My Baby is a soft, permeable sculpture that becomes a body through contact with other bodies. From my mom’s death, I was thinking about how my body is both a daughter’s body, materially continuous with my mom, and a sexual body altered through intimate exchange with my lover.
Through quilting and hand-stitching techniques inherited from my mom, her gestures continue through my hands into the sculpture’s body, which is then touched, held, entered, and reshaped by others.
Its patchworked surface is soft, warm, and inviting, yet punctured by mouth-like openings. Visitors can insert their arms through these holes. Inside, unseen limbs meet and tangle. The openings can feel like mouths, wounds, or bodily orifices, while acts of holding and entering shift between comfort, care, and eroticism.
The sculpture has no fixed anatomy and is never fully complete on its own. Held like a baby, embraced like a lover, rested on like a pillow, or entered by several bodies, it continually becomes something else. My Baby asks how different forms of intimacy make, open, and blur the boundaries of a body.