Threads Entwined, Stories Unfolded, Futures Imagined
By

Kajill Kaur Aujla
BFA Honours, University of Calgary, 2019

A Thesis Support Paper Submitted in Partial

Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree of
Master of Fine Arts

Emily Carr University of Art + Design

© Kajill Aujla, 2021

To my Grandparents and Parents…For without your
sacrifices, knowledge, perseverance and determination,
I would not be
here.

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Table of Contents
List of Figures................................................................................................................. 4
Land Acknowledgement ................................................................................................ 5
Personal Acknowledgements ....................................................................................... 6
Abstract ........................................................................................................................... 8
Sowing the Seeds........................................................................................................... 9
The Racial Imaginary .............................................................................................................. 10
Cultural Grounding & Storytelling ........................................................................................... 14
Questions ................................................................................................................................ 16

Positionality: Roots of Reflexivity .............................................................................. 18
Alternate Archives: Bringing Together Pieces Once Removed .............................. 21
53 ............................................................................................................................................ 21
Everything Grew but Here Stayed the Same .......................................................................... 28

Hands that Make come from the Body that Listens .................................................. 34
Dialogues & Situated Knowledges ............................................................................. 37
Writers & Artists ...................................................................................................................... 37

To Dwell...Pause ........................................................................................................... 51
Works Cited .................................................................................................................. 56
Works Consulted .......................................................................................................... 58

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List of Figures
Figure 1. Kajill Aujla, Untitled, 2020, multi-textile quilt. Detail shot.
Figure 2. Kajill Aujla, 53, 2020, multi-textile fabric installation.
Figure 3. Kajill Aujla, 53, 2020, multi-textile installation. Detail shot.
Figure 4. Kajill Aujla, Everything Grew, but Here Stayed the Same, 2020, multi-textile
fabric installation.
Figure 5. Kajill Aujla, Everything Grew, but Here Stayed the Same, 2020, multi-textile
fabric installation.
Figure 6. Rajni Perera, Traveller, 2019, mixed media on paper
Figure 7. Rajni Perera, Traveller, 2019, mixed media on paper
Figure 8. Eric N. Mack, Untitled (set drape), 2019, Assorted fabrics, scarves, pins,
cotton, polyester plaid, rope, metal hanging rod
Figure 9. Acclimate, Kajill Aujla, 2021, Multi-textile fabric installation, saree’s, digital
photographs, dimensions variable. Photograph taken by Michael Love, 2021.

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Land Acknowledgement
The place we call “home” can be filled with comfort, contradictions, and
challenges. There is a sacred understanding that where we grow is connected to the
land upon which we occupy – whether it is part of our ancestry or not. This thesis was
developed on the Indigenous territories of both British Columbia and Alberta, Canada.
This is where I begin in naming the place I call “home.”
I would like to begin by acknowledging that the land on which we gather in
Vancouver, British Columbia is the unceded territory of the Coast Salish Peoples,
including the territories of the xʷməθkwəy̓əm (Musqueam), Skwxwú7mesh (Squamish),
and Səl̓ílwətaʔ/Selilwitulh (Tsleil-Waututh) Nations.
I was born in the City of Calgary and here I acknowledge the traditional territories
of the Niitsitapi (Blackfoot) and the people of the Treaty 7 region in Southern Alberta,
which includes the Siksika, the Piikani, the Kainai, the Tsuut’ina and the Stoney Nakoda
First Nations, including Chiniki, Bearspaw, and Wesley First Nations. The City of
Calgary is also home to Métis Nation of Alberta, Region III.
My ancestral home is that of Punjab, India. A place I often call home with the
knowledge that I was born outside the land of rolling fields and five rivers. It is the place
where my family departed yet never left in spirit.
Within these “homes,” I am humbled and aware of the history and wisdom given
to the creation of this thesis. The name “home” takes space in every part of this work.

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Personal Acknowledgements
My journey within this Master’s program has been one full of self-growth and
realization. There is no denying that it felt like an uphill battle most of the time—from
moving to a new home, to then moving back home because of the pandemic. Oddly, it
feels as though it went by in no time. In reflecting on the past two years, I am reminded
of how fragile time is and how sacred our experiences are in building who we are. I
certainly could not have done what I did in this program without the help and support of
those who were around me and saw me through it…
To my supervisor, Christine Howard-Sandoval, thank you for your unbounded
kindness and support throughout this journey of learning and creativity. The work that
ensued from my time in this program along with my personal growth would not have
been realized if it was not for your guidance, honest feedback and genuine care in
knowledge-sharing. I would also like to thank Dr. Sue Shon—you showed me what it
means to be vehemently dedicated to your craft; you opened doors to understanding
Critical Race Theory in ways that have been foundational in my work and beyond. It
was a privilege to be a part of your classes; they were a safe space for me. And, to
Steven Lam, thank you for your generosity and support through this program and for
believing in the work that I do.
To my parents, Jarnail and Shinder, you are the reason I am able to dream,
endlessly. Thank you for always supporting me in all aspects of my life. The values you
have instilled in me run deep and guide me through any and all of life’s challenges. You
are my core. To my sisters, Sonia, Jessie, Melveera, and Salina—you are the best older

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sisters anyone could ask for. I am the woman I am today because of you all. My partner,
Jasdeep, thank you for your constant support and excitement throughout this journey.
To my Nani, Mohinder Kaur, and my Dadi, Parkash Kaur, your resilience and strength is
unfathomable to me. Without your stories, love, and presence, we would all be lost.
And, finally, to my Kam Masi, and Sati Mama, you are a force unlike any other. You
made B.C. a home filled with love, warmth and laughter; I truly would not have survived
without you here.
I would also like to humbly acknowledge that this research and subsequent
creative work was supported through funding from the Social Sciences and Humanities
Research Council (SSHRC) in the form of Canada Graduate Scholarship-Master’s:
Joseph Armand Bombardier Award.

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Abstract
Threads Entwined, Stories Unfolded, Futures Imagined is a thesis project which
begins to unravel narratives of becoming, personhood and the radicality of imagination
that Punjabi Sikh women, in my life, have cultivated. I bring forward and explore these
themes in my work as an artist. Through artistic exploration of a scrap fabric collection
of traditional, cultural garments that goes back decades in my family, I bring together
modes of being and becoming. Navigating forms of braiding, tying, knotting, as well as
sewing and reconstructing, these fabrics serve as the groundwork in approaching the
complexities, resilience and strength these women carry in their limitlessness. The
recognition of our being here in what we know to be “Canada” is weighted by stories of
struggle, displacement and adaptation. This thesis project is geared toward paving
space for our voices to be amplified, our experiences shared and reckoned with through
celebration.
Sublime are The Imaginative Forces Within Us.

