Just after I was able to leave hospital, I went home to Cornwall for a bit.
Whilst there I played with some clay, and made a little person. I was copying my little sister, who has been making amazing tiny clay puppets for her art foundation.
My mum, who is an art therapist amongst other things, asked if it was a therapy thing...I said no at the time, but look at it now I'm not so sure.
And here she is once I had assembled her.
Shaping the clay was both incredibly soothing and deeply sad. I couldn't help but draw parallels between my thwarted attempt to grow a living child, and the symbolic potential of creating a doll. I'm probably over-thinking it...
A few times I wanted to stop and make the clay formless again. But I kept going, letting it dry, threading the body parts onto wires and decorating the joins with beads.