I have always known that I would be an artist, having grown up among artists and getting plenty of encouragement as a child. Our house was full of Japanese prints, netsukes, and fabrics, and my earliest memories of these still influence my view of what is beautiful. I was first exposed to the art of tapestry weaving when I was 15, through the study of Medieval art history and the tapestries woven by Egyptian children at The Ramses Wissa Wassef Art Centre.

My subjects are from the natural world and concern the effects of wind, water, light, and shadow over time. I try to convey a sense of the mystery in simple things and of the beauty that surrounds us every day, whether we live in cities or suburbs or surrounded by meadows. My goal with every tapestry is to reveal the spirit — the inner essence — of my subjects. I focus on the image and content, not the technique of weaving itself, which I think tends to trap us tapestry weavers in the realm of craft in the public perception.

The physical act of weaving is much more athletic than many people realize, and I get a good workout every day at the loom. I stand as I work and use large arm movements while weaving. I am constantly dashing around the studio to make a note about something that has just occurred to me regarding the work, or to find the right yarns to mix, or to work on a design detail at my desk, or stretching and standing back to view my progress.

Much contemporary art is incomprehensible to most people, even intentionally throwing up barriers to understanding. I disagree with this approach; I believe very strongly in making my art accessible to a wide audience. I want to elevate people’s sense of inquiry, hope, and mystery through my tapestries.

I create my work for its own sake. If I have any message to communicate through my tapestries, it is, “Hey! Wake up people! Our world is so fragile, and understanding and preserving it is very, very necessary to the human spirit.”