I feel I know you 2023

Embroidered braille with wool, embroidery thread & string on reclaimed sheer curtain, driftwood Projected photograph
228.6 x 276.9 cm l 90 x 109 in

Through the embroidered braille phrase I feel I know you, there is a suggestion toward the sense of touch as one would use when reading braille. Each circular character is stitched to appear like a lush forest floor, highly tactile and evocative of something beyond the communication of the words it represents. On the opposite side, in embroidered cursive reads ‘I feel I know you too’, suggesting a response and an interwoven relationship between the known and unknown. It calls for use beyond the five surface senses to access our emotive sensibilities, drawing ourselves into more expansive, incorporeal realms.

With the projected floral shadows and gently moving light source combined with its semi-transparent fabric, this re-purposed sheer curtain also speaks to what may lay beyond our line of vision, delving into the realm of possibilities. From this piece there is an invitation to return to nature where immersive and healing experiences can provide us with further connection to each other and ourselves.

Within this piece is a personal reference to my mother who many years ago lost her eyesight first in one eye, then the other, yet through a number of meticulous surgeries, cumbersome post-op regimens and natural remedies, regained the ability to see albeit without centre acuity. Now in her mid-eighties she maintains a dedicated gardening routine, inspiring everyone who experiences her colourful, sprawling garden. Her love of nature, the healing arts and her skills with sewing and knitting continue to inspire my own creative journey and through this piece it is my wish that others may also find their way into the garden, the forest, the lakeshore and our wild, spectacular natural environment.

Photography by the artist & Toni Hafkenscheid

August 3, 2024 In

Room For Us All 2024

Vintage books, reclaimed chair, organic matter, unfired lake clay, tea bags, embroidered hair on organic cotton, lady bugs, handmade bunting
Size variable

Room For Us All began as an inner dialogue and visual expression about feelings of isolation, loneliness and segregation. Working in my tiny garden studio, new to the small neighbourhood on the southern shores of Lake Huron during the overwhelming sense of muddy uncertainty that fermented from lock-downs and segregation, I found solace in reading, researching, drawing and imagining.

The initial elements were a single chair, a hand-embroidered piece of organic cotton, using my own trimmed hair to create whirling patterns of vines; dozens of collected vintage books, paper-clay cup and a small table on which the cotton was to be spread. As I started to settle and I worked to heal my anxiety with daily walks in nature, conversations with distant friends and processing my move back to Canada, the idea shifted into a surreal dreamscape, a visceral reckoning with elements both known and unknown.

Without the table, it presented itself as a more capacious blend of domestic and nature-made elements; an extension of the inner ramblings of shadow work and creativity. This is what entanglement means to me: connectivity interwoven with the joys and challenges of learning and discovering.

Installed in the gallery space, it is a gathering of sorts, a releasing of isolations and a coming together of disparate ideas, thoughts and in darker hours- fear, all while celebrating a deepening camaraderie with nature. I am fascinated with the concept of non-duality and what that encompasses. Here, where there is clearly one seat and a single cup, it is suggested through the title that we are interwoven with nature’s symbiotic energy alchemizing room for us all.

IN DISCUSSION : SIOBHÁN HUMSTON WITH SUSAN MADSEN

The following text is excerpted from a discussion between the artist and her long-time artist colleague and friend Susan Madsen in February 2024.
Initials SM and italic font indicates the words of Susan, and SH for Siobhán Humston.

SM I am looking at the stitched hair (Room For Us All); there is an edge of weirdness to it but it is very root-like looking and it seems to reference that quest for roots that is one of the big themes in the show. And the ceramic cup which is made from a pressed leaf mold but has a rootiness to it as well.

SH The curator brought up about hair being used for nests by birds, like when they find clumps of it laying around and also people often use it in compost, putting it in the garden, so then that ties into the context of the garden. I think that in a very practical sense, I ask what materials can I gather that are interesting; what do those materials say about the work. As Goethe was known to ask: where are you in the work? Where is the artist in the work? Then, what does it infuse the work with? For this project, every time I trimmed my hair I just kept it. It’s clean. It’s not knotted, it’s not tangled but it links into what can be done with hair. When I lived in the Okanagan I had my hair analyzed and it was one of the most fascinating things. I got back this long sheet of paper and on it was everything that this person had learned from one tiny lock of hair. It was incredible. I guess there is further excitement about using it for that underlying reason. I have questioned whether this piece even works both on its own, or within the context of all the other pieces. I won’t really know until it is installed but I think it being presented as a surreal dream-scape pulls the elements together to make it cohesive. I am interested in providing a unique spark for the imagination of the viewers. Allowing the hair embroidered floor piece to coexist with the woven organic chair, the bunting, dozens of lady bugs, the books, clay balls and broken branches makes for the setup of an intriguing open-ended tale.

