Shelia Hicks

Sheila Hicks has long challenged traditional boundaries between art forms through her innovative use of textiles. Often working with natural materials in vibrant colors, she creates sculptural forms by knotting, weaving, and tying wool, linen, and silk. 

In the early stages of my research, I visited markets and yarn stores across Melbourne to explore similar natural materials. The texture and feel of the yarn are as important to me as the colors, as they play a vital role in my creative process.

Hicks, for fifty years, carried a small wooden frame loom, using it as a portable sketchbook. When her loom wasn't available, she improvised, using table legs or any available surface to tension her warp threads (Westfall, 2015). In a similar way, instead of a traditional sketchbook, I carry a small bag of wool, filled with tiny balls of different colors. Crochet becomes my way of regulating and responding to moments of inspiration.

I feel like I am allowed one big dog mainstream artist in this dossier... so there!

I was devastated when COVID prevented me from seeing her 2021 show in Sydney. I even bought the discounted exhibition book when I visited next, as a small consolation. It felt like fate when I later booked a trip to London, where the same show was on display at the Tate. Standing before her works—particularly The Ten Largest'—was an electric experience. I sat for 30 minutes in the final room, completely immersed.

Hilma af Klint, initially recognized as a talented naturalistic painter, chose a radically different path in 1906. Her work became deeply engaged with spiritualism, scientific developments, and the natural world. Monumental in scale, her paintings radiate with bold colour combinations, enigmatic symbols, and otherworldly shapes. Af Klint believed that the world was not ready for her work, leaving instructions that her pieces remain hidden for 20 years after her death in 1944. It wasn’t until 2013 that her first major retrospective was held at Stockholm's Moderna Museet.

'The Ten Largest' has particularly inspired me to think on a grander scale and embrace colours with the same intensity and vibrancy. Her use of spheres has led to my own incorporation of ovals in my work, especially as I explore the spiritual and metaphysical through abstraction. Like af Klint, I seek to transcend typical neurological boundaries, creating metaphorical portals to a realm where I can feel safe and fully myself. Through vibrant hues and abstract forms, I find a sense of liberation from neurotypical existence, creating a sanctuary that reflects joy and safety.

When Sally showed me Chen’s work, I immediately knew I needed to create my own version for my upcoming critique. While our conceptual frameworks differ, I’m deeply inspired by the ongoing process of growth, addition, and change that Movena uses in her pieces.

Since 2004, Chen has been weaving personal narratives through KNITerature—a genre that deconstructs and reconstructs meaning using knitted books, maps, and dictionaries. Her multidisciplinary practice explores cross-cultural communication, often shredding and repurposing materials from different languages to form sculptural installations that embody new forms of language. Each book she uses is gifted by a friend, which she reads and transforms into a knitted piece.

In Knitting Conversations, Chen invited people from her community to knit a book together. I admire her collaborative spirit and her acknowledgment that art takes time—a value I’m struggling to uphold in the context of this high-pressure degree. I crocheted the piece below in just a week and a half, pushing myself to the point of near RSI injury. This rushed approach feels antithetical to Chen’s work, which emphasizes patience and organic development. I am still trying to find a balance between excelling in the masters (and making my supervisor happy) and allowing the work to evolve naturally over time.

 Mikala Dwyer's practice, which is primarily installation-based, invites viewers into immersive, idiosyncratic spaces that challenge conventional gallery architecture. Her work is deeply rooted in the body, using materials like fabric and plastic, which carry strong associations with tactility and intimacy. This sense of material-led, embodied practice resonates strongly with my own approach to art-making.

I had the great fortune of having Mikala Dwyer as the head of my Honours year at RMIT, and I was so inspired by her perspective that I pursued her as an additional supervisor. In an academic environment where text-based, heavily research-focused work was often prioritised, I sometimes felt lesser for my own process, which was more materially driven and intuitive. Mikala’s practice-led philosophy was a breath of fresh air—she validated my approach and encouraged me to trust in the creative process itself. She reminded me that research is not only something you read; it’s something you do, something embedded in the act of making.

Her bold use of space and colour has been a constant source of inspiration. I’ve often found myself unintentionally drawing from her work, particularly from Square Cloud Compound, which creates a space where objects seem to hold their own vitality. This aligns with my own practice, where materials such as yarn and crochet take on a life of their own, becoming active participants in the creation of a space. Dwyer’s installations seem to collapse the divide between the viewer and the work, inviting an embodied interaction—something I also strive to achieve in my pieces, where tactile, sensory experiences foster a sense of sanctuary, particularly for neurodivergent individuals.

Through Mikala’s influence, I’ve become more confident in embracing my own neurodivergent, embodied approach to art, understanding that materials themselves—like yarn or fabric—are not merely tools, but collaborators that help shape the final work.

Julien Creuzet, born in 1986, is a French-Caribbean artist whose practice seamlessly intertwines visual art and poetry, combining sculpture, installation, and text. His work often addresses themes of diaspora, cultural displacement, and identity, using his own experiences as a lens through which to explore broader socio-political narratives. Creuzet’s approach to art-making is fluid and multi-layered, where language and material coalesce to create immersive, textured worlds. This dynamic interplay between different mediums, and the way he incorporates his personal history into larger, abstract forms, deeply resonates with my own practice.

Much like Creuzet, my work seeks to transcend conventional boundaries of medium and form, often relying on materiality and sensory experiences to convey deeper themes of identity and belonging. Creuzet's engagement with diasporic narratives mirrors my interest in exploring neurodivergence and queerness through art. Both of us investigate marginalised identities, seeking to create spaces that offer refuge and challenge societal norms. Where Creuzet incorporates poetic text into his work, I use crochet as a language—a means of communication between material and artist, where the act of making becomes an embodied form of expression. Both practices aim to create spaces of inclusion, where "otherness" can be not only explored but celebrated.

His installation work, which often invites viewers to immerse themselves fully, aligns with my desire to craft environments that prioritise sensory engagement. By embracing the material vitality of yarn and the repetitive, stimming motions of crochet, I too create spaces that serve as sanctuaries—safe, inclusive worlds apart from the demands of neurotypical expectations. Both Creuzet and I are engaged in practices that use abstraction and material to speak to personal experiences while offering a broader commentary on identity and belonging in a fragmented, complex world.