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Sowing the Seeds

As people do, even when they migrate under extreme duress, they bring with them their
spiritual beliefs and their language - not solely the trauma of being separated from their
sources - which exist in an odd, at times inequitable, balance within the third culture.
These ways of being mitigate the stressors of being othered in the third culture and
support a connectedness to indigeneity.
These beliefs reference times and worlds so ancient and so magnificent that we
rationalize them as impossible. Curiously, belief when coupled with the passage of time
yields realms of possibility that require only patience and intention to be cultivated.
-

Negarra A. Kudumu

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The Racial Imaginary and Other-Dimensional Spaces

Working with scrap material has allowed me to exercise my imagination in ways I
have never done before. Being presented with something that has little to no use in
terms of practical functionality, I was pushed into the realm of imagining potential
possibilities of transformation with the scrap fabrics I had. Imagination has always been
of great fascination to me, as it has the ability to transport us to different worlds unlike
our realities: imagination can manifest our dreams. In my work, imagination functions as
a force used against conforming to and unconsciously upholding harmful systems of
oppression. Under this light, imagination is also used as a portal for creating maps of
joy, memory, and celebration. I think back to a project (figure 1) I made in collaboration
with my mother. We took a box of scrap fabrics that were cut away from countless
garments, collected over years and years, cut strips from those fabrics and stitched
them together. We created a quilt of sorts. When we looked at the completed piece, my
mother was reminded of all the places she had travelled and moved to—the gifts,
memories, joy, and heartaches that came with those places. For me, I was able to
imagine those places and the experiences they brought to my mother. This moment of
remembering then turned into intimate conversations about the past and about my
future.

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Figure 1. Untitled, 2020, multi-textile quilt. Detail shot.

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To be able to imagine and dream of alternate histories and futures is to be able
to imagine our existence as Black, Indigenous, and People of Colour as free and
righteous. In the context of this paper, I use The Racial Imaginary—a term I came
across by authors Claudia Rankine and Beth Loffreda in The Racial Imaginary: Writers
on Race in the Life of the Mind—as a space of liberation and freedom from White
supremacist systems that engulf our everyday, real-world realities. And yet, it is not a
place where race, along with its complex histories, is abandoned. It is necessary to
make this distinction when I speak to The Racial Imaginary for there are also harmful
ways in which this space can and has been enacted on in terms of the erasure of
history, race and culture. Rankine and Loffreda articulate that,
It is not only white writers who make a prize of transcendence, of course. Many
writers [and creatives] of all backgrounds see the imagination as ahistorical, as a
generative place where race doesn’t and shouldn’t enter, a space for bodies to
transcend the legislative, the economic – transcend the stuff that doesn’t lend
itself much poetry. In this view the imagination is postracial, a posthistorical, and
postpolitical utopia. (16)
In my work, I am adding my own perspectives of The Racial Imaginary into the
“collective transcripts” (14) that Loffreda and Rankine have brought together—a
perspective that renders the beauty and poetry in embracing ourselves as we are. My
vision of this space and the art that comes from it is saturated with reckoning with our
identity, history, and race in a way that is celebratory and joyful. Specifically, I seek
ways to access the space of Other-Dimensional existence that is beyond our physical

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world with a focus on how I, as a Punjabi Sikh woman, can fabricate this space of
existence, or entry point to it, for those in my own community. What I call OtherDimensional space is a space that breaks free of harmful confinement that has been
perpetuated through oppressive cultural “traditions”1 and expectations that we are
subjected to as Punjabi Sikh women in our now-world. In this space of OtherDimensionality, The Racial Imaginary is anchored in reimagining the social construct of
race and ethnicity—it is a direct response and resistance to hegemonic systems. I see
this space and way of existence as a spiritual and healing possibility to be further
realized and harnessed in my art practice. Seeing and understanding the possibility of
this Other-Dimension and the imagination of what this space could be, is what keeps us
pushing forward, pushing for change, pushing for better: the thundering resilience that
continues in all of us.

1 I use quotations here to signify a critical questioning towards what constitutes certain traditions to be

carried forward to future generations. There seems to be much confusion and tension within the Punjabi
community when it comes to certain “traditions” such as those that are aligned with harmful patriarchy
within family structures (e.g., expectations that in cis-hetero marriages, the woman is to move in with the
husband’s family and put herself and her family second to the husband and his family—the concept of
patrilocality). I argue that the word and concept of “tradition” in this case is confused with what should be
referred to as harmful norms.

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Cultural Grounding

With each part and fragment of my works there is a story that is entwined within
the threads that hold it together—a story of experience and becoming. As I began to
work with the scrap fabrics I came across, a world of storytelling began to unravel. From
the intimate stories my Nani2 shared with me about how she learned to sew and the
jobs she had to the ones my mother shared with me about life as a newlywed and
moving thousands of miles away from her family, every piece crafted in my work carries
a story, a deep significance to my being. Storytelling has been an integral part of
understanding my familial history and the strength of the women that have come before
me. I have a deep fascination and admiration for the stories of growing up, navigating
new “homes,” cultural experiences and the spiritual knowledge that my mother, and my
grandmothers have shared with me. I am in constant awe over how much strength they
all have and I hope and dream to harness even a fraction of that same strength and
resilience in the face of any and all change and adversity. When it comes to how I hold
these stories and bring them into my research and art practice, it is also my
responsibility to think deeply about the potential harm that could come from the spaces
in which I bring these stories of being and becoming. This is where I can draw from
Indigenous methodologies and understandings of cultural grounding in research. As
author Margaret Kovach explains:
For Indigenous research, cultural grounding is best defined within the context of
a person’s life and relationship with culture. As with non-Indigenous researchers,

2 Punjabi word for maternal grandmother

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its significance may depend upon their life context and how they engage with
culture. This commentary defines cultural grounding as the way that culture
nourishes the researcher’s spirit during the inquiry, and how it nourishes the
research itself. There are levels of cultural involvement within research. Some
customs are shared openly, others privately. This needs to be respected. (114115)
The idea of cultural grounding is to understand more deeply, by way of practice, the
ways in which I navigate academia with the personal, familial archive I work so closely
with. As a fourth-born daughter to immigrant parents, I have experienced the anxiety
that comes with trying to fit in and being accepted. I lost touch with my native language,
Punjabi, in my childhood and this carried well into adulthood. English was and continues
to be the primary language I use to communicate with my parents, despite English
being their second language. In recent years, I have come to realize how out of touch I
feel with my own culture, language and identity as a Punjabi Sikh woman. To even
claim my identity as a Punjabi Sikh woman has come with its hesitations in the past.
This journey and practice of cultural grounding in my work is a way for me to connect to
my heritage in ways I have not before. I am constantly reflecting on the question: how
am I engaging with my culture through the transference of these stories and
experiences of my mother and grandmothers? Reflexivity through the process of
listening and understanding was and continues to be crucial for me in many aspects of
understanding my own being. Keeping in mind the importance of cultural grounding
throughout my time in the MFA program, I was able to stay present with my work while

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actively reflecting on the stories that started me on this journey. This process of
reflecting and staying present with the works allowed me to reckon with my womanhood
and Punjabi Sikh identity and not solely serve a purpose of researching for academic
reasons.

Questions
The work I create in my art practice begins with reflecting on an array of
questions pertaining to identity, personhood, being and imagination. These questions,
although they may not be explicitly about the physical making of art, all work to inform
the way that I think through my creative process. In other words, I use the research
questions that I craft as a portal to enter the dimensions of artistic expression. It is not
until the work begins to come together that I am able to weave back through the art to
understand the questions more deeply themselves. The questions root the meaning of
my work and the stake of these questions reflect a deep curiosity in my real, lived
experiences. I am not intending to minimize the importance of well-formulated,
foundational inquiries into my art practice itself, but rather, I am recognizing that my
experiences, and those of the women in my family, can never solely be encapsulated in
art. Through this ongoing reflexive journey in my art practice, questions have come and
gone, both in relation to my creative practice and outside of it. The overarching inquiries
that have guided my way through this journey and have framed my path of artistic
exploration are the following questions:

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In what ways do intergenerational storytelling and a sharing of familial narratives
inform my sense of and claim to personhood? And how is that expressed in my work?

