As a kid, I remember being quite ‘hands-on’ or, better, crafty. I would work on interiors by building rooms for my Barbies using shoe boxes and leftover materials from my mom’s sewing projects. I’d wallpaper living rooms and sew curtains and cushions for bedrooms. I would style and renovate as more fabric became available. I still remember the excitement of being able to use the glue gun under strict supervision in my parent’s kitchen but also the guilt that I felt for enjoying crafting these simple rooms over the two-story store-bought Barbie house the family had gotten me as a present for my birthday. I could spend hours by myself, in my room, sitting on the floor cutting fabric, thinking of how I wanted the windows to be and what could the decorations look like. Back then I had already understood the extent of my privilege not just because of the Barbie house but also because my parents allowed for my creativity to be expressed through my hands without restrictions.
02 — The seasons of making
02 — The seasons of making
02 — The seasons of making
As a kid, I remember being quite ‘hands-on’ or, better, crafty. I would work on interiors by building rooms for my Barbies using shoe boxes and leftover materials from my mom’s sewing projects. I’d wallpaper living rooms and sew curtains and cushions for bedrooms. I would style and renovate as more fabric became available. I still remember the excitement of being able to use the glue gun under strict supervision in my parent’s kitchen but also the guilt that I felt for enjoying crafting these simple rooms over the two-story store-bought Barbie house the family had gotten me as a present for my birthday. I could spend hours by myself, in my room, sitting on the floor cutting fabric, thinking of how I wanted the windows to be and what could the decorations look like. Back then I had already understood the extent of my privilege not just because of the Barbie house but also because my parents allowed for my creativity to be expressed through my hands without restrictions.