Fio Adamson
Lucy Orta's Sewing Project
I
Lucy Orta told us wonderful things about her long established work bringing people together. I was enthralled by her tales of fashion projects, dinner parties in town squares and Antarctic campsites. I remembered a remarkable exhibition of hers perhaps twelve years ago in which I saw her extraordinary costumes - sci-fi, sports gear, space tubes connecting people so they could not leave each other. Books I barely understood, by and about Deleuze and Guattari were there for reference. It was a challenging, rather mysterious experience for me in an office lunchbreak.
So when Lucy appeared to tell stories of her work over many years I was enthralled, and certainly was not going to resist when she offered the option of taking part in a collaborative sewing project.
Sometimes I feel overwhelmed by the extraordinary nature of human accomplishment. This morning alone I have read Celtic stories, heard Muslim Akram Khan speak about Hindu dance, studied Alice Anderson on the body’s memory. Now I ingest oats grown in fields of soil and tap out words on my computer. Outside, foxes roam the streets, snowdrops dangle and wind whistles in the London trees. Women and men sleep in the streets and worship in cathedrals. I dream of making animals in ice and watching them melt.
With another human, I combine the extraordinary invention of speech, our remarkable understanding of time, and the magic of our phones. And this is before we start on the animals, the flowers, the trees, the mosses, the spiders webs and the ants.
We have the power to imagine and to act. Your power goes hand in hand with responsibility
The completed rectangle of colour is full of mistakes and drama. The weeks and months of Coronovirus and lock down are sewn into the pattern. They will join with the rectangles and drama of others, and contribute something to the better survival of humanity in the aftermath.
I'
She handed out large squares of fabric printed with a grid of several hundred squares, to be filled with a message to challenge the climate emergency. Each letter was to be filled with its appropriate colour so that ultimately the message would become a hidden secret.
A strident message to the powers that be I did not want, but one that might appeal to the imagination and the humanity in a reader. I did not want to harass or harangue. I have printed my message above, since I can only keep the secrets of others. It was a Sunday morning of daydreaming and poetry.
T