For a three-year-old, who just started outlining her mind with pencils, ‘a-walking-canvas’ was certainly not a vocabulary but rather a feeling feels good. Her mom, an expert with needles, stitched up wounds at work and sewed all her outfits by hand. Their first and foremost collaboration was a little-red-wool dress, with an alien-ish-self-portrait embroidered on the chest. I remember it and its feeling till today.

2012 – Present

Thirty-some years later, my feeling for clothes remained, although red is replaced by ‘professional’ colours (blue, grey, beige, white and black), although mom cannot keep up with demands.

I sometimes wonder if the little-alien has departed.
The quest for its return has driven me to make these tiny boobs, not for the sake of ‘a-walking-canvas’ but rather for sustaining the feeling.