In what ways does thinking through imagination and creating alternative
pasts/futures allow us to celebrate and further realize our own selves and the
communities we are a part of beyond the dimensions we currently live in? How does
this create space for personal and collective healing?
How do we make sense of the feeling of displacement across generations
(immigrants, third culture peoples—as in 1st generation born and raised in what we
know as Canada)? How is this realized through a creative lens and practice? What
informs what?
Each of these questions stays present in my mind through the stories that are
shared with me. More specifically, when I enter modes of making, I come back to these
questions as overarching guides to assist in delving deeper into the threads of each
story and the experiences that characterise them.

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Positionality: Roots of Reflexivity
Identity has been and continues to be an integral part and entry point into my art
research practice. My process of making is centered on and around the
intergenerational storytelling that happens within my own family. My family’s roots are in
Punjab, India and I identify as a first-generation Punjabi Canadian woman. Before
entering this program, my research focused on how identity is understood as I took a
broader approach into investigating South Asian Canadian identity. Delving into my
personal inquiry and negotiation of identity and the way it is understood as a South
Asian (Punjabi) Canadian woman, I further refined and geared my research towards
naming it as a Punjabi Canadian identity. Because I continue to work closely with
familial and ancestral narrative, I found it appropriate to make this distinction in my
research as “South Asian” covers a huge population of differing identities. Furthermore,
the question of what “Canadian” identity encompasses and how Canada appears as a
legible nation-state is foundational to this discourse on positionality. This is about
understanding and reckoning with the fact that my family and I are uninvited guests on
this land which should be wholly recognized as Indigenous land and to a greater extent,
acknowledged as territory of the vast number of nations that were here well before the
time of colonization and immigration.
The positionality in my research and creative efforts start with the basis that I am
a cis-gender woman of South Asian descent. I see positionality as being fluid and
evolving—always having the potential to shift and mold differently at any stage of my
practice and life. My connectedness to my Punjabi heritage and culture stems from the

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storytelling that my mother, father, and grandparents have raised me with. It is an
ongoing discovery and a growing relationship that continues to mold the way I see
myself, my works, and my research, as well as decolonizing methods in all aspects of
my life. In choosing to work within the realm of textiles3, and specifically those that are
tied to Punjabi or South Asian culture more broadly, I am physicalizing an aspect of the
relationship to my heritage and identity through storytelling by way of creative
expression.
In the current moment of my practice, I identify as a Punjabi Sikh woman living in
what we know to be Canada. My practice and my identity are deeply intertwined—it is
how I am embodied in my work; it informs the way the work interacts with its
surroundings and viewers. In the added dimension of spirituality and faith (Sikhism), I
am acknowledging another intersection of my own identity that has been informed by
my upbringing and close family. This part of my identity makes its way into my work as a
guiding presence. My mother and grandmothers are very spiritual people and all life
lessons they have taught me have always had a basis in Sikhi and what it means to be
a Sikh woman. My family history and the familial narratives that surround me are a
grounding part of my identity. As I continue my research into storytelling between
generations, and the spirituality that connects all these points together, there is space to
add my own perspectives and learning. This is where I strive to understand the vast
possibilities of imagination. Within the radical possibility of imagination, or what I refer to
as the Other-Dimension, is a place of creating worlds where we unboundedly celebrate
all that our beings are and hold without the harms and traumas of colonization,
3 More on this under the section titled ‘Alternate Archives: Bringing Together Pieces Once Removed’

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oppression, and marginalization that have forcibly walked hand-in-hand with Punjabi
Sikh women’s identity in time and space today.
When it comes to art-making within the archive of scrap materials, my
positionality informs my approach and understanding of the fabrics. As I begin to make,
I am reminded that the materials have come from our bodies in the sense that they are
pieces that were once connected to garments that myself, my grandmothers, mother,
sisters and aunts would wear. There are an array of different fabric pieces, materials,
patterns, and colours that reflect the different facets and intersections of our identities.
When they are brought together, they form their own identity and story and this
becomes an access terminal for viewers to engage with my positionality as an artist.

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Alternate Archives: Bringing Together Pieces Once Removed
Adaas na ho. Tu mere kol ayein-aa, mein bohath kush hain.
(Don’t be sad. You’ve come to be with me, I am so happy)
Conversations with Nani, 2019

53

53—a number that sits between my Nani and me. A number of years. A number
of moments. A number that bridges us together, between generations.

53 (2020) takes form as a multi-textile installation piece in which different layers
of fabrics, pockets and braided material are suspended by single threads floating in
space. When installed, 53 traverses a space of eight feet across and two feet in length
and depth. Each suspended part in 53 takes on a unique form, with differing
combinations of fragments layered in each piece. No single fragment is alike. Installing
this work in its entirety allowed me to create a piece that manipulated how the viewer
moved through the space. Hanging each individual piece from the ceiling allowed me to
envision a type of solar system or formal relationality, where each hung part determined
the next while still holding its own unique form and individuality. The thin, white threads
that weaved through every article of fabric visually and structurally bound the pieces
together into a single ecosystem which allowed the pieces to be suspended in time and
space.
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53 was the first piece I made using the vast archive of scrap or remnant fabrics
cut-out and left behind from all the suits4 that were sewn for my Nani by my Masi5. The
scraps were an entry point to considering the narratives of my grandmother. The fabrics
have moved from functionality, in terms of a fabric made into a garment which is meant
to protect and cover our bodies, to now being cut out, left behind, almost forgotten. I
started making 53 by investigating the scrap fabrics that were collected over time for
reasons unknown. The project began through experimenting with the sewing machine
and different threads, patterns and shapes. As I continued to engage with these fabrics,
I understood them as emblems of joy, celebration, history and story—this continues
today and stays present anytime I begin to craft with them. Ann Cvetkovich, author and
Professor of Women and Gender Studies at Carleton University, addresses the archive
in her writing and proposes the need to construct a different archive that is necessary
for us to tackle and understand feelings such as depression resulting from the longstanding effects of racism and colonization (25). My approach to working with the
remnant fabrics from my grandmother's suits is an act of constructing and examining my
own matriarchal archive and the larger implications of cultural norms and expectations
within the Punjabi Sikh community. Although racism and colonization are not explicitly
discussed by my grandmother, it is from the stories of migration, opportunity, work,
labour and survival that these connections arise. Through the process and labour of

4 My family refers to our traditional garments as suits which comprise of a kameez (long top) and pajami

(pants). There are many different styles of suits all with different names, this word is used as a
generalization.
5 Punjabi word for “mother’s sister”

