Reflecting back on the text above, I want to elaborate some more on these written words which regard my work I wanted to say something but I forgot. The work and text enclose subjects which are dear to me, and connect my thesis with my practice. The first draft of the thesis has been written alongside the creation of the textile works presented at the A Finger in Every Pie exhibition. 

In the work I wanted to say something but I forgot I embroidered text on textile in monochromatic colors, which makes it challenging for the spectator to read at first glance. It is the question who walks past, who sees, and who doesn’t see. If it is seen, how much involvement is there with the text? Does one recognize a text after which the journey is quickly continued, or is it read from beginning till end ( maybe touched ) after which taken home as a memory to contemplate over? Synchronized with the creation of this work was the writing of the thesis, which researches and connects movement that we do and do not perceive; physical movement ( the movement of the body, in itself and in relation to other bodies ) and intrinsically movement ( reflections, dreams, internal physical processes (such as the breath) ) . How do interior and exterior correspond and how does that connection visualize or feel? Walking past the textile work we do with our body as a whole, but the reading of the text of the work is done while standing still after which the movement occurs intrinsically and lives on as a memory. 

The concept is based on concentration, detail and endlessness. I wanted to say something but I forgot is a work which requires time in its making and in its perceiving. As the concept is rooted in detail and concentration, it requires space which allows that space for concentration; space to breathe and space for spectators to feel allowed to take the time to invest and focus. It is something that needs more time than just a moment, time to build a connection with.


Sewing the words on the textile is endless and fluid like the sea; there is no end to it. There are always more dreams, reflections and words worth sewing on. Whispers to be heard.