Martina Lavarda
INTESSERE — TO WEAVE
What remains of us when our memory and our bodies betray us? Will all the little things we've collected be celebrated, or will they be a burden to those who remain?
I think of my grandmother. Of her doilies folded in a drawer, untouched. I remember that when I went to her house every Sunday, the furniture was covered with lovely handmade doilies. They were so delicate, yet they were there to protect.
I think of my grandmother. Of her doilies folded in a drawer, untouched. I remember that when I went to her house every Sunday, the furniture was covered with lovely handmade doilies. They were so delicate, yet they were there to protect.
Martina Lavarda "Intessere — To weave"
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Intessere — To weave
In particular, I remember that round table where we spent most of the day, covered by a handmade white tablecloth, which disappeared only to make room for the festive food.
My grandmother was an excellent cook, but now food is something she's indifferent to. Everything, except chocolate. That's one of the last obsessions that never leaves her, even though she struggles to recognize herself.
In particular, I remember that round table where we spent most of the day, covered by a handmade white tablecloth, which disappeared only to make room for the festive food.
My grandmother was an excellent cook, but now food is something she's indifferent to. Everything, except chocolate. That's one of the last obsessions that never leaves her, even though she struggles to recognize herself.
"These doilies — woven thread by thread, gesture after gesture — carry within them the time of those who created them. They are memory made material".
In her life, my grandmother also forged many relationships, holding the threads of her family — and mine in times of difficulty. And then her memory began to fail. The objects she had made, that she had chosen, remained.
These doilies — woven thread by thread, gesture after gesture — carry within them the time of those who created them. They are memory made material. And when memory is no longer there, they remain. Witnesses of a life that fades.
Weaving is intended to be a reflection on what persists when everything else fails. On what continues to speak when body and mind are already distant.
These doilies — woven thread by thread, gesture after gesture — carry within them the time of those who created them. They are memory made material. And when memory is no longer there, they remain. Witnesses of a life that fades.
Weaving is intended to be a reflection on what persists when everything else fails. On what continues to speak when body and mind are already distant.