In my conversations with my Witness I was struck by the many emotions she felt in dealing with the situation with her friend, and in her position as a support worker. I decided to create my two companion pieces trying to convey some of those emotions. This artwork centres around her anger/sorrow/frustration/heartbreak about the violence and hurt experienced by victims of violence.
The work centres around the silhouetted figure of the Witness in profile, with her head tilted upwards, her mouth open with teeth bared in a grimace, and her fists raised in the air in a gesture of anger and frustration. Her figure is surrounded by metallic flames depicting her rage. Above this tableau is a swirl of blue paper cut with tear drop shapes depicting her sorrow. There is a red love heart cracked into two pieces, positioned on her upper arm, depicting heartbreak.
The second artwork also centres around emotions, and the Witness’s desire to provide support and be a place of safety/shelter/nurturing/protection/healing for her friend, and others. The second artwork centres around a silhouetted figure of the Witness with her back facing the viewer. Her fists are raised above her head in a posture of defiance, protection, and strength. Positioned within her chest there is a small curled up figure inset within her body. There is a red love heart with a crack down the centre depicting a partially mended broken heart. The figure of the Witness Tori has hand drawn leaves in metallic gel pen flowing in and around her body symbolizing healing, nurturing, and support.
Transpercer is the fruition of shared dialogue between artist and Witness for the Walking Alongside Trauma exhibition. It is a vessel hanging in the balance of opposing actions of harm and recovery. First, we see repeated patterns of controlled, even violent, actions occupying the sculpture’s exterior liminal space. A once-functional buoy, a marker indicating safety, is pierced with deliberate holes, rendering it unusable. An imitation fishing hook, crafted in sterling silver, masquerades as a tool of entrapment. Even the stark black-and-white palette offsets despair and resilience, loss and renewal.
Then, looking into Transpercer’s interior, extraordinary clusters of biome-like creations appear to form from nothing. In dialogue with the Witness, the idea of looking inward figured prominently — as an embodiment of hope, an expectation of change. Similarly, the luminous interior fills with intricate, unexpected forms. This hidden world appears alive and complex in comparison to its weakened exterior. Rather, Transpercer’s demonstration of transformation and promise resides within. Transpercer is a symbol of survival — an acknowledgment of life’s capacity to find direction and hope even in the most hostile environments.
Stages of Healing Sardius explores the enduring impact of trauma and the courage required to navigate away from it and seek advocacy and justice. The palette, inspired by the hues of a healing bruise, captures the raw intensity of initial pain. Carnelian beads — traditionally associated with bravery and strength — encircle the fading bruise, enriching a narrative of protection and recovery from gender-based violence (GBV) , violence against women (VAW), and intimate-partner violence (IPV). Modeled after the gorget — a historical
piece of armor designed to protect the throat and redistribute the force of violent impact.
Stages of Healing Sardius is a metaphorical shield of defense. Motivated by the Witness’s legal expertise in advocacy work with survivors of IPV in rural and small communities, I wanted the neckpiece to visually reference the multifaceted barriers of safety survivors must endure to be heard in a family law legal system that too often fails to protect them. For example, shared courthouse waiting areas in rural areas often place survivors in dangerous proximity to abusers for extended, unpredictable periods of time. Additionally, a lack of privacy in courthouse hallways in small communities compromises client-lawyer confidentiality, further eroding safety and trust. Stages of Healing Sardius symbolizes the right of survivors of IPV and gender-based violence to overcome these barriers to justice.
In conversation the Witness described three body centers of response to their work with trauma – the brain (cerebral, professional, work), the heart (human, empathetic, friends) and the gut (visceral, unpredictable/uncontrollable, family). This made me think of the story of the three wise monkeys – see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil – and the familiar gestures of hands covering the eyes ears and mouth. That story originally was a call to strive for peace, harmony and goodwill but is now often used as an admonishment against those who choose to ignore wrongdoing.
