Wearing my much mended secondhand cotton cardigan and a blouse and skirt sewn from a secondhand linen duvet cover (blouse is adapted from the Matchy Matchy High Tide set).

As long as I’ve been drawing, I’ve been sewing. My mother taught me how to sew by hand while I was still a toddler and as I reached elementary school it became an ongoing summer project for her to teach me how to sew my clothes by machine, and eventually the quilt on my bed. I taught myself how to make little stuffed animals and clothe them. When I turned 21 my mom gave me my own sewing machine for my birthday and I experienced a resurgence of interest in my old pursuit. I started sewing my own clothes and experiencing the freedom and expression that come with having some measure of control over the way I dress myself, and in extension, how others view me.

Eventually I even started a blog to share my sewing projects. It was called ‘Mr and Mrs Rat,’ to represent my husband and I as clever, nimble little creatures, making and sharing our clothes during a time of instability, stress and poverty in our lives. I kept all of this neatly separate from my art making and art sharing. Other than some self portraits where I was wearing my homemade clothes, or occasional photos of me that were shared alongside my artwork, my sewing felt like it belonged to a separate world from my artwork and the galleries that showed and sold it.

I no longer want to keep my sewing and artwork separate. They are both important parts of my creative life. Sewing helps me to connect to my matriarchal heritage. It has beauty and humble utility. With it, I’m able to clothe my body with a wider variety of creative expression and more ethically than if I bought my clothes at the store.

In a day and age when clothing pollution is a growing global problem and fashion’s waste has grown to staggering proportions, thinking about and talking about clothing is not frivolous. The fashion industry affects us all, and our choices of how to clothe ourselves every day and where and how those clothes are made are heavy with meaning and unseen repercussions.

Even though I make my own clothing out of secondhand materials, I feel as though I make too much waste—-take my clothes too much for granted—-give them away or give up on them too quickly.

I am going to attempt to make a record here of my “inexhaustible closet.” I want to find out how long I can really wear my clothes and how I can mend or remake them to last even longer. I want to find out what happens when I really slow down, and try to not consume at all, but to instead savor what I have and learn to see its beauty. I think that I already have enough clothes and cloth to last me many years. How many years? What will it all look like?

I’m curious to find out.