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making these 53 pieces, I came to understand a part of my Nani’s experiences and her
nostalgia of a different time but also the sadness that such nostalgia brought up.
Prior to starting this piece, I did not know how to operate a sewing machine, how
to thread one, or sew any sort of garment so I initially sought the help of my Masi to get
started. I began practicing with the fabric scraps I had. I refer to them as scraps not to
insinuate that they are useless or items to be thrown away, but to exert agency in how I
interact with, see, name and then transform them. By referring to them as scraps, and
yet insisting on their radical imaginative and transformative power, I hope to evoke
readers to reconstruct their imagining of what that term means. I would layer the scraps,
fold them and then stitch very straightforward lines through the fabrics, sometimes
following an edge, sometimes not. I was thinking through ways I could layer these
remnant fabrics with other materials that I sourced from a local Punjabi fabric store. I
was also thinking through different ways in which I could insert myself within this piece,
along with my Nani and the fabrics that were left behind from her suits. The particular
store from which I sourced my chosen fabrics from is also the only store my Nani will
shop at for her own fabrics. Most of the fabrics I sourced from this store came from a bin
that was placed in the corner, at the back of the store. In this bin were discarded fabrics
that were unsuitable for sewing garments, as they either were mismeasured, end-of-theroll fabrics or simply did not measure enough to be usable. This is where the ideas
around and within 53 began to formulate.
I would take the fabrics that I had bought and cut them into different shapes and
sizes. I began to layer the scraps from my Nani’s suits with these newly cut textiles from

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my own fabrics. This process was a way for me to imagine how the textiles connected
my Nani and I. When mapping out each fragment and determining how it would attach
or weave into the next fabric, my childhood memories of staying with my Nani and the
trips we would take as a family to my grandparent’s farm in B.C. were activated. As I felt
more familiar with the sewing machine, I would follow some of the thread patterns that
were on the scraps and carry them into the new pieces as I layered them together – as
histories lead to the present and then the future. Through the process of layering and
sewing these scraps together, my Nani would periodically come into the kitchen where I
had set up shop and she would sit, curiously, asking what I was trying to do. She didn’t
understand the conceptual intention of just putting random pieces of cloth together and
sewing them. She insisted that I made something functional, something real—her
instruction introduced the pocket into my work.
The pocket became a point in which she could find some understanding and
connection in what I was doing—a transference and teaching of a skill between us. She
would take the fabric pieces, carefully line up the edges and instruct me on how to sew
them together. There was a sense of pride and happiness from her after showing me
how to do one, and then another, and then another. The pocket became a site of two
apparent things: 1) Safekeeping in both the sense of building a skill that reflects the
value of labour within capitalistic systems and a place where we keep things protected,
and 2) A container where things, feelings, and emotions can be carried, or even
forgotten. I continued making the pockets and then began trying different forms of
‘layering’ the fabrics. I would cut long strips and braid those together or tie knots with

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them. Every time my Nani would slowly tread into the kitchen, I switched from the
random stitching and layering back to the pocket. Each pocket created in 53 connects
back to my Nani’s presence in a way, both physically and mentally. In all, I created 53
intimately small, multi-textile pieces through layering and stitching, knotting, or braiding.
53 dwells in air, space and time. It is in no rush and will always be present just as our
histories and stories will always be there, here, everywhere. It can also be configured, in
the sense that each piece’s placement can be rearranged, which speaks to the fluidity
and ongoing-ness of identity construction. I appreciate this particular element of the
work in its entirety. 53’s wholeness depends on each individual fragment being present,
yet each fragment can be moved to a different formation in space where it can find
another relation to the next fragment. The dynamic configurability of 53 functions like
the stories my Nani shared with me and how these stories, no matter the span of time
that traverses them, connect me to her. The possibilities and imagination of these
reconfigurations in space are limitless.

53 is special for me. It was a way to bond with my Nani in a manner beyond
words or physical connection.

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Figure 2. Kajill Aujla. 53, 2020, multi-textile fabric installation.

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Figure 3. Kajill Aujla. 53, 2020, multi-textile installation. Detail shot.

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Everything Grew, but Here Stayed the Same

you broke the ocean in
half to be here.
only to meet nothing that wants you.
-immigrant
Nayyirah Waheed

Everything Grew, but Here Stayed the Same, was set up in the backyard of my
family's home—a place I have known my whole life. Through this piece, I explore the
concept of heirlooms, the memories associated with them and a personal, family
archive of ornate fabrics, sarees, and other textiles. Specifically, I consider how these
have been carried throughout the years as maps of memory. Networks of distinct
materials, designs, colours, embroidery, patterning and texture all intersect to transport
us to the Other-Dimension. It is here where we are engrossed in memory and the of joy
of remembering.
Everything Grew, but Here Stayed the Same challenges the notion of cultural
adaptation and displacement through the meticulous arrangement of fabrics suspended
above blanketing snow. The process of this project was to feel through the space of my
family’s backyard. I was working with the scrap fabrics I had brought back with me from
B.C. while also exploring some of my mother’s sarees that were gifted to her when she
was a newlywed. Similar to 53 and working with my Nani and her scrap fabrics, I now
had the opportunity to work with my mother and the suits and other scrap fabrics she
held onto over the years. I used various techniques and approaches when crafting this
piece. I braided the sarees, tied other fabrics together and draped others across

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different structures found in the backyard. A yellow rope that I found in our backyard
became one of the central elements in the work for suspending and holding the textiles
up, much like a clothes line. I envisioned this piece harmonizing with the backyard and
all its structures from the trees to the fences so that they were not seen as disparate,
but rather in conversation with each other, supporting each other.
Growing up, my mother always took great pride in dressing myself and my sisters
up, whether it was for an occasion or just for fun at home. She would gently comb and
braid our hair in different styles from French braids, double-braids, single braids to a
style called karella6 in Punjabi. My sisters and I were told that braids kept our hair strong
and kempt. My memories of having my mother, grandmothers, aunts and sisters braid
my hair are saturated with feelings of love and safety. The form of the braid, as seen in
this work, protects, preserves, and cares for all that it holds – the stories within the folds,
wrinkles, and threads of the fabrics. The braid embodies a vessel of strength and
resiliency. It supports and carries itself in different forms and shapes as each strand is
layered into the next. The attentiveness that goes into the braid and the action of the
braiding is a reflection of the same care and resiliency the women in my family carry
with them throughout all aspects of their lives. The braid connects us back to the body
as it bridges our physical form to the plains of radical imagination.
The backyard of our family home is a place of retreat. Each year, at the break of
spring, the garden is revitalized by the hands of my mother and father with herbs,

6 This braid is done with two braids on either side of the head with a ribbon weaved through. The braids

are then looped back up to the starting point at the head and are finished with a bow, tied with the ribbon.
This style is a common style for young school girls to wear in India. My mother’s hair was worn in karella
when she attended grade school in Punjab, India.

29

vegetables, fruits, and flowers. I feel the spirit of farming7 that runs deep in our roots find
solace in the soil here. When winter engulfs our backyard, the site of retreat is paused.
The garden wilts and where green grass once was, cold, white snow masks over. The
process of thinking through site and place echoes the process of adaptation. I am
actively thinking through adaptation in this work because the process and necessity of
adapting is something that immigrants, migrants, and refugees all come to experience
when it comes to shifting geographic regions. When I am engaging with family history
and narrative, the act of adaptation is continually present. Adaptation does not always
feel like a choice; I have learned this through experience and the countless stories that
have been shared with me from family members, particularly my parents’ account of
moving to Canada. I find myself in flux with this notion of adaptation. I am actively
dwelling in the space of negotiating what adaptation means for me and at what points
do we push against forced or expected adaptation.
With this work I am also reflecting on my own process of adapting – from moving
away from the place I have known as home my entire life, to then facing a pandemic
and moving back home to finish my studies. When I was accepted into the Master of
Fine Arts program at Emily Carr University of Art+Design, I was overjoyed, but I knew
that embarking on this journey would bring change. The biggest step was moving away
from home, and adjusting to living with my Nani, just her and me. Naturally, I was
nervous to meet new people and be starting a new program in a city that was unfamiliar
to me. I had my intentions set on painting when entering the program because it was
7 My family comes from a lineage of farmers in Punjab, India. All my grandparents, and their

grandparents, were farmers in Punjab. We carry pride in this and the spirit of farmers stays close to our
heart despite being displaced from the lands in which we grew.