Focusing on those three response centers and gestures, highlighting their location on the body, I emphasized the active participation of my Witness in the trauma response. The colouration of each figure is based on a colour association as described by from my Witness relating to each response type and the colour of the base and attached LEDs reflect the colour of an associated chakra. The wire used to support each figure is from a coat hanger. Coiled sections and bent forms are original, recognizable features of the hanger and reference that my Witness works with trauma survivors who have sought abortion services. I wanted to animate the work, make it interactive and somehow playful, allowing the audience to connect with the figures, reminiscent of playing with paper dolls in our youth. There is a mirror piece attached to each of the figures, offering a glimpse of yourself within the work, but also implying a potentially harming burden carried in each response. The wireless LEDs attached to each figure light up when an electronic wand is brought into proximity with them, a surprise reward for looking at the gestures in a more close and focused manner.
This single flat felt figure, based on the same form as in the work ColourMeWise, honours the work my Witness undertakes to strengthen herself for her work with survivors of sexualized violence. Red is a colour she associates with power and feeling in control. The gesture is a power stance, hands on hips, squared shoulders, solid footing. I have encased mirrors at each source of response, the sharp, cutting edges contained and buffered in
a layer of insulating wool. The wireless LEDs are white light, comprised of all the wave-lengths of visible light, balanced.
This project has been a pretty incredible experience from the beginning, and I am grateful in theextreme to have been part of it. The person I was partnered with was wonderful to talk with, and enthusiastically allowed me to photograph her hands and use them for Hard to Hold, a piece that speaks to her emotional response to the work she’d been doing.
Our conversation also wandered into the concept of an active bystander, and how there are ways to intervene in situations that seem dangerous to someone else, that can be effective and safe. We discussed the 1964 murder of Kitty Genovese, a woman who was killed on the street in New York while 38 people saw and did nothing. This led to us agreeing that all of us are deserving of care and protection, whether or not we know someone or they know us. The Bystanders is the result of that conversation – an attempt to change the narrative of what it means to be somewhere and see something that could possibly be stopped.
My Witness teaches sexual health to K-12 and to adults with cognitive issues, and she works at an abortion clinic. Neither of these are “traumatic” in the strong sense, but they involve a more subtle and “global” sense of trauma, particularly with young or vulnerable people.
One of the things that stuck with me from what my Witness talked about was that at the abortion clinic, she could see people arrive. Patients were not able to bring anyone in with them, but she could see who came along through a video monitor. She would try to get a sense of whether or not they had a “safe” environment/support system for what they were going through. She also mentioned that sometimes kids would approach her after her lesson about age-appropriate sexual education and mention that maybe they didn’t feel all that safe.
I ended up focusing on the binary of Safe/Not Safe. Safe/Not Safe consists of a head of a young person set on a wooden plank–an altar or a bridge. To one side of the head is a scrap of fabric, something to wipe away tears, or something crumpled and discarded, as the person might feel herself to be. To the other side sits a small house covered in pattern and the words “safe/not safe.” As the home is often the source of either danger or safety, it is an appropriate object to place with the head.
Monument carries on from a series of pieces I have been making using classical columns. This is essentially just the capital to a column, based (loosely) on a Corinthian capital. The myth behind this form is that a Greek sculptor saw the grave of a young woman who had recently died. Her grave was topped with a basket full of her favorite things. In the interim since her death, acanthus leaves had grown up through the basket. This myth associates the Corinthian order with the feminine, death, and rebirth.
Trauma involves a sort of death—of innocence, confidence, and equanimity. It can only be overcome through healing, which is itself a sort of re-birth.
My work consists of a square base, on the sides of which are images of curling vines and the words “Compassion,” “Care,” “Empathy,” and “Love.” The base supports a circular form, or torus, and a large bowl draped with a white cloth. The bowl shelters the head of a matronly woman, a compassionate expression on her face. The piece recalls monuments one sees in civic parks honoring the war dead. I pulled together references to death, rebirth, memory, compassion, and care to make a quiet, reflective piece.
Bits and pieces of ideas that my Witness expressed in our two conversations made it into the overall concept for the artwork. Her chair and the idea that she ‘takes her seat in the room with her client’ meaning being there fully for them was the source and inspiration for I Take My Seat.
