Patchwork Object

Items

• A REPOSITORY OF MEMORIES
  A REPOSITORY OF MEMORIES I have always regarded windows to be more than visual portals that connect the inside-outside domains. For me they also serve as thresholds to my subconsciousness, transporting me from the ‘present,’ to a moment in time --- portals that allow access to a repository of memories. As I begin to contemplate the origins of my own creativity, I am compelled to travel down memory lane in search of moments that have nurtured me. My layered narrative of framed views, takes me to the window of my childhood home in Rawalpindi. Growing up, I was surrounded by women who relentlessly pursued various creative endeavours. For some it was by way of taking care of their families, and some did so to make a modest living, while for others it provided a sense of refuge from their stressful lives. As memory frames begin to merge, I recollect my father’s prolific gardening in the hills of Changla Gali. Teaching us, my siblings and I, when to prune and replant, how to protect seedlings from frostbite and snow. Year after year those hills have continued to bloom with daisies, hydrangeas, lilies and roses. Drastically different, in terrain and climate, I too have a thriving garden in tropical Manila. My backyard is a testament to my father’s teachings on the art of gardening. There is no shortage of these treasured memories, elements of which form part of this fabric collage. A 10x10 cm portal capturing part-recollections of deeply embedded moments, that are integral to my creative identity. Though individual in existence, my singularity is firmly rooted in the collective, creative identities, spanning generations and genders.
• Bi Ama’s Sewing Book
  Bi Ama’s Sewing Book Just as I was about to send my completed projects for this exhibition, my cousin and aunt shared a remarkable find - my paternal great-grandmother’s sewing book. Bi Ama, as she was lovingly referred to by all, passed away in 1979, when I was about a year-and-a-half old. I have no memory of meeting her, but seeing these images of pages from her sewing manual, I wanted to reverse time. I wish I could travel back to spend a while with her. These visuals tug at my heart and stir deep emotions within. Each page beautifully written in the Urdu script contains individual instructions for different sewing projects. Some additionally have design samplers sewn to one corner of the page. Bi Ama had seven children - my grandfather and his siblings - so she likely stitched and knitted items of clothing for each of them. Thoughts and questions consume my mind: At what point in her lifetime, did she compile this instruction book? Who did she learn from? Was it out of necessity or did she enjoy making things? How often did she sew? Did she have a stitching corner, or a favourite chair? Did she stitch alone or in the company of others? How did her hands move as the needle pierced the cloth making way for thread work? And on and on and on… it keeps going. The questions do not stop as the answers do not follow. This piece is dedicated to the memory of Bi Ama, her sewing book, and a lineage of creative women I am so fortunate to belong to.
• LABURNUM LOVE
  LABURNUM LOVE This patchwork piece is dedicated to the memory of my beloved mother, Amma, whose inherent creativity led my siblings and I, to experiment and follow our own creative passions. Our mother always took out the time to pursue hobbies – photography, painting, sewing, sports, gardening, the list goes on. Though it is impossible to capture the entirety of her creative soul, this piece does embody some of her spirit. I grew up in a family that was committed to living with the firm belief of ‘no-wastage’ in every facet of life. One of the many manifestations of this silently ingrained way of living, led my mother and grandma to save every scrap of clothing from their sewing projects. And I am no different. Amma could always produce something out of seemingly nothing. By seeing her navigate life, I learnt (amongst many things) that creativity could be expressed as well with ‘left-overs’, as with new things. Astute observation, attention to detail, trusting the process and making the most of what one has, was important and would always yield a meaningful outcome. It was she who taught me how to sew on the very machine (that was originally hers and quite possibly a hand-me-down) which I inherited and have been using for all my patchwork pursuits. Representing the invisible thread that ties generational ideas and beliefs, this patchwork is a combination of ‘left-overs’ from Amma’s clothes, and the bunches of dangling yellow flowers were her laburnum love. Trees that lined the street, taking us home. - Parts of this writing are from a previously written piece for a quilting project that I made in memory of my mother.
• SPRING IN MY GARDEN
  SPRING IN MY GARDEN My maternal grandmother, Nani, was unquestionably an institution in her own right. Her ability to skillfully manage an entire household, while maintaining meaningful relationships with friends and family is something I can only aspire towards. She was an incredible chef; an impeccable dressmaker for all her loved ones; an exquisite crocheter and knitter; an amazing sitar player; a strategic budgeteer for she was never not present for any occasion (happy or tragic).... and the list goes on. However, amongst all her innumerable talents the one closest to her heart, was her skill for gardening. She was truly gifted.* Her garden was in perpetual spring. Not because of the weather - as we had all four seasons - but due to Nani’s ability to maintain it that way. She loved gardening. My siblings and I have been extremely fortunate to have spent our childhood years in her garden. The immaculate flower beds were not only arranged in terms of colour and flower size, but also according to height - ensuring unhindered visibility of every flower. Beyond doubt it was magical and standing within it felt ethereal. It was a live painting that we were a part of, and experienced every day!* The flowers on this patchwork are taken from scraps of clothing belonging to women across four generations - my grandma, my mother, my sister and I, and my daughter. This collage of flowers pays homage to the garden that gave us life and nourished our creative pursuits. It is also a celebration of generational creativity. *An excerpt: The first two paragraphs are from a previously written piece for a quilting project that I made in memory of my grandmother.