Heather the hammerhead
It was business as usual.
I stitched irregular shapes to one another into a shell, filled it with remnants to give it shape.
Plus a little more in the belly so it’ll sit straighter, taller, and it broke.
Right in the centre where the human ribcage would be to protect the heart and lungs.
I patched the gaping hole with what’s left on the desk— a blossom print.
Flowers always find their way to life abandoned.
Her heart will never stop breathing.
I call her Heather.
Out of stock
Head to toe 7″, widest part of the head 2-1/2″, fin to belly 2-1/2″
Oh she loves to play. Her mouth opens wide, bending her head backwards. She likes tasting fingers. She sits well on her rounded bum. Her arms swivel for gesturing, r simply to order you around.
An assortment of cotton jersey is cut, stitched and patched together to become Heather. The white part on the front is thin, what is inside her can be seen faintly on the outside. She is bumpy, visibly mended and invincible.
Don’t call her a toy, or treat her as one. She may be strong, but might come undone with brute force of a child or anyone with a temper. Think of the child, think of Heather, please don’t.
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