I Take My Seat is made in layers as the concepts and processes and meanings are layered; from holding space for sometimes actual Evil, to the positivity and renewal of ‘grass greening’ even in the midst of trauma. The top panel lifts to reveal the “nature of Evil as Light’s absence” beneath. She uses a profound metaphor for this. She holds the concept of the ‘grass greening’ even through the most profound trauma. The piece had an obvious start, it right away included her chair, the chair she counsels in.
Converging Tracks is a ‘counterchange’ to I Take My Seat, meaning the colours, forms, ideas and textures partially ‘reverse’ from the other piece. The ‘grass greening’ for example occupies the full center in a kind of profusion (where it is on the side only and buried a bit in I Take My Seat). This is (more or less) based on my own experience in working with my Witness’s thought’s. I am impacted by the idea of the ‘converging tracks’ present in her thoughts and her poetry, and meaning in my own way of composing a piece
My work delves into the internal landscape shaped by personal experience, focusing on the impact of episodic trauma. Through connected forms and materials, I explore how trauma imprints on memory and identity, creating connections between past events and present emotions. My pieces reflect the tension between visibility and invisibility, offering a space for reflection on how we carry unspoken histories within us. By engaging with these intimate fragments, I aim to foster empathy and understanding, inviting viewers to recognize their own internal landscapes and the shared human experience of resilience in the face of trauma.
This work explores the overwhelming volume of external trauma and its persistent challenge to the boundaries that safeguard personal space, particularly for therapeutic practitioners. It reflects the tension between the external world’s demands and the necessity of maintaining a protective shell to preserve inner equilibrium. The piece seeks to embody the delicate balance between empathy and self-preservation, acknowledging the emotional weight of holding space for others while safeguarding one’s own well-being. By abstracting this dynamic, the work invites viewers to consider the resilience required in such professions and the universal struggle to navigate the impact of external chaos on personal sanctity.
When my Witness and I met to discuss our collaboration as Witness and artist, we agreed that our co-conceived works would focus on the positive aspects of her experiences, rather than the challenges. This perspective led us to explore her role as part of a team and the significance of working together to support others. We reflected on the symbolism of circular tables and drums—both of which bring people together—and this inspired me to create works on elk hide hand drums.
Together, we engaged in a contemplative practice before sleeping and after waking, using visualizations to generate the colours and symbols that were woven into these works.
Equally powerful is water, with its innate ability to heal, which is why we incorporated it into the work. My Witness Grace spoke about the significance of going to the water’s edge, a practice that holds healing potential for many of the people she works with. I included bladderwrack for its renowned cleansing properties, further emphasizing the theme of healing and renewal.
We discussed the profound impacts of having a safe person—how even one safe person can be transformative on the healing journey. To symbolize this, we chose a tree, recognizing trees as our relatives and beings we can always turn to for connection and safety.
Working on this project reinforced my perception that, to lay people, the legal system is a confusing and intimidating maze. As my Witness Samantha spends her working life helping people navigate this system, she fields questions and hears comments that are frustrating and disturbing for her because she has limited means and resources to help them. Simply getting by is a kind of maze that becomes more difficult with poverty. Finding a way through it requires resources for those working with those trapped in it.
Hand embroidery is a medium that is often associated with domesticity and the feminine, but I find it versatile and useful to talk about contemporary issues. I chose a bag shape with handles as it is a familiar textile object. A bag carries things, in this case shredded documents and rocks, an acknowledgement of the emotional weight and operational opacity of the system Samantha navigates.
The questions on the exterior are paraphrased from ones she hears often. I have made them legible but not easy to read, a reflection of the system and frustrations for people enmeshed within it. Hand embroidery is personal, detail oriented, and I want it to carry Samantha’s voice and the people she serves. The linen bag is quite ragged. This is a bag we need to repair.
This project has made me reflect on agency in a broad sense. My own experience with family upheaval gives me some understanding of how limited time and money can mean limited options. It made me remember my father who taught me to use tools – knowhow and resources are important in any field, and we need elders and mentors to enable us.
Using the form of a bag – both sturdy and practical – and embroidering it with a range of brightly coloured tools is a celebration of hands-on DIY repair. They support the commitment and resourcefulness of those like my Witness Samantha who work to help people who otherwise feel trapped and unheard. I also wanted the tools to speak of our ability as a society to repair issues such as access to the legal system and to cobble together means for survival while one is escaping violence or trauma.
