about
MEGHAN sORENSON
iS A LIFELONG CALIFORNIA resident hailing from yucca valley, just past the middle of nowhere. as a child she spent a lot of time with her grandparents. this reflects in her work as her grandmother, jill was a great craftswoman and a lifelong SEAMSTRESS. her grandfather fred was an avid smoker who’s idea of babysitting was going to pick up packs of CIGARETTES. her work confronts the idealism of rural life with a sobering look at the culture that enables it. wHILE ALSO highlighting the role of femininity in that patriarchal structure.
Sorenson’s work has been exhibited in the coachella valley, inland empire and los angeles.
when her hand needs a break from art she can be found blogging on her substack, making social media content or being bossed around by her french bulldog.
I am not a tourist in someone else’s pain. I will rip out my entrails and knit them back together as I see fit. Unbound by substances, marriage or children. My family tapestry is burnt and stained by thrown ashtrays. Birthdays and holidays have been ruined by family members trying to kill themselves with their choices. I’m tied to a sinking ship held together by the labor of my mother. My only role model for success. Working her fingers to the bone to be the good daughter, mother and wife. That genetic impulse sunbleached into my DNA, among the others. I watch as my own sibling tries to find peace in the bottom of a bottle. Reminding me that no matter how far I come, that prophecy is never far from me. That monster under my bed is always watching me pick at the skin of my fingers in the darkness.
Craft is more than a therapeutic act. I love its constant predictable repetition. I love the way fibers can be combined, cut or destroyed yet still yield something tangible. Sometimes I think I’m trying to manifest that stability and softness into my life. As if the care in my sculptures could tame the anger I was always told to swallow. The same anger I felt tainted and hardened me. If I can not be sweet maybe I could create sweetness. If I do not feel soft, I can create softness. If I could fix the damage and decay in my creations I can fix it in myself. I thought if I could create something beautiful it would feel like healing, but it’s not. My family and my suffering do not define me, but it sticks to me like cigarette smoke.
Christ could not escape what he was made of and neither can I. It’s time I stop trying to.
Artist statement