30

what I was most comfortable with. I was holding on to painting as a comfort from my
past, something familiar, and using it as a bridge to the present. Katie Logan, Professor
of Focused Inquiry at Virginia Commonwealth University and author of “Re-membering
Displacement: Miral al-Tahawy’s Brooklyn Heights and the Politics of Memory”
articulates this sentiment of bridging past to present as a “remembering practice” (619).
Logan expands that, “a remembering practice is the means through which an individual
brings her past to bear on the present, the way she connects old and new spaces, and
the way she interacts with others in the present through the past” (619). This
“remembering practice” finds itself in every part of this journey, up to this piece and
beyond. It is through the feelings of displacement and then adapting that I was able to
take the steps to shift my practice from painting to textiles, much like how this project,
and the scraps moved between cities, adapted to their placement and generated new
narratives while also being in dialogue with the past from which they came and
associated memories.
Everything Grew, but Here Stayed the Same revitalizes a space at a time in
which it feels uninhabitable. It evokes the possibility of imagining our existence in a
place that has time and time again required us to adapt. This piece is the bold reminder
that we are here.

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Figure 4. Kajill Aujla, Everything Grew, but Here Stayed the Same, 2020, multi-textile
fabric installation.

32

Figure 5. Kajill Aujla, Everything Grew, but Here Stayed the Same, 2020, multi-textile
fabric installation.

33

The Hands that Create come from the Body that Listens
Storywork educates and heals the heart, mind, body, and spirit, weaving new
synergies of transformational change through deep interrelation understanding of story,
people and space.
-

Jo-Ann Archibald

The process of storytelling and true-listening are where I find the roots of my
research methodology. Connecting more deeply with my cultural heritage, roots and
family history allow me to engage in the act of true-listening with family members as
they tell me stories of their upbringing, immigration, and experiences with Punjabi
culture and rooted traditions. I define true-listening as the unaltered, uninterrupted act of
providing space, encouraged by curiosity, to those whom are sharing their intimate
experience and knowledge through oral storytelling. Through this process of listening,
engaging and being reflexive with these stories, particularly those from my mother and
grandmothers, I find inspiration in entering the dimensions of creativity with my art
practice. It is then through the process of making and creating that I further find and
build connections between my own understandings of familial history, narrative and the
experiences and knowledge of the women in my family. This happens through the
investigation of the archive of materials that have accumulated over time and space. I
refer to the scraps as a part of an archive in that they are primary sources of my family
history—left in their state, yet connected to the garments from which they came, like a
map of memory and history. Under this light, “the archive is simultaneously the outcome
of historical process and the very condition for the production of historical knowledge”

34

(Dirks 40) as it pertains to the scraps and the garments from which they were cut.
Through remembering where these fabrics were sourced, and the memories associated
with them, the textiles are immersed in dialogue when brought together and my hand
becomes a guide to understanding.
My work turns to Indigenous methodologies of storywork and storytelling as a
method of decolonizing my research and as a way to connect to my own familial history
here in so-called-Canada (Kovach 112). It is important to recognize that storytelling and
oral histories have a deep-rooted significance within Indigenous cultures. The history of
Indigenous storywork is expansive as it extends thousands and thousands of years and
there are respected protocols around storytelling namely, who is a storyteller and who is
a story-listener (Archibald 2).
For my own research into familial history, the approach to storytelling includes
oral accounts of personal experiences, stories and teaching of the ten Gurus of
Sikhism8, and knowledge-sharing through stories of certain cultural practices. The
personal experiences that are shared to me are specific to my family members and our
familial narratives of being and becoming. The teachings, stories and knowledgesharing of the tenants of Sikhi and cultural practices are expansive across Punjabi Sikhs
as a community with some differences between specific approaches and adopting of
cultural practices. To understand the significance of storytelling across different

8 Sikhi or Sikhism is one of the six most widely practiced religions across the world. The Punjabi word

Sikh means ‘student.’ E-course, Sikhism Through its Scriptures, offered through HarvardX learning
platform, articulates: “Despite this diversity and differences in practice in different cultural contexts, most
Sikhs accept the authority of the ten Sikh Gurus; the Sikh scripture Guru Granth Sahib; and the Panth as
the political body of the Sikhs as a people (Harpreet Singh).”

35

cultures, where it comes from and how we learn from it, is to elevate its rich history and
reverence throughout the generations.
This way of processing my research is pertinent to applying an anti-racist lens in
both learning and creating as it is based in amplifying stories of otherwise marginalized
communities. As told to me by my elders, our community has pushed for space so that
these stories may exist. With the art-making that ensues from the story-work, I build
upon my own understandings and narratives of self and personhood. My creative works
become the ground of exploration and reflexivity in understanding how the various
experiences of women before me have come together to form the fabric of our being. It
is in this way we move forward in imagining futures.

36

Dialogues & Situated Knowledges
Writers & Artists

In this section, I outline three chosen sources that have provided me contextual
ground work for thinking through conceptual themes within my practice and draw out
these connections. In contextualizing my research and further situating it in
conversations that I see pertinent for its growth and articulation, I find myself looking at
an array of texts and writing. These include, but are not limited to, poetry, Indigenous
methodologies and story-work, and exhibition essays. Investigating and unpacking each
piece of writing allows me to approach my own work with new theoretical lenses that
allow me to forge important connections and contexts. It is important for me to read and
engage with diverse voices and modes of creativity in writing, as it molds my
understanding of my artistic practice and the writing that comes from it. Connecting with
other artists and writers builds a strong, spanning network of dialogue in which my
creative pieces are linked to and supported in research, practice, and process. My
practice is not self-sustainable; by this, I mean that the artists and writers I place my
research in conversation with greatly help ground this work, much like how I am
grounded by the women who have come before me and the family which supports me.
Rupi Kaur, a poet of South Asian descent, demonstrates the eloquent narrative
qualities of poetry to readers throughout her book Milk and Honey (2015); her poems
have been a voice for so many women to relate to. She describes each chapter as
serving a purpose and pouring into the next like that of “a journey of the most bitter
moments in life [that] find sweetness” (Kaur 215). I have chosen to narrow in on a
37

specific poem by Kaur in further articulating the connection and perspective shift I have
undertaken in my work. Five lines, flowing into one another, warmed by one another on
an otherwise cold, blank page, the poem reads:

our backs
tell stories
no books have
the spine to
carry
– women of colour (Kaur 174)

