Scott Trevelyan

cal mackinnon and nicole crosswell - Images and excerpt of text to be projected onto a Hankie

Paper sailing (excerpt)

…I sometimes dreamt of you , sometimes thought I could hear your voice
on the wind calling my name
but it was my own voice and I woke choking on my own dry bones
I would send out a message, reach out my hand to you
but all that came back to me was dry grass and fire
I sailed using the stars as my guides and the trees as my sisters
I sailed until the river dried up and became a fortifying underground
spring
and I stepped from my boat of paper memories…

Grieving - Ampersand Duck ( Caren Florance)

Linen Hankie with solvent release text, vintage cotton thread. Poem by Rosemary Dobson, from the Ampersand Duck volume “Poems to Hold or Let Go” (2009)


Friends die one after another;
Each time a dark disorder
A ceaseless banging of shutters

Upstairs there in the mind;
Bearing of angry loud weather
Days, nights together

To force on the mind order:
Journeys taken on maps,
Attentive delving into

The roots of the language.
A search for the true invention
Of form by line in drawing.

Also, renewal of linen—
Keeping the old customs
Putting sides to middles.

Thus, mind and hand stilled
And with a gentler grief
To draw down the blind

The white holland blind
Like a banner of love
Against that wild confusion

holly willis - aunty jenni

my aunty jenni taught me how to keep
a horse...how to ride, feed and give
them all the love they need...lessons
i still call upon every day now,
fifteen years on.
this text is what i sprawled on the
empty piece of paper lying by the
phone when i got the news that she
had passed
this is the hanky that then held my tears

rest in peace aunty jenni

Karla Dickens - Bless Me

Bless you, bless me
NOW HERE
gone
breathless
pain
life
NOW
tears
belonging
love
real
NO WHERE
endless
aching
lost
always
HERE
BLESSING

An English Hankie - Dawn Thirlaway

A hat made from a handkerchief with tied corners conjures images of English holidaymakers at the seaside. However in my case the image is my father mowing the lawn in Australia.
I remember as kids we often had a good laugh at my fathers quirky Englishness with his response always being “you’ll keep”.
On our rare family outings my father’s hankie often came into use for wiping his children’s noses, drying tears, dabbing cuts or cleaning sticky hands after ice cream.
My relationship with my father matured in the last few years of his life, when he came to understand and appreciate my need to make art.
Although it is now twenty-two years since he departed from this world, I often feel his presence when I am creating artwork.

Carolyne Lewis

Lyndall Adams

This hankie belonged to my mother (Rosalind Adams, 21 August 1937 to 13 March 1983). I have pulled the threads in one direction, in the proportion of my life … more than half now ... without her in it.

Christine Porter Hankie works

Title Who will I talk to now?

Year 2010

Artist statement
All I have left are your words ; cold hard broken comfort wrapped up in the tears and red tape of trying to live without you . Who will I talk to now ?

Description 7 objects , various sizes approx 7 x 10 x 5 cm . Found ceramic shards fired with digital image of blue handwriting. Wrapped in various white handkerchief and handkerchief sized fabrics – lawn and muslin. Tied up with various red ribbons and thread.

Media white handkerchief lawn ; various white muslins ; found ceramic shards fired with digitally created decal ; various red ribbons and thread

Update on hankie project

So many beautiful hanky works have come in from all over the world this week. I feel very blessed to have such amazing support with this project and I love the stories as much as I do the work.
This morning it was amazing to have Rhonda bring in to the gallery an exquisite lace hanky circa 1914 (France) that she had found at vinnies.
This hanky was sent back from the war to the soldier's sweetheart. So delicate and all hand embroidered with dates etc.
I will keep posting images as they come in.
Thanks everyone for your support.

Georgie Lucock & Rachael Sutton

It is impossible to separate death from rebirth.
As artists we provide a remembrance
of the beauty of the unmarked soul
and an inate ancient wisdom
within us all........


Scarring of the most sacred heart
Will tear our souls further apart
But of the sacrificial path
May we ignite our inner hearth
Deep as an ancient summation
From the font of transformation
Assuredly bubbles ressurection
To continue our divine connection

Rhonda Fechtner - Found hankie circa 1914-1916

For my sweetheart

Susanna Pohlen

I was allowed to iron my dad’s hankies as a little girl…
Now they carry ‘his-story’.
Hanky cocoons open to spill his hidden stories.
White on white.
No lies!
No more pretending!

… and he taught me to make a knot for remembering!
Memories are precious!

Angela Gardner - Featherweight

The weight of a soul is the weight of a feather. Visible through the
poem (a cover or title page) are the five blank pages, made of fine
cotton lawn, that comprise the artist’s book. The poem Featherweight
was written for the project by the artist and poet Angela Gardner.
Featherweight is published by light-trap press in a limited signed
edition of five.

Anne - Maree Hunter Hankie Installation

“I am not unique in having already suffered grief a number of times in my
life already: I didn’t realise when I began this project just how near new
tears would be”

They have been silk screened, hand and/or machine embroidered and hand
stamped. There are a mix of “men’s”, “lady’s” and “girl’s” hankies.

Courtney Griffiths - Tea stained hankies

I mourn a soul vanished.
I grieve a spirit extinguished.
I remember a laugh muted, a smile faded.
I long for an energy surpressed.
I weep for a man changed.

Memories - Magnolias at Dusk Hankie by Jocelyn Girle

Etching on silk chiffon - 2009
Mounted onto silk satin

Beauty brings nourishment to the soul, and solace, in times of need when we reflect on times past - of love and its warmth. Flowers radiate beauty for all to experience.
Magnolias at Dusk.
Beauty for the eyes and the soul. With these reflections we can move on to the morrow and treasure our memories.