Ethics of Attention

In the previous reflections on fashion and consumption, I examined the fashion industry as one of the major polluting forces shaping our present. However, moving further into my research, I began to feel that critique alone was insufficient. If fashion represents one of the problems of our time, it must also be possible to imagine practices capable of responding to it differently.

This led me to shift my focus toward the relationship between landscapes, materials, and artistic practice. Rather than examining fashion only as an industrial system, I became interested in how artists working with textiles and visual media respond to the environment and to questions of identity.

Three artists, in particular, became fundamental to my thinking: Maria Lai, Margaret Tait, and Magdalena Abakanowicz.

Although their practices differ widely in medium and context, their work shares a profound sensitivity toward materials, place, and narrative. Each artist engages deeply with the environments from which their work emerges, demonstrating how artistic practice can transcend conventional boundaries to address social and ecological concerns.

What draws me to these artists is not simply their aesthetic approach, but the ethical dimension embedded in their work. Their practices embody attentiveness — to landscape, to memory, to material — suggesting that artistic creation can also function as a form of care.

Maria Lai: Thread as Memory

Maria Lai (1919–2013) was a Sardinian artist whose work explored the intersection between tradition, storytelling, and community. Her practice is deeply rooted in the landscape and cultural heritage of Sardinia, particularly the small town of Ulassai where she was born.

Lai’s art constantly moves between past and present, drawing upon local traditions while engaging with contemporary questions about identity and belonging. Her works often involve textiles, thread, and sewing — materials traditionally associated with domestic labour — yet she transforms these elements into powerful conceptual gestures.

One of her most celebrated works, Legarsi alla Montagna (1981), illustrates this approach beautifully.

The project involved the entire community of Ulassai. Residents tied their houses to the surrounding mountain using a long blue ribbon that wound through the village, connecting buildings, streets, and landscapes. This simple gesture became a profound symbol of unity and collective identity.

The ribbon connected people not only to each other but also to the land that shaped their lives.

This project resonates strongly with my own thinking about textiles and sustainability. It reminds us that environmental responsibility cannot be separated from cultural and communal relationships. Preserving landscapes also means preserving the histories, traditions, and identities tied to them.

Lai’s textile works also challenge the logic of disposability that dominates contemporary consumer culture. She often worked with traditional weaving techniques and repurposed materials, emphasising craftsmanship and longevity rather than speed or novelty.

Equally important is her use of narrative.

Many of her works incorporate Sardinian myths, personal memories, and fragments of storytelling. In this way, her textiles become forms of writing. Threads operate like lines of text, weaving together stories that speak both to individual experience and collective memory.

The connection between text and textile becomes particularly meaningful here. Both words share the Latin root texere, meaning “to weave.” Lai’s practice beautifully embodies this relationship. Each thread she uses becomes part of a narrative structure — a woven story that binds material and meaning together.

This idea has strongly influenced my own project, Blue Thread.

In this work, I use a single blue thread to connect the places I have lived over the course of my life. Having lived in multiple houses across four different countries, my personal geography has become fragmented and layered. The thread becomes a way of mapping these experiences.

Each line represents a memory, a transition, or an encounter.

The thread moves through space, connecting studios, rooms, landscapes, and moments in time. It marks the passing of days, the cycles of the moon, and the quiet accumulation of experience.

Sometimes I wonder what exactly this thread represents.

Is it a representation of myself?

Or does it represent something else entirely — time passing through my life, experience unfolding, a journey still in motion?

What I know for certain is that the movement continues.

The thread that falls to the floor is never truly finished. It remains part of a longer strand, composed of multiple fibres twisted together, extending forward into the unknown.

Margaret Tait: Slowness and the Value of the Ordinary

If Maria Lai’s work is rooted in thread and community, the work of Margaret Tait (1918–1999) is grounded in the attentive observation of everyday life.

Tait was a Scottish filmmaker and poet whose practice revolved around the landscapes of Orkney, where she was born and spent much of her life. Her films capture small moments — shifting light, domestic gestures, the movement of wind across grass — transforming the ordinary into something deeply contemplative.

What distinguishes Tait’s work is its refusal of spectacle.

Unlike mainstream cinema, which often relies on scale, speed, and dramatic narrative, Tait’s films move slowly. They observe rather than impose meaning. Through careful framing and patient attention, she reveals the subtle beauty embedded within daily life.

One of her most intimate films, A Portrait of Ga (1952), portrays her mother within the Orkney landscape. The film is quiet and deeply personal, yet it carries a universal resonance. It reveals the deep connection between individuals and the places they inhabit.

This sensitivity to environment aligns closely with the principles of sustainability.

By encouraging viewers to notice their surroundings more carefully, Tait fosters a sense of responsibility toward the landscapes we inhabit. Her work suggests that environmental awareness begins with attention.

Tait’s working methods also reflect this philosophy.

She often worked independently, using minimal equipment and modest budgets to create films that were intensely personal and handcrafted. In contrast to the resource-intensive nature of mainstream cinema, her practice emphasised intimacy and restraint.

This approach feels especially relevant today, in a culture dominated by speed and constant consumption.

Her films invite us to slow down.

They encourage us to notice the rhythms of everyday life — the passing of time, the movement of light, the subtle transformations occurring within familiar spaces.

This ethos has strongly influenced my own exploration of fashion through photography and visual art.

While Tait documented the landscapes and atmospheres of her own time, my work attempts to engage with the present moment — particularly with the ecological anxiety that increasingly defines our era.

My photographic series Abstractivism draws inspiration from her sensitivity to colour, light, and movement. Through experimental exposure and composition, I attempt to capture fragments of contemporary environments shaped by the presence of fashion and consumption.

Where Tait’s images often evoke quiet reflection, my work sometimes reflects a sense of tension — the overwhelming presence of material excess within landscapes that were once more balanced.

Yet both approaches share a common impulse: to look closely.