The connections between poetry and visual art lies in the dynamics of storytelling, and
the ways in which stories can be translated, received and understood through these
similar, but different, modalities. Similar to poetry and the annotations that each reader
can insert with their own understandings of the words, visual art requires a similar level
of reading between the lines. It is this point that I become drawn to the different
approaches of creativity in speaking to women’s stories and experiences, especially on
the topics of healing, plight and joy. The message does not need to be lengthy in order
for it to be understood. Taking this notion into the art of creating in the visual realm, I
have been cautious in giving away too much. By this, I mean creating too many access
portals into the work itself where the stories and narratives have the potential to become

38

threatened or harmed by the viewer’s gaze or similarly the gallery’s institutional walls.9
There is deep consideration that goes into each element’s presence or lack thereof and
it is often up to the audience to find ways of understanding this or to fill in the blanks.
This becomes a point of heavy consideration in my own approach to making and
sharing. As we see here with Kaur’s poem, without spilling into personal accounts or
experiences, she leaves us with a notion that is fortified and strong in its essence and
message.
My artistic practice is deeply entwined with the storytelling and oral histories of
my own familial ancestry; the words of this poem are echoed in my experiences and
knowledge of the stories and ways of being of the women in my family. While Kaur uses
words to bridge these experiences, I am using a vast array of textiles to weave together
personal and collective narratives. The poem not only serves as a reminder that
women’s stories are so much greater than these pages, and in my case the white walls
of a gallery, could ever contain, but also that there is a profound responsibility in how we
speak to and of these narratives. We, as self-identified women of colour readers and
viewers, realize the depth, the resiliency, the hurt, the pain, and most of all the strength
of the women we remember in these accounts.
This poem continues to ring true in nodding to the plight of women of colour, yet
the simplicity echoes the grace and unrelenting determination that they carry with them
through their lives and hardships. Poetry allows one to fill in the spaces between the
lines and the surrounding blankness on the page with our own narrative. It is this
9 Further articulation of this sentiment seen in annotation for Margaret Kovach’s “Situating Self, Culture,

and Purpose in Indigenous Inquiry”. Indigenous Methodologies: Characteristics, Conversations, and
Context.

39

striking quality from this piece of writing that I have found gravitational for its creativity,
straightforwardness, and power. The notion of ‘less is more’ annunciates itself and it is
realized that the relationship and order of words build to empower one another. Through
enjambment, Kaur demonstrates the wholeness this poem emulates while still letting
the words such as “stories” and “backs” mirror each other on separate lines. The
wholeness of our beings as women and the beautiful complexities of our individual
selves is emphasized in this poem by the order of the lines and words chosen. I take
this approach when working through materials and viewing them as objects that can
work to inform the next—a relational quality that supersedes quantity or levels of
production. In working from the archive of scrap materials that have accumulated over
the years, there are poems within those fabrics, untold. It is with the meticulous pairing
and stitching that those stories feed into one another. I see it as a networking of
narrative—one piece informs the next and they become immersed in a dialogue that
unravels as the pieces come together. Under this light of creation and process, Kaur’s
poem sticks with me. Listening to and reflecting on all the stories of becoming and being
the women in my family have shared with me keeps me grounded in my research
around familial narratives and creative output.

¨

The sixth chapter, “Situating Self, Culture and Purpose,” of Margaret Kovach’s
book Indigenous Methodologies: Characteristics, Conversations, and Context (2009)

40

speaks poignantly about how the self is located in research. Kovach applies and
articulates her knowledge around the frameworks in which Indigenous methodologies
come to function within her own research inquiries and, a step further, how this operates
(or not) within academia and the institution. I chose to turn my focus to this chapter of
Kovach’s book for how it has informed and taught me the ways in which I may apply a
decolonizing lens to my own research methods – this point is of importance for several
reasons but I will narrow in on two. The first being the urgency to not concede to the
inherently colonial systems that have informed what academia is and how it functions
today. Secondly, in working intimately with ancestral narratives and familial history,
there is a risk of harming those teachings and knowledges when brought into the
institution. In other words, interrogating the purposes for doing this learning and
connecting inside the university is imperative. As Sara Ahmed’s “A Phenomenology of
Whiteness” also reminds us,

We can also consider ‘institutions’ as orientation devices, which take the shape
of ‘what’ resides within them. After all, institutions provide collective or public
spaces. When we describe institutions as ‘being’ white (institutional whiteness),
we are pointing to how institutional spaces are shaped by the proximity of some
bodies and not others: white bodies gather, and cohere to form the edges of such
spaces (157).

Recognizing that most institutions hold this inherent whiteness at their core, I work to be
deliberate and cautious with the stories and experiences I bring into that space to
protect against harm.
41

Centering Indigenous research methodologies and praxis as a way of
decolonizing research within the institution is crucial to my practice. Kovach articulates
the notion of purpose and approach in research by writing, “Keeping one’s location front
and centre is a way that individuals can consciously assert from where their strength
comes, and ensure that their integrity will not become compromised by the trials of
academic research” (112). In attempts to further understand my own identity as an
individual who was born and raised here in so-called-Canada, to immigrant parents,
centering Indigenous methodologies in my practice is a way to acknowledge how my
family and I are uninvited guests here. Our being here on this land does not go without
recognizing that this is stolen, forcibly occupied land by settlers (Kovach 110). What we
know as Canada has a vast and deep-rooted history of Indigenous nations and
communities whose spirit extends thousands of years before the horrors of colonialism
came to Turtle Island and continue in fierce resiliency today. Through my exploration of
family history as a way to connect to self and personhood, Indigenous methodologies
and frameworks in researching and understanding continually keep me grounded in this
work.
Engaging in learning and knowledge sharing between generations within my
family as a way to enter the realm of creativity and narrative expression is a process of
intimacy. There is so much to this work that extends far beyond the validation that the
academy could ever offer me or the experiences of the women from which these stories
breathe life. It is through learning about Indigenous methodologies that I have come to
this realization: If the purpose does not center back to you and your community, there is

42

a real possibility of exposure to harm and further colonization of the stories we share
(Kovach 115). As a woman of colour, I find that an important part of continually applying
a decolonizing lens in research, and particularly that which is tied to creative
expression, is always connecting back to the self to nourish, empower and heal our
beings and community.

¨

The act of relating myself through my art to others is a form of meditation in that it
serves as a loop to connect more deeply with the self. It is through exploring different
avenues of understanding my craft that I am able to find community with others working
in parallel themes. This connectedness has the potential to build invisible networks and
communities that stretch across generations and borders. In the following paragraphs I
articulate how two artists have influenced my artistic practice and research. The first is
Rajni Perera, whose work I became infatuated by when coming across it in 2018.
Engaging with her art through photographs and the writing I found on it has been the
strongest point of inspiration for my artistic endeavours and visioning. The second artist,
Eric N. Mack, I came across later into my time in the MFA program. His work resonated
with me in how I have been approaching textiles and I have drawn a lot of imagination
from his methods of installation. There have been and continue to be many influential
artists that I find my work and practice are in conversation with. I chose to focus on

