French knots are a meditative undertaking for me. My hands make them automatically, freeing my mind to count repeatedly to ten and wander in between. The knots I make are absolutely, completely, entirely and only themselves and only about themselves. They are freed from the weight of imagery. Their existence is self-referential. I make them as a physical embodiment of my own questions about the value of making itself. As I stitch, I ask myself questions: Has a painter ever counted her strokes and assigned value to a painting based solely thereon? How is the value of an idea quantified? What really is the true value of a French knot? Can I pay for a cheeseburger with French knots? Or, perhaps more appropriately, a craft beer? Does it matter whether or not my hands make the stitches? How does the value change when stitched by another? Is value contained in the product or in the process? Does the hand really matter?
I never reach any concrete conclusions from any of these questions, but continuing to make new work drives me to continue asking. Or vice versa.
Jeana Eve Klein 