I asked Samantha what she could use in her work to avoid burnout and to give her more options. I embroidered her very modest wish list on small, fabric covered boxes. I added a few items such as decolonization, gender equality and daycare. Together, the bag and its contents hold hope and possibilities.
I began this piece by picking out two themes that had emerged in the conversation with my Witness. The first being the importance of expecting some level of trauma in their line of work (providing support for sex workers on the Downtown Eastside), so that they can set themselves up well to receive it and can remain strong, unfazed, and able to continue.
The second theme we explored was the stories that remain with you, leaving a lasting impression, versus the things that “burn out” easily. I began to think about the idea of burden bearing, of choosing to take on or carry a little bit of someone else’s burden that may weigh on you, even stretch & tear, and how there can be something beautiful in that, even in its difficulty; using your relative place of safety & stability to create those spaces for others.
In response, I crafted a bowl-like object using the motif of the patchwork quilt as a representation of a person, with many pieces & experiences making a whole, preparing that person for their work. The form of the piece demonstrates this idea of burden bearing, the way it can cause wear and can leave a lasting impression, creating a space to “listen/ be there/ receive/ feel” and to carry the stories of others when needed, as referenced in the poem my Witness provided that was shredded and added to the clay. My hope with this piece is to honour the difficult yet vital work of burden bearing that my Witness, and all who work in similar fields, have chosen to take on.
This piece I approached focusing on the theme of vulnerability and boundaries that my Witness Rabbit and I discussed. We discussed the balance of creating trust with vulnerability and openness, while also having boundaries to protect yourself where needed – including not always needing to be the one who has to fix every problem, and instead acting as a way post and walking alongside a person only as far as you can.
From this I created a 3 layered quilt “wall” that lets us into the interior structure of the quilt. The method of quilting 3 layers together was historically used to create extra padding for the body in medieval armor, representing here the setting up of protective layers to shield the soft and intimate inside layer. There is a tension between being strong & sure, while also being open, vulnerable, and able to feel, that seems to be integral to doing this type of work and remaining able to do it well. In the referencing of the quilt as a protective layer for the body I also highlight how the body is present & affected by all trauma, even trauma that is vicarious and not directly experienced.
The red thread quilts the 3 layers together to close the gaps that allow us to see inside, while also spooling out into piles that invite us in. Along with more of Rabbit’s poem, some of which is written on the interior of the inner quilt layer, I have added the shredded notes I took from our conversation to the clay.
Pairing with this Witness encouraged me to acknowledge the colonialism in my work which was conflated with the impact of sexualized violence. The imagery of the Virgin of Candelaria, surrounded by twelve stars symbolizing light, guidance, and protection, became central to the work. It reflects the delicate balance between self-care and the obligation to care for others in a world that often pressures individuals to suppress their own trauma.
The sculpture is made from a coffee sack, coffee beans, encaustic (beeswax combined with damar resin), and Victorian mourning lace. The first part of the work is a necklace of twelve beeswax beads resembling votive candles. Each bead contains lace circles, or inclusions – a term used in both candle-making and gemology – that symbolize the complex layers of grief inherent in trauma. The beads are connected by a continuous wick made from fibres extracted from the coffee sack, twisted into rope, symbolizing solidarity and communal support in the face of trauma.
The second part is a cushion inspired by the ceremonial crown cushions used in European coronations. Instead of velvet, it is sewn from the same coffee sack used in the necklace. Coffee has long been marketed as a global symbol of some third-world countries, and the coffee sack serves as a medium to reflect on history, labour, and the enduring scars of colonialism that persist in both global trade and individual lives.
Most people think of “rape” as a forced action involving sexual assault. The word connotes violent images, and very often it is. What is less understood is “Grey Rape” which involves the transition from consensual sex that can turn violent, painful, uncomfortable and non-consensual, and when the perpetrator refuses to stop. “Sleuthing” could also be considered a form of grey rape. The perpetrator initially agrees to wear a condom but discretely or overtly removes it during intercourse and continues his actions risking pregnancy and STDs for the woman. I have attempted to depict the two sides of consensual to grey rape and the blurred line during which the nuanced transfer takes place with the survivor becoming increasingly concerned.