43

these two to draw out understandings of how they have been important inspirations to
my research and practice.
Rajni Perera is based in Toronto, Ontario. Born in Sri Lanka, Perera identifies as
a member of the South Asian diaspora here in what we know as Canada. Her work
embraces, embodies, and speaks to themes related to race, immigration and third
culture people. Her approach and views on identity politics in visual art are unique and
pulled me further into questioning and formulating what I have termed the OtherDimensional space. In an interview with The Public House of Art titled “Empowering the
Diaspora through Art” (2016) she says, “Diasporic citizens are the future citizens.” This
sentiment further fueled my own research inquiry of how do we, as diasporic persons of
colour, negotiate feelings of displacement across generations and how is this further
realized within the context of art? While Perera provides a powerful perspective on the
implications of futurity in our current conditions, I extend her inquiries by focusing on
possibilities and alternate futures that can flourish without being strictly anchored to the
now-conditions of our richly cultured communities within the South Asian diaspora.
https://www.patelbrown.com/rajniperera
Figure 6. Traveller, 2019, Rajni Perera, mixed media on paper
https://www.patelbrown.com/rajniperera
Figure 7. Traveller, 2019, Rajni Perera, mixed media on paper

These two mixed media pieces are both titled Traveller (Figure 4 & 5) and were
made for the exhibition by the same name, which was first shown last year at the Patel
Brown Gallery in Toronto. In an essay written on the exhibition by Negarra A. Kudumu,
Perera is quoted saying, “I am interested in the story of who is alive after we burn the

44

world” (1). It is this statement that becomes the driving inquiry behind the creation of
Perera’s pieces. As a viewer and artist, upon seeing this work I was immediately
infatuated with the vibrancy of colour, layering of patterns and adornment that the
bodies in these pieces carry. I promptly made a connection between this work and the
archive of scrap fabrics that I have been working closely with. The thought that these
bodies are being protected by layers and layers of garments in order to move through a
fiery world and into the next, as its future citizens, sparked an interest in imaginative
spaces and prodded me to think of the vast possibilities of functionality the scraps have
to offer. I trace back to the concept of the pocket as a vessel. It was this idea where I
began thinking more deeply about what it means to attempt to fabricate OtherDimensional spaces and to imagine within these spaces. As I continue to investigate the
materiality and patterning of fabrics through the narratives of familial history, I am
actively finding ways to imagine textiles as vessels to carry forward, into the future; I
believe the repurposing of the remnant fabrics is one way of doing this.
The ways in which Perera has embellished the layers, patterns and colours in her
work parallel the installation and sculptural pieces I have been creating as I approach
them from a painterly perspective. The vibrancy of colour that is brought into the twodimensional plain of the surfaces she works on echoes the ornate patterning that
adorns the scrap material that I have become close with. Much like the figures in
Perera’s paintings, each piece carries a story, while simultaneously speaking to a
different time, marked by distinctive patterns and designs. The scrap fabrics hold

45

histories of their own as they reflect a particular resiliency—they are bold, confident and
bright and it is that brightness that illuminates the way into the future.
“Traveller Persists,” an exhibition essay written by Negarra A. Kudumu, is a
profound account articulating the intricacies of Rajni Perera’s solo exhibition Traveller
which debuted at the Patel Gallery in September 2019. In this essay, Kudumu speaks to
Perera’s unbounded creations in contemplating third culture people’s existence in a
post-world landscape. The reality of climate change in our now-world and the detriments
that it poses towards any real, tangible future is what foregrounds Traveller and
subsequently, Kudumu’s articulation around this exhibition. The focal points of looking
towards imagined futures that escape the unknown of our current reality are what have
drawn me in to thinking about Other-Dimensional spaces. Perera’s Traveller series has
been the pivotal mark for my creative thinking beyond the familial narratives that I have
been invested in for much of my artistic career thus far.
Perera’s exhibition pushed the boundaries of what imagined futures have
potential to look like for those of us that are placed within a third culture10. In my own
investigation, starting with the storytelling and oral histories of the women from my
family, I was initially engaged with interrogating the sense of displacement that is felt
within the third culture that we are subjected to here in so-called-Canada. At a
particularly poignant part of their essay, Kudumu writes,
There is a historical, spiritual, and environmental context within which Traveller
exists and pushes forward. As people do, even when they migrate under extreme
10 Third culture people refer to persons who are children of immigrant parents and are 1st generation, born

and raised in what we know to be Canada. Third culture as a concept nods to the feelings of being
displaced from one’s native language, land, and culture due to a number of factors.

46

duress, they bring with them their spiritual beliefs and their language - not solely
the trauma of being separated from their sources - which exist in an odd, at times
inequitable, balance within the third culture. These ways of being mitigate the
stressors of being othered in the third culture and support a connectedness to
indigeneity (2).
Traveller becomes a mirror for those whose histories are tied with tales of migration. It
caused a shift in my thinking from narrowing in on the feelings of displacement as solely
being disconnected from ancestral lands, to peeling back the layers of other histories,
knowledges, and resiliencies that are present within the stories of migration (Kudumu
2). The notion of migration—to be moving, in the sense that Kudumu speaks to—is to
also be in a constant realm of displacement in that we, as women of the third culture,
are not ever fixed in place. The concept of not being fixed in place is the metaphorical
vessel in which Traveller continues to move forward into future worlds. This also paves
the way for radical imagination in formulating new worlds and dimensions for the
existence of women of colour, as it pertains to my own research.
Traveller and Kudumu’s articulation of this exhibition illuminated a necessary shift
for thinking through The Racial Imaginary and the possibilities that come from the
creations, both visually and metaphorically, of this realm. Going back to Loffreda and
Rankine’s writing on The Racial Imaginary, Perera, too, is embracing imagination as an
uninhibited potential for imagining futures of third culture people (15). “The scene of
race taking up residence in the creative act,” (17) is the direct indication of a Racial
Imaginary. Thinking of Other-Dimensional spaces is, in itself, an embodiment of that

47

same space. The dialogue between the different access points to this space, for
example Traveller and my own works, create a network of endless possibilities for
imagining. Under a similar light, Rupi Kaur’s poetics and the void spaces between the
lines and spaces on the pages provide areas where we can insert ourselves and our
narratives as self-identified women of colour. My practice aims to continue this dialogue,
negotiation, and possibilities of transference between this world and the next.
In my research on contemporary textile art, I became particularly drawn to Eric N.
Mack’s practice. I am drawn to the painterly perspective and approach to textile,
sculptural and installation work that Mack exhibits in his pieces. He describes himself as
a painter but, not in the ‘traditional’ way we may think of painting in terms of stretched
canvas and acrylic or oil paints. In his biography located on the Simon Lee Gallery
webpage it says, “His use of colour, form and material as elements in a compositional
lexicon as well as the stained or dyed fabrics which are his principal medium, declare
the origin of his practice in the investigation of painting in an expanded field, while the
way his compositions occupy and transform space are evidence of their sculptural
nature.” The phrase that I am keen on focusing on here is “transform space.”

https://www.simonleegallery.com/artists/eric-n-mack/
Figure 8. Untitled (set drape), Erin N. Mack, 2019, Assorted fabrics, scarves, pins,
cotton, polyester plaid, rope, metal hanging rod

Where I draw the connection between my own approach and that of Mack’s is in
his claim to be investigating painting through a medium that is traditionally not
associated with what we generally understand as painting along with his manipulation of

