07 Gloves

Gloves 2004
Bronze h31 x w21 x d28 cm

When my father died in 1988, I asked if I could have his driving gloves as otherwise they would have been given or thrown away.  In the winter, I used to wear them while walking my dog.  They felt familiar, as if we were holding hands.

Through years of use, these gloves had taken on the shape of my father’s hands and now mine joined them.  In 2003, I made a mould of the right-hand glove with my hand in it, so that when I made a wax of it and cast it into bronze it looked as if the glove was being worn (despite in fact being empty).  It was the first bronze I made at Butley Mills Studios.  I love the feeling that this glove gives: something I can touch that reminds me of my father and brings him closer.

My father’s gloves reminded me of the importance of touch, a sense that I’d taken for granted until I experienced its loss later in my life.  I’m talking about the familiar warmth and affectionate touch that comes with a loving relationship, a two-way language of trust and intimacy.  Touch was a sense I hadn’t thought about until after my divorce, when I experienced its terrible absence.

I find gloves interesting, particularly when they take on the shape of the owner’s hands.  When worn, gloves also serve to prevent a person from touching anything directly.  This absence of touch – of touching without touch – was something I wanted to harness for my next head.  Luckily, I managed to find six pairs of gloves of all different styles and textures at the St Elizabeth’s Hospice shop in Woodbridge: leather, nylon and woollen.  I bought them all, much to the bemusement of the shop assistant.

These gloves were fastened to the central core with dressmaking pins, wrapping the head completely, palms inwards towards the face.  I felt that the head needed to be held by the gloves in this way.  The last pair, however, was pinned to the head where the eye sockets would be, palms facing outwards.  This was a way of showing anguish, a child-like memory of crying and rubbing one’s tears away with the back of the hand.

The holes in this sculpture are deliberate and consciously made at the metal working stage.  I wanted the gloves to be as individual as possible, giving the sense of the inside space being tenderly held, like something precious.  This meant that if there was a gap between the gloves which had been filled in with bronze during the pour, well then, this bronze had to be removed.  This is what I did, cut it away.

Like Head: Kikoy and cotton remnant, this sculpture was shown at the 2007 Open weekend at Butley Mills Studios.  One lady found the sculpture very scary, saying that it looked like the head was being smothered.  Another elderly lady completely understood my intended meaning, as her husband had recently passed away and left her trying to come to terms with his loss and being on her own.