14.1.20 Staple as stitch
For images of stapled pill packets, click here
Stitch [ stich ]
verb (used with object)
to work upon, join, mend, or fasten with or as if with stitches; sew (often followed by together
to ornament or embellish with stitches
verb (used without object)
to make stitches, join together, or sew.
I’ve been stapling pill packets together. It’s very satisfying, cathartic, and something I can easily do in the studio when there are people around. It’s repetitive, requires just a certain level of concentration and so I can be interrupted. In fact, it’s similar to knitting, in that respect! Many processes I choose quickly induce that blissful state of flow. I’ll write more about Csizksentmihalyi elsewhere!
Today I was thinking about stitches; I’m interested in the way that a staple can be a stitch. Unlike a more conventional stitch, with a needle and thread, it’s almost instantaneous and, consequently, more gestural. It has associations with stationery, naturally, but also, for me, with medical procedures. Medics sometimes use staples instead of stitches to join the edges of certain wounds. Today I’ve been using them to join pill packets, so inevitably there’s a medical theme.
Staples are metal, hard, not soft like conventional stitches. I’ve found that stapling the pill packets together feels like mending, albeit of a rather ineffectual kind!
I noticed a while ago that I accrue quite a large number of pill packets myself over the course of a month – prescription drugs, vitamins, every day pain relief – and none of them are recyclable. I also noticed that a flat pack of tablets changes as soon as the first tablet is removed. It begins to be more sculptural as the surface tension is broken. They are ubiquitous, overlooked, the same but different. I began to wonder whether I could use them to make something more considered. I tried stitching them, with needles and thread, then stapling them, and found that the latter form of ‘stitch’ seemed more appropriate….
This is what I made in 2017. I worked on it intuitively, selecting packets as appropriate. Each kind of tablet has a slightly different look to it. Most are silver coloured on one side, a few are coloured; some have round holes, others oval. They’re different, but also the same. In this image the different ways that removing the tablets leaves a mark in the foil is fascinating. I was intrigued by the way it began to create its own form, the way the light shone through it, the way it began to look like a patchwork. Others, observing it from afar, came closer to find out what it was made of; shiny, silver and familiar yet unfamiliar in this form.
As soon as I began to start collecting my pill packets, friends started to bring me bundles and bags of theirs. I found it very poignant. These tablets helped my friends to stay well, better, pain free or even, in some cases, alive. As each person handed me their package, it felt like some kind of strange ritual which highlighted their need to take medication. Each time, I would endeavour to pause for a moment to remember together what they were going through…. and also, somehow to consider our mortality.
So, these pill packets have stories for me, which obviously gives them more meaning. As I stitch them together, it feels as if I am creating a memorial to all the medication my friends and I have taken. It’s like a symbol of our 21st century life too. It feels rather like chain mail, some kind of protection.
Stapling them together transforms something disposable, elevating its status and making it seem more valuable. It has associations with the body too, of course. I called it Pharmacopoeia.
I have been collecting them for a while and recently I decided to return to them. And here is what I’ve been making in the last couple of weeks:
I am intrigued by the similarities and differences between the pill packets. For some reason, I find them mesmerising! Each indentation and torn foil is the mark of an action (popping out the tablet), each kind of packet creates a different form, some have text on them, they vary in shape, material and colour and yet we perceive them as being identical.
Stapling them together, the piece begins to have a sculptural form. As many of the packets have become distorted through use, attaching them to one another amplifies this.
For images of stapled pill packets, click here
Stitch [ stich ]
verb (used with object)
to work upon, join, mend, or fasten with or as if with stitches; sew (often followed by together
to ornament or embellish with stitches
verb (used without object)
to make stitches, join together, or sew.
I’ve been stapling pill packets together. It’s very satisfying, cathartic, and something I can easily do in the studio when there are people around. It’s repetitive, requires just a certain level of concentration and so I can be interrupted. In fact, it’s similar to knitting, in that respect! Many processes I choose quickly induce that blissful state of flow. I’ll write more about Csizksentmihalyi elsewhere!
Today I was thinking about stitches; I’m interested in the way that a staple can be a stitch. Unlike a more conventional stitch, with a needle and thread, it’s almost instantaneous and, consequently, more gestural. It has associations with stationery, naturally, but also, for me, with medical procedures. Medics sometimes use staples instead of stitches to join the edges of certain wounds. Today I’ve been using them to join pill packets, so inevitably there’s a medical theme.
Staples are metal, hard, not soft like conventional stitches. I’ve found that stapling the pill packets together feels like mending, albeit of a rather ineffectual kind!
I noticed a while ago that I accrue quite a large number of pill packets myself over the course of a month – prescription drugs, vitamins, every day pain relief – and none of them are recyclable. I also noticed that a flat pack of tablets changes as soon as the first tablet is removed. It begins to be more sculptural as the surface tension is broken. They are ubiquitous, overlooked, the same but different. I began to wonder whether I could use them to make something more considered. I tried stitching them, with needles and thread, then stapling them, and found that the latter form of ‘stitch’ seemed more appropriate….
This is what I made in 2017. I worked on it intuitively, selecting packets as appropriate. Each kind of tablet has a slightly different look to it. Most are silver coloured on one side, a few are coloured; some have round holes, others oval. They’re different, but also the same. In this image the different ways that removing the tablets leaves a mark in the foil is fascinating. I was intrigued by the way it began to create its own form, the way the light shone through it, the way it began to look like a patchwork. Others, observing it from afar, came closer to find out what it was made of; shiny, silver and familiar yet unfamiliar in this form.
As soon as I began to start collecting my pill packets, friends started to bring me bundles and bags of theirs. I found it very poignant. These tablets helped my friends to stay well, better, pain free or even, in some cases, alive. As each person handed me their package, it felt like some kind of strange ritual which highlighted their need to take medication. Each time, I would endeavour to pause for a moment to remember together what they were going through…. and also, somehow to consider our mortality.
So, these pill packets have stories for me, which obviously gives them more meaning. As I stitch them together, it feels as if I am creating a memorial to all the medication my friends and I have taken. It’s like a symbol of our 21st century life too. It feels rather like chain mail, some kind of protection.
Stapling them together transforms something disposable, elevating its status and making it seem more valuable. It has associations with the body too, of course. I called it Pharmacopoeia.
I have been collecting them for a while and recently I decided to return to them. And here is what I’ve been making in the last couple of weeks:
I am intrigued by the similarities and differences between the pill packets. For some reason, I find them mesmerising! Each indentation and torn foil is the mark of an action (popping out the tablet), each kind of packet creates a different form, some have text on them, they vary in shape, material and colour and yet we perceive them as being identical.
Stapling them together, the piece begins to have a sculptural form. As many of the packets have become distorted through use, attaching them to one another amplifies this.