48

the scrap material. When I began working with textiles, I was entering that archive from,
with and guided by the experience of painting. I began my time within the MFA program
geared towards painting and I still feel close to that medium; however, I am now seeing
those painterly qualities are being realized in how I pair certain patterns, colours and
also how these pieces fold or knot into one another. Just as paint can blend colours or
be textured, the proximity and ability in which painting can manifest itself in textile work
becomes realized. In observing this piece by Mack (Figure 6), we can see the different
considerations taking place here. From the specific pairing of fabrics to the array of
textiles and objects he has included, all of these elements amalgamate together in a
way to signify and challenge the process of what painting is.
Of course, the underpinnings of my work and research are different from Mack’s;
however, I find I can relate to the way Mack’s painterly approach to textile work requires
its own levels of unbounded imagination. In an interview with Mack through “PIN-UP
Magazine”, his work is described as creating a “private universe” where investigating
colour, textiles, found objects, memories and Black popular culture, to name a few, all
find a way to cohere and inform the next. There are layers of connection within the
fabric sculptures he paints and it is this particular notion of imagining through the pieces
themselves that I connect my practice to. I have learned through referencing Mack’s
work that the poetics of working with textiles in a painterly way transcends the
precursory limits or boundaries that may be placed on that medium in its traditional
context. It is an imaginative approach to painting that involves the intricacies of
installation which, in my mind, speak to alternate perspectives—Other-Dimensions.

49

I find crucial meaning in community, connection and dialogue in the art world. I
firmly believe in expansive possibilities of learning through different modes of creating
that are presented by the vast array of artists working within similar and even unfamiliar
themes. In a way, the networks we find ourselves in as artists carry even greater
potential to conceptualize other-worlds and imaginative spaces. Engaging with other
artists and writers opens up ways to imagine that feel indescribable at times, but this is
the beauty of connection and influence that I have come to deeply appreciate in every
crevasse of my art, research and thinking.

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To Dwell…Pause
The very act of writing then, conjuring/coming to ‘see’, what has yet to be recorded in
history is to bring into consciousness what only the body knows to be true. The body –
that site which houses the intuitive, the unspoken, the viscera of our being. – this is the
revolutionary promise of “theory in flesh;” for it is both the expression of evolving
political consciousness and the creator of consciousness, itself. Seldom recorded and
hardly honoured, our theory incarnate provides the most reliable roadmap to liberation.
-

Cherrie Moraga

Figure 9. Acclimate, Kajill Aujla, 2021, Multi-textile fabric installation, saree’s, digital
photographs, dimensions variable. Photograph taken by Michael Love, 2021.

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A last iteration, or transformation, of the scrap fabrics in my time in the MFA
program took shape in my installation piece titled Acclimate for the thesis exhibition
show in March 2021. I continued within the theme of adaptation from my previous work
Everything Grew but, Here Stayed the Same, 2020, as this installation, being back in
Vancouver, on campus, felt like a final pause in a full-circle journey for my time within
the program. A network of fabrics was placed on one wall while holding a dialogue with
the parallel wall on which photographs from my previous backyard installation were
placed (see figure 9). The sarees and fabrics, tied and braided together, were being
adapted once more—this time to the white walls in which they were placed upon or
surrounded by. The vibrancy of the textiles and architectural size of the saree’s
unapologetically claimed their rightful space and attention in this setting. In deep
reflection and conversation about this work and the art that had led me to this point, I
have come to realize a certain push and pull between legibility and ineligibility. How the
fabrics and saree’s come to function together and within the spaces in which they are
placed reflect complexities that may not seem tangible to all who interact with the work.
This is where I go back to reflecting on my intention with the art I make, who it is for,
and how it may portal us to different dimensions of understanding. I was fortunate to
have my mother come in person to see Acclimate. She stood in a sort of excited
disbelief, absorbing the work in its entirety. As we walked through the space together, I
could not help but feel moved at my mother’s presence there in that moment, with these
garments and fabrics—there was a certain wholeness that was evoked in that moment
as our bodies swayed and weaved through the braided saree’s that lined the middle of

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the space. Our bodies connected to the fabrics as we parsed through memories
associated with each, a truly beautiful moment I feel so fortunate to have experienced
with the woman who I admire most.
I always hope to find ways to better reach my community and family with the art I
create and I realize that this process will always be in motion. Although the archive of
scrap fabrics I have been working with is finite, there are countless stories to be told and
uncovered that extend beyond the scope of this program. I see this as a beautiful
reflection of the limitlessness of our beings as Punjabi Sikh women. Understanding the
vast modalities of making and the connectedness that my hands have with the research
that comes from my work is what excites me about the futurity of my practice. In
continuing this journey, I am reminded that finding your community is crucial. For me it
is also connecting with other Punjabi Sikh artists and immersing myself in conversations
about our research and practices. I can say, the uncertainty of the future is no longer
something that daunts me, but rather excites me and I acknowledge that shift is due to
my appreciation of the expansive possibilities of what imagination can wield.

¨

This journey began with a bag full of scrap fabrics that had no telling as to why
they were saved. I like to think that those fabrics were saved for me, as if my stumbling
across them was divine timing. Scrap fabrics with stories untold have now been
illuminated. They have sparked memories that were on the margins of our minds, near

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forgetting. The fabrics brought out stories of sadness, of joy, of remembrance and of
celebration. We celebrate our beings, as Punjabi Sikh women, and we take pride in the
culture that adorns us. Through the exploration of the archive of scrap fabrics, I have
taken course to find ways in which my creative practice can piece together my mother’s,
grandmother’s and my own personal narratives of existence. What does this existence
look like? How does it feel? To use the word ‘existence’ in this matter is to focus on the
culmination of events that have literally led to these women, including myself, to
righteously exist within a society, a world that has kept us pushed to the margins.
Resilience has been a gravitational point I find myself constantly coming back to when
thinking about familial history. However, I have come to understand that resilience is a
double-edged sword. Resilience is revered, of course, but it is equally important to
realize where resilience comes from, why it is needed and particularly so for People of
Colour. My parents, and grandparents are not super human, they are human and I write
that whole heartedly and respectfully. They should not have had to face the obstacles of
adversity, racism, classism, or toxic capitalistic systems when coming to Canada, but
they did and continue to endure them. They are always trying to see the good in the bad
and they have been strong in pushing forward past many hardships and for that they
are resilient. I am a direct product of that resiliency. They had to be resilient in order to
survive and build better lives for us, the next generation. What also comes from that is a
degree of inter-generational trauma. I am also a product of this. Having the opportunity
and access to higher education is a privilege I am afforded because of my parent’s and
grandparent’s resilience. I am filled with gratitude to be able to write this and create the

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art I do. With that I ask you, as a reader, to pause and dwell in imagining better and
more equitable futures for us all, where we do not have to be resilient just in order to
survive.

Familial narrative and storytelling will continue to be a propelling force in
understanding how culture, history, experience, and the space of The Racial Imaginary
are cogs in a network of knowledge, all working together and informing one another. I
am here, a being whose existence has been crafted by the threads from the stories of
women before me. The story will continue through our physical and imagined world(s)
with every pause, reflection and question. I am choosing to dwell in this time, in this
space, in this story. Urgency is a fallacy that aligns itself with discontent. To dwell is to
savour and I choose to savour the moments that have led me here.

The journey of the work continues, perhaps too, in dimensions beyond us.

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Sultan, Mahfuz. “Interview: Eric N. Mack The New York Artist Who Paints with Fabrics.”
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