Wool Jam Series
From afar, the shelf is enticing: a row of jars displays a rainbow of colors, promising preserved jams and vegetables. One almost feels as if one could open a jar and taste the color itself. But upon closer inspection, doubt creeps in: it's impossible to see this as the reassuring accumulation of homemade preserves. Each jar is unique, perfectly spaced, asserting its individuality rather than any domestic order. Very quickly, one understands that these are works of art: despite the conventions of canning—jar, label, date—nothing here is edible. The expected fruits give way to tiny balls of yarn, mysteriously preserved in a liquid that obscures the light. One imagines impossible uses, minuscule fingers, or sewing mice. Yet, the preciousness of the whole forbids any contact: only contemplation remains. Drawn in by the colours, especially the darker ones, we remain there, intrigued, scrutinizing these "wool jams" which divert our expectations to better captivate the gaze.
