I know I belong here.

Kate has potential but is easily distracted.

Every teacher, every class for years, it was always the same. Potential to fall in line. Potential to be all that she is meant to be.

Of course, I am distracted. There is so much going on. Every single thread of thought can lead to something more. Conversations, questions, debates unravelling the context of a lateral perspective of our existence in this complex material world. The repetitive loops of the school life schedule, its parameters and expectations were hard to accept. It was all leading to the same destination, it has all been done so many times before.

Sitting staring out the window my mind would wonder. Creating anthropomorphic characters out of the line of trees on the horizon. Watching the wind give them conversation. They are alive, I see them speak to one another.

I do not belong here.

My life is on stage, my potential awaits in theatres and dance companies far away from the teacher stood there, the whiteboard. Depressing. I am nearly twelve years old. I am meant for a world of dancing, music and costumes, to be free from this place. Dreams matched with talent that gave hope. Potential. I had the potential to go there, to my world of ballet. My mother making the costumes, cutting the layers of tulle. We would always use the ‘good scissors’ together. A sacred tool that was used with so much precision and care. I would take a breath then slowly exhale as I made the cut, a movement that creates a moment that cannot be undone. The sound as the blades extend and then find themselves again, the slice of the fabric oh so sensational. My life was full filled. Then one step forward took it all away. Taken by a physical inability to support the pointe. One tiny tendon in the Achilles. My Achilles heel. I am Achilles. So close to being a God, struck down by such a small part of my physical being. It was time to end the childhood dream. Ended with The Australian Ballet’s physiotherapist; ‘You will never be able to do ballet’. Back to the whiteboard, the teacher. My horizon of tree people swaying in the wind. Alone. Lost.

I am Pointless.

The heartbreak that led me to a small brown bottle 'Poison' down its side. Where do you go when you want to die? A movement that creates a moment that cannot be undone. A numb ache a constant haze. How do you heal after you have done such a thing? The poison did not work and here we are.

The whiteboard, the teacher and me.

My fingers fumble at my sleeve. A loose thread that snaps when I give it a tug. A release. Of pressure. The bonds that held the weave so tightly give way. They link and join, a web of weave appears to me. The more I pull the calmer I feel. A sweet wave of relief that creeps up the back of my neck, over the top of my skull bringing me into a Zen like focus. My hands are occupied. They search for the next link, the loop that can snap. I can hear the teacher, they are clearer now. No longer living on the horizon with the trees, I am here. Here in this present place. My teacher, my peers, they all appear, my thoughts can finally find their way.

Now I have grown, educated elevated I have found life. I have found love. The fold of the cloth continues to comfort and inspire. A study of Art History, A degree in Fine Art that eventually loops me back. All the way back to that sleeve, dissecting the jersey weave. Now with wisdom I can see the literal I study the lateral. The objective and subjective, it has potential. I study its concept, its physical connection to me. Autonomous Sensory Meridian Responses. I had found my therapy, in my sleeve. A tactile sensory interaction with fabric that essentially helped to save myself from me.

My history, my family. My Grandmothers scissors, the most sacred of all. Their weight, their tale. The tale of the tailor that came here to Australia. Her son, my father that met my mother. My mothers scissors oh so sacred as well. My mother the quilter. Cutting, creating, fabric, it is all such a part of me. Deep within the metaphysical fold I find layers, fusion, fulfilment. Movements that create new moments that won't come undone. Comfort, potential, hope. I have found my hope again. From the classroom to the gallery, the thread has lead me here.

My Happiness.

An elevation of everyday wear into the realm of conceptual art. I transform my t-shirts into sculpture installation, they are performers they are painting they are universal; they are Art. Textiles, creativity, it is all around me, handed down to me and a part of me. The women in my life gave me access to something that was in me the entire time. I have hope again. I hope that my conceptual fashion art will travel the world. That my skills will continue to evolve. My Grandmother has passed and her scissors are with me. When I hear them, feel them, it brings her to me in that moment of precision that decision to make a movement that creates a moment that cannot be undone. A line that is cut that can lead me to my own potential.

I know I belong here.