In my practice, I document myself wearing stockings through still and moving images, and use these stockings to make soft sculptures and installations. This is because I am fascinated by hosiery and its many purposes - to shape the body, to create an even skin tone, and to provide modesty when wearing skirts. Hosiery acts as a shield in this way, and gives the wearer a second skin that appears perfect. It also covers up the legs while adding sex appeal, which may seem contradictory, but it accomplishes this through mystery. Looking at an outer shell entices people to think about what is underneath. For me, as a disabled woman, what is underneath my tights is frustration because my legs do not function properly. Stockings can hide the external signs of this dysfunction, but what happens when they fail and the scars beneath the second skin are exposed? The male gaze is abruptly stopped by these indicators of sickness and disability, prompting the viewer to question why their initial feelings shifted. 

I often use stuffed stockings in my work because they have an uncanny resemblance to real legs.They can be stretched and squished into unnatural positions, while also looking lifeless like my own legs  when they are too tired and pained to use anymore. Despite their simplicity, the fact that they can be manipulated and transformed in many ways interests me as someone who must work with lightweight, accessible materials. Moreover, they are an object that women across generations come into contact with on a daily basis., which allows them to speak broadly to the pressures of female beauty standards, and the hopelessness of maintaining a perfect facade for able-bodied and disabled people alike. Feminist artists have worked with hosiery for decades, such as Louise Bourgeois, Senga Nengudi, and Sarah Lucas. They have solidified its presence in the art world as a reclaimed symbol of female empowerment, and I want to build on this symbol through a disability activist lens.