These linens are soaked in tea and starch, then draped over gynecological instruments and left to dry. Once the tools are removed, their form remains in the fabric. Subtle, hollowed, held in place. The image is indirect. The form is carried through what is missing as much as what is there.

The linens move between domestic and clinical spaces. Bed sheets, hospital fabrics, surfaces that hold the body in different ways. They carry stains, folds, creases. Marks of time and repeated contact. This work comes out of my continued research into the history of American gynecology.  I am interested in how these tools shape experience and how they carry histories of care, control, and uneven power.