An unruly bundle of clothes and blankets is tightly bound to a child’s school chair with restraints. Other objects fit in your hands, possessing the comforting heft of dense, featureless teddy bears.

Surprisingly solid, it’s possible to see that these are accumulations of soft fabrics; there are hints that they are made with discarded clothing – a zip here, evidence of jersey fabric there, and a glimpse of bright knitted wool. Each is bound with a number of different kinds of threads – wool, cord, cotton, woven cotton tape – like the upturned contents of a dark sewing box. They are a solemnly domestic accumulations, and have a lonely presence.

Heavy, compressed, and bandaged with cords and strings, the forms are lumpy yet the threads smooth out the edges. They are tight, black objects under tension. The fabrics are constrained, but at the same time swaddled and protected. Are these objects concealing something trapped inside? They give the impression that if the threads were cut, the forms might disintegrate, possibly hiding nothing within their layers.