The most violent and offensive forms of rape comprise “gang” rape or rape as a tool of war. This is the most devastating and demeaning, misogynist and dehumanizing form of rape that can happen to women, girls and even children. For children it is a form of child sex trafficking and child pornography, and for women and girls, it can be a form of rape during war and ethnic cleansing that is meant to offend a racial or national group or individual men as a political statement.
There is nothing more heinous or that has traumatized me more than reading about, witnessing videos and men’s misogynistic slurs, hearing women’s experiences of rape during war, or learning about child pornography and rapes of children. I could not bring myself to depict the face of a child that is raped; but the sperm on this woman’s face and her anxiety, depicts concern about being impregnated from all those men, carrying and giving birth to a rape child. Doubts about whether to abort, or whether she will be able to love this child.
The trauma I feel every time I read about this kind of rape is deep anger – that brings me to tears. Nobel prize winner Nadia Murad was brave enough to educate about the rape she endured by ISIS, and Gisele Pelicot who was courageous to sue her 70 plus village neighbours who were solicited by her husband to rape her while drugged. Every day she must walk by one or several of the approximately 70 men who raped her. In India women are raped every 10 minutes. Walking alongside and supporting the healing of traumatized women survivors of rape against their perpetrators is essential in every case. Making sure it does not happen at all is even more important.
This mask depicts the pain of crushed hope after meeting someone through an online dating app, consenting to a potentially trusted sexual relationship and then being “ghosted.” Online dating apps have enabled multiple dating and relationships, where women looking for a long-term relationship may be led on and then suddenly dropped, with no warning or explanation. This has the effect of breakdown and increased anxiety when consenting to sexual relationships, reduced confidence and fear of abandonment for women who may already be lonely and craving trustworthy relationships. Social media provides irresponsible people with the tools to escape responsibility, ethics and compassion.
Racialized women often confront substantial dilemmas in deciding whether to report sexualized violence. Although post-#MeToo the justice system has been more willing to address women’s claims of sexual violence, there continues to be victim blaming and invalidation of some women’s claims of violence. This is due to the intersectional barriers of race, sex, gender, sexual orientation and the risks that reporting would bring.
Women from marginalized groups have often struggled to overcome barriers that accept them in educational institutions and employment; achieving promotions, retaining their positions. Reporting such incidents may draw unwanted attention. This is especially true in contemporary society where online vitriol, news and social media could marginalize them, further affecting their hard-earned livelihoods.
These two masks represent racialized women who want to disclose the assault but struggle because they may not be taken seriously due to their race. They fear being stereotyped by the courts, misquoted by media, and harassed online. Official reporting may affect their careers and courts may dig unnecessarily into their personal life.
The grid, in my mind, points towards organized structure, or rigidity, or can imply obstruction. For the Walking Alongside Trauma exhibition, I have used the unyielding nature of the grid to imply barriers or gridlock. The three figures in Connection/Contagion -are built from strips of clay laid out in a grid-like pattern, leaving some open spaces for telephone wire (a communication wire) to be woven through, awkwardly uniting them.
It is a comment on both the positive and negative aspects around connectivity – a community may be united, but a community is also susceptible to the ripple effects of vicarious trauma.
There are opposing characteristics of fragility and of resilience rooted in the ceramic medium, and in A Gulliver Moment. The figure was damaged in the firing, and artist Drew Shaffer imagined and made a wooden base elevating and featuring the surviving fragment. By tying it down with a netting made of re-bar wire I refer to my Witness’s situation, imagining, how a person confronts and survives a combination of societal barriers and responsibilities.
These three ‘walking’ figures were rapidly made, the arms cut away from the torsos, and stood upright while still pliable, permitting gesture, and some cracking. Each is tenuously balanced, implying both motion and vulnerability. They may appear to be walking together, but are also solitary, and each displays a different form of the grid.
During conversations with my Witness, it came to me that society’s caregivers may be living parallel lives of risk, alongside their clients, experiencing their own forms of trauma, though from different sources.