Photography by Toni Hafkenscheid & the artist

October 5, 2019 In

Dance for All the Minutes of All the Days 2019

Stop motion film (2:27 loop) with reclaimed pheasant wings mounted in clay as part of an installation of branches, hand-made bio ink drawings & twenty-eight shelves displaying bones, feathers, seaweed, stones etc

October 4, 2019 In

From the Forest We See . . . 2017/2018

FROM THE FOREST WE SEE WATER, FROM THE OCEAN WE SMELL LAND 2017/2018

July 23, 2015 In

Tender to the Sea 2015

Tender to the Sea | 2015
1075 used tea bags, 3mm steel rods, used tea, 600 metres thread |224 x 130 x 46 cm | 88″ x 51″ x 18″

4. boat Tender, detail 3. boat horizontal

Why a teabag boat? When I first arrived in Falmouth for the MFA (Art & Environment) course, I really wanted to make a shift to being careful and thoughtful about what kind of materials I used to make art and in turn, what those materials would say about what it was I made. Using reclaimed materials was an obvious option, especially while I waited for my shipped art supplies to arrive from Canada. I have previously saved tea bags to draw on, and it was definitely something that there was lots of, both at home and in the assigned post-grad studio. I began collecting and drying them before I knew what I would make but it didn’t take long for me to decide that I would make a boat. A life size rowing boat. The boat, here in Cornwall, is ubiquitous, and although it is a well-worn symbol, I felt the idea of having it made of a recycled tea bags would give it an intriguing spin.

My work has been centred on man’s interaction with the environment for several years, combining man-made objects with abstracted aspects of nature, so this was a natural extension of that theme. I had also started to use images of boats in my work. The canoe being a vessel that is historically and geographically prevalent in the West coast of Canada, however, did not work for this area. I felt it had to be a small hand propelled vessel in order that the metaphor of human carried through. I am interested in displacement from nature as well as our interaction with it; of the search for ‘home’ and where it leads us and of both the fragility and resilience of the natural world. The boat, which is made on the land, from the land yet meant for the sea, and often tethered, seemed a compelling and expansive symbol to work with. And the rowboat speaking more to the individual than a group and it represents both strength and fragility.

One of the aspects that I found intriguing about ‘the tea bag boat’, is that everyone I mentioned it to was interested in the project. It very quickly became a community project, with people volunteering to help save tea bags and others attending workshops in which they helped to empty the dried tea bags of the tea whilst I recorded them talking about their boat journeys, the idea of home and what tea meant to them. To my surprise, not one person acted dumbfounded at my idea. The enthusiasm I have experienced and the stories that people have shared over the last ten months has formed a cornerstone to my experience here in Cornwall.

Being raised by an English mother and Irish father, tea was always important to the social fibre of our household. Anyone entering our home was offered a cup of tea. Every morning, tea. Every evening after dinner, tea. Before bed, tea. An injury, emotional upset, or triumph, tea! And so, for myself, moving to the country that my mother was raised in, tea was my one piece of home, a logical starting point from which to settle in.

This boat was made of the course of ten months with 1075 tea bags sewn with over 630 metres of thread. And hundreds of hours. I think people are interested for two basic reasons: one, that the boat is something everyone recognizes but being made of highly unconventional materials adds a sort of delight or whimsy to the concept and presents it as a story, open ended for translating. Secondly, the material itself, the tea bags, are surprisingly beautiful. Each person who has seen them sewn together, even in small batches, is amazed at the colours, textures and associations with other natural elements like leather or wood.

There are many aspects this project can work within and the metaphors and stories are endless. While the collecting and sewing took months, I was surprised at how quickly the structure and finally sewing the tea bag fabric to the armature came together. And so it sits, in the Lamorva attic, rocking gently with the wind from the open windows that look out to the sea.

June 23, 2015 In

The Stories We Tell 2015

Over the course of several months, I cut out and arranged these shapes on one of the walls in my post-grad studio. They are cut from the car, watch and camera ads from a stack of found vintage National Geographic magazines. The man-made construct of the grid interacts with the natural forms that are not clearly defined as one thing or the other. Perhaps the shapes are coral, or trees or antlers, or river tributaries, the play of human element helping to build a narrative that leave it up to the viewer to translate. When it came time to take the ninety-six pieces down, I decided to document the process, and did so at the onset of the evening to highlight the light and shadows in the room. I put together this short video with those photographs.

‘The Stories We Tell’ short film