Sticky Threads, 2020

Growing up, all of my clothes were hand-me-downs from my sister and more often than not they were handed down to her as well. How I would come into possession of her old clothes, my new clothes, was usually quite informal. It involved commandeering an article of clothing I coveted, hoping she wouldn’t notice. Of course she would and there were two possible outcomes. 1) a silent agreement of my new ownership or  2) a heated argument with promises made to never share clothes ever again, which were forgotten by the next day. My favorite part about inheriting something of my sister’s was smelling her on the clothes even after it being in my possession for months. No amount of laundering could strip away her essence impregnated in the fibers. This was comforting, like a hug from my sister while I was out in the world. 

This kind of sharing I can only think of happening among siblings. When you search your mind for the perfect outfit, your imagination extends to what is inside their closets as well. I had this with one other person besides my sister. 

It’s been over six months since I have last spoken to this person. In 2020, we all grieved. I grieved the loss of this friendship and person estranged to me. Clothes of theirs that were passed onto me sit in my closet, haunting me. They no longer envelope me with comfort, I feel like a fraud when I wear them. Each shirt, sweater, and sock is a ghost from the past. In a desperate attempt to transform these feelings and material, I cut the cord connecting me to this person by cutting the threads of these garments. I do not wish to erase , I do not wish to destroy, I do not wish to resurrect anything but these are my efforts to have closure by transforming the purpose of these garments.