This horse was given to me by my grandfather when I was a teenager. To be honest, I have never thought about this object as much as I did when I was writing this. Perhaps because I don't tend to define objects that are almost a part of me, they mean different things to me at different times. Or maybe because it has been with me all along, in every house I have lived in. It’s always been placed prominently in every home and I don’t remember a single day when I haven’t looked at it. 'A horse with wings'; sounds like it would be a light little sculpture, right? It’s only when you lift it you realize how heavy it is. Casted entirely in iron, I have always thought of it as an ironic piece of expression – when you look at it from a distance, it gives you a sense of being free, curious, taking that leap as if there isn’t any barrier. But it’s only when you get closer, try to carry it, you realise how something so delicate can make you gasp for breath.
This is a drawing I made in the British Library. It is a notebook used by the writer Penelope Fitzgerald during her travels in China in 1977. No photography or photocopying was allowed; I took notes and made a drawing. The first entry read: "Dec 3. Heathrow Bucharest. My shabby luggage. My sweater and trousers much too hot. My savings scanty.Am I going bald?...”
For me, a notebook represents freedom. I like that what I think of as freedom is portable and light. And I can’t lose it as easily as a pen. You might ask, why not a book? They are in danger, after all. Books are often banned by dictators and ideologues, doesn’t a book really represent freedom? I like the argument and, believe me, books are some of my best friends. But my greater fondness is for notebooks. Especially a new notebook or one that has still got blank pages. There is an openness!
As a child, I often would watch my mom and sisters working on the sewing machine at home. When they would stitch or knit, I’d help them thread the needle, and sit beside them while they created outfits for the people in my village. I developed a keen interest, the various processes, and stiches. But those around me would warn my parents not to let me work on the machine. They would reprimand me for sitting among girls, and ask me to play outside and do "boy" things. back then, I wasn't impacted, but now I realise how this impacted my opinions and behaviour. When I made my first soft sculpture, my classmates presumed that “it's by a female artist”. But I continued to work; exploring through the threads of love, beads of passion, and colours of equality.