That Sheer and Me: An Accidental Art Installation

by Katrina MacFarlane

It started out like any other piece of laundry; it was dirty, got tossed into the washing machine, and was hung on the clothesline to dry…only this one never made it back inside. This sheer curtain, actually two sheer curtains sewn together, was used as protection against the onslaught of cabbage moths on last summer’s kale. It had taken a beating in the garden and was full of dirt and debris. I assumed it would be cleaned and tucked away until next season when the moths were on the prowl once again but this is not what happened.  

The drying time for a sheer in the heat of a late summer day is likely less than ten minutes, yet it stayed there, pinned in place, swaying and twisting, reacting to every whim of the wind.  After leaving it on the line for a full day,  I said to myself, “I will take that in tomorrow”. A second day passed and I said the same. A third and fourth day too, until a week had gone by and I had convinced myself it was my busyness that kept it on that line. I soon realized that I was “forgetting” on purpose and in that short time, I had grown fond of watching it. It danced, I thought. Its response to every change in wind speed and direction became fascinating to me. I would repeatedly check on it from every room in the house and it was hard to look away as I found its motion soothing somehow. There was something sensual and beautiful in its gestures and I came to think that it was giving me the gift of “seeing” the wind, giving it a structure and shape that was visible but in a way that felt different and indefinable at first. 

It continued to blow and twist and dance over the winter months and the elements were not kind. It was repeatedly soaking wet, frozen, wound up, draped on the ground, and, at times, had flown off the line in the gale force winds of many storms. More than once I fetched it from across the yard where it had been blown into trees and once, fully into the woods. I imagined it sailing and spiralling through the frosty air into the forest where it hung uncomfortably from several trees. Each time, I retrieved it and patiently (and lovingly) re-pinned it to the clothesline, feeling a sense of relief in that “she” was being returned to her rightful place. Oh yes, and it’s worth mentioning that it was at some point over these winter months that I had come to assign a femininity to the sheer. I began referring to it as “her” or “she” which seemed to me like a natural thing to do in light of having become its caretaker. 

She now has several small holes, plus a new gaping one (recently sutured), and has been covered in wet leaves and spruce needles more times than I can count. There is a small tree branch attached to her too that would need to be cut to be removed which I dare not do. I like to think she’s hanging on to that for a special purpose that remains unknown to me. 

I’m consistently charmed by the way she can endure the elements and still manage to “right” herself from what seem like impossible positions. For the most part, she is able to get herself out of these messes but full disclosure: it’s difficult for me to resist unwrapping, re-pinning, and sewing her up in my desire to continue whatever undefined relationship she and I are currently having. It sounds unconventional, I know, but it’s beginning to feel like she and I share a connection in that it’s becoming impossible to tell if I am reflecting her or she is reflecting me. There are days that she flows freely, navigating each gust with grace and elegance, and others where she seems troubled, allowing herself to be knotted, pins popping off, and letting herself fall to the ground in defeat. Is this any different from me, I wonder, and it’s difficult to know if it’s a case of art imitating life or life imitating art. Feels like a bit of both, really. I can’t be certain of what’s happening here, but I do know that if it’s possible to learn from and be in love with a piece of fabric, I’m as close now as I will ever be.

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