There may be a contradiction between the materials and what they are being used for. Brightly coloured yarn may put up a wall against an audience who might otherwise immediately recognise the state of my mental health. As a defense strategy, this distance allows me to be vulnerable in my own time, not in theirs. When I enter into the laborious and time-consuming action of crochet, it can become a meditative state. Thoughts otherwise kept quiet beneath the surface begin to bubble up. It’s a transformation of negative emotions into/through/around a palatable, soft form. As I make, the release of feeling as a result of making becomes interweaved with the yarn. Crochet is a cathartic experience for me, which muffles the noise of negative feelings. Can it keep them down? Or does it all just become so irrepressible that it goes out of control?

The soft texture of my forms is a contrast to the overwhelming thoughts consuming my mind. I found that what was inside my head began to inform my art, leading to being more open about the state of my mental health and feeling a genuine personal connection to my practice. Yet the outside world always interferes, puts pressure on things; in this space, the light casts its own shadows and the heat can create an intense atmosphere, as well as that gross feeling of wearing wool on a hot summer’s day.

In my work, emotions that are fleeting for some, often constant for me, become embodied in forms that are soft, comfortable and offer some kind of certainty, as warped or tangled as that might be.