My grandmother left me her loom. With her weaving equipment was a worn, brown paper bag that held a wound cotton warp and four balls of cotton material cut into thin strips and stitched together end to end. In the rug I made, my mother recognized dresses from her childhood. I am part of an unbroken tradition.

I weave rugs like my mountain grandmother did and I am faced with keeping the tradition alive----not just by continuing it and passing it on, but by allowing it, like anything alive, to evolve.

I am fascinated with water that catches light and makes designs of bright dashes, with land that stretches and rises to the sky in bands of color. To me weaving rugs is a way of playing music with these impressions, a way of bringing them underfoot into everyday life, a way of bringing new life to my grandmother's tradition.