Twisted Witness: Work In Progress

So far, I’ve been working with recovered marine line, sea tumbled, woven and knotted with yarn and hand made cordage. Next, I move on too beading and button embellishment.

Each twist channels the raw tension of being dismissed,
of time stolen by those who don’t listen,
of vision ignored until echoed by another voice,
suddenly heard, suddenly valid,
but not mine.

This vessel holds that frustration.
It binds the silence I am forced to swallow
into something visible, undeniable,
a net of memory and resistance,
tangled, resilient, and true.

Recovered marine line, sea tumbled, woven and knotted with yarn and hand made cordage.

Rootstick Tide Wands Currently In Flow

Under the luminous pull of the Strawberry Moon, I began crafting the Rootstick Tide Wands, objects shaped by intuition, ritual, and memory. Each wand started with driftwood and sea-worn scraps gathered from the land and shore: bones, feathers, quartz, crystals, discarded necklaces. I wrapped and adorned them with yarn, selenite, cowrie shells, buttons, and beads—allowing each element to speak its own truth.

This is more than assemblage; it is a quiet invocation. A binding of spirit and story. Rooted in diasporic folklore, these wands are made to ward off duppies, clear stagnant energy, and tether intention.

They are not decorative. They are ritual instruments, both ward and witness, born from loss, longing, and the fierce grace of viriditas, St. Hildegard’s divine greening force.

A channel. A gathering. A release.

Wood, yarn, jute, acrylic paint, deer bones, selenite, shells, buttons, beads, bells, pearls

Breathe

the breath

of the ocean

connect

with cycles

of life

death

In her name

we find

creation’s embrace

infinite tides

Each wave a breath

Each breath a life

By Theda Sandiford

WIP: Celestial Nexus

This artwork, crafted from three-ply cotton glitter rope, intricately knotted and wrapped with eyelash yarn, embroidery floss, and crystal beads, forms the foundational layer of a spiritual altar. Designed to harmonize with feathers, shells, and a bowl of water, it amplifies elemental energies to create a sacred space for reflection, connection, and renewal.

Its circular form embodies the cyclical nature of life and the continuous flow of energy, symbolizing the infinite interplay between air and water. The shimmering materials catch and reflect light, evoking sunlight filtering through shifting clouds or the unseen yet ever-present currents of wind moving through the atmosphere. This piece invites a meditative engagement, weaving together elements of nature and spirit into a unified, radiant whole.

Exploring Banana Leaf Mordanting: A Sustainable Dyeing AdventureBanana Leaf Mordant?!

I’ve been diving into the world of natural dyeing, and I’m especially intrigued by banana leaf mordanting. This innovative and eco-friendly method uses the tannins and plant-based compounds in banana leaves to help dyes bind to fibers, creating subtle and earthy color variations. It’s a beautiful way to combine sustainability with creativity, and I can’t wait to try it out for myself!

To make this happen, I’m planning to grow my own banana trees. I’m in the process of choosing the perfect spot in my yard—a sunny area with well-draining soil is ideal since banana trees thrive in warmth and humidity. I also need to make sure the location is sheltered from strong winds to protect their large, delicate leaves and promote healthy growth and fruit production.

This is just the beginning of the journey, and I’ll share more updates as the planting season progresses. I’m looking forward to the day when I can harvest my own banana leaves and experiment with their dyeing magic! Stay tuned.

Building Space for Banana Fibers…

As I look forward to the completion of my studio, I can’t help but feel excited about the possibilities that will unfold once I finally have the space to work on projects I’ve only dreamed of. One of the things I’m eager to dive into is processing banana fibers. The idea of turning something so common in my environment into a material I can work with feels deeply satisfying—almost like a full-circle moment of creation.

Banana fibers are strong, flexible, and have such a beautiful, natural texture. But up until now, I’ve lacked the dedicated space to properly process them. Once the studio is built, I’ll have the room and the right environment to experiment, to let the fibers dry and cure, to extract them in ways that preserve their strength and integrity. In this new space, I’ll finally be able to explore the full potential of this material and see where it leads me artistically.

Stay tuned, because once this studio is up and running, I’ll be sharing the journey of working with banana fibers—and who knows what else will emerge in this new chapter of my creative practice!

Cordage from My Garden

Yesterday, I spent the morning cutting back the massive Yucca plants that have been growing wild on my compound. These plants are formidable—sharp, resilient, and full of potential. As I worked through the thick, spiky leaves, I couldn’t help but think about the possibilities that lie within them. Yucca has been used for centuries to make strong, durable fibers, and I’m excited to reserve these leaves for a project I’ve been planning: making my own cordage this winter.

When the temperatures finally dip below 85 degrees—yes, I’m waiting for that cool break—I’ll begin the process of extracting the fibers from the Yucca. It’s a slow, labor-intensive task. There’s something deeply meditative about working with natural materials, coaxing fibers from plants that have been growing right outside my door. Plus, it connects me to an ancient practice of using what’s available in nature to create something both functional and beautiful.

But that’s not all. I’ve also been gathering materials for another experiment: natural dyes. The lichen that grows on the Palm trees, and the sorrel I’ve been cultivating all offer the promise of vibrant, earthy colors. Once the cordage is ready, I’ll start playing around with these dyes to see what kinds of hues I can bring out. It’s a way of layering the natural world into every part of the process, from the fiber to the color.

Stay tuned to see how this develops! I’m excited to share the results of these winter projects. There’s a certain kind of magic in watching an idea take shape—especially when it’s rooted in the land around me.