Weaving belongs to a time before culture—a primordial language through which humanity first came to know relationship. Across time and geography, the interlacing of natural fibers has carried meaning and continuity between generations, between human and more-than-human others.

In the Popol Vuh, the Mayan creation story describes a Great Cosmic Seam: "A cord was brought and stretched in the sky and over the Earth, on the four corners" (Klein, 1982). This image reveals the invisible threads that hold existence in balance. When I weave, I listen for that same rhythm—the pull of the universe breathing itself together. Weaving is an ancient language, one between humans and nature that is still alive and evolving today. I see my weaving practice as bringing forth an invisible dialogue between the landscape and I.

The natural world offers its own fibers—seaweeds, driftwood, roots, bark, and other plant remnants find their way into my hands. They reach out, asking to join. In working with them, I enter a meditative state of listening and receptivity. When a piece is finished, it carries its own quiet presence into the world—something that has come through me rather than from me. This co-creative process works to heal the ecopsychological split that separates human from more-than-human, weaving us back into relationship with the living world.

This collection of woven sculptures emerged from the landscapes of the Pacific Northwest, where forest and ocean continually shape one another. Each work is a conversation between these elements—a co-creation that speaks to the living bond between human, material, and place.

“To weave is to pray” —Cecilia Vicuña

“Mysteries are revealed by putting it all together” —Robert Randall