About this Project

In 2021, the Fish and Wildlife Service proposed 23 species for delisting from the Endangered Species Act due to extinction. This quilt honors each of these species. I chose redwork embroidery because the outlines denote absence while the red thread suggests the violence involved in species destruction. Each quilt block becomes a meditation on the “void space” left by vanished beings and is emblematic of a larger story of disappearance, change, and loss. As we see biodiversity disappearing from every corner of the planet at an accelerating rate, these species challenge us to reconsider our relationship with the more-than-human world, and to confront our grief over living “in a world of wounds,” in the words of Aldo Leopold.

As I have worked on this project over the last two years, I have found that my own feelings of grief and my struggle to find hope has many ups and downs and even more layers. In the end, it is an evolving process and the slow, meditative act of hand-stitching has become process-as-metaphor. 

It takes time to make a quilt and time to heal this world and ourselves.

My hope was for this quilt to get people to pause and acknowledge the loss of these species, to raise awareness of the up to 1 million more that we stand to lose in the coming decades, and to start a conversation about our relationship with the more-than-human world.

For each species, I researched their taxonomy, habitat, and the story of their extinction. In all of these species, decline was due to colonial and capitalist activity leading to the introduction of invasive species and destruction of habitat. 

A key part of my research involved finding images for reference. For some species, this was extremely difficult, especially if they went extinct prior to the 1980s. In the case of these longer absent species, it was common to find just old illustrations and perhaps a mounted version. There were specimens in jars and drawers but very little to go on as far as living footage or photography. The challenge for these was to use imagery of related species to imagine what they may have looked like, how they may have moved, and so on.

I tried to be very present and mindful when I addressed each of these species. In that way, it was a meditation on grief. I found that the experience was different for each one. They all affected me in different ways, but some hit harder than others. Whereas the Hawaiian species all felt fairly removed from my life - I've never been to Hawaii and I’m not Hawaiian - some of the stories of the Hawaiian species like the Po’ouli and the Kauai o’o were very moving. However, the Scioto madtom was different. It went extinct before I was born, but it was the only species on the list that vanished from where I grew up. It was found in the Big Darby Creek, which is a place I remember exploring as a child. And I actually never knew it existed until this project.

Another important thing for me was to try to include some indication of the species’ habitat. If there was information about a plant-host relationship, I would work that into my design. For example, the block depicting the Kauai akioloa includes a tree it is associated with, the ohi’a. This was important to me in order to tell the story of ecosystems rather than single species.

The last block I created for this quilt is of the bird, the Kauai o’o. This was one of the hardest to complete because it required that I listen to the recording of the last individual, a male. The experience of hearing that recording is a very sad and haunting experience. The poet and writer Sophie Strand said of this recording: “Attune your ear to the void space that shows you the shape of the lover that no longer sings a reply…” She adds, “The song of the Kaui o’o is the song of Orpheus. The soulful dirge of the lover whose Eurydice is gone and will not return.”

This is the only block where I included an outline of the missing mate to emphasize the loss. 

In the course of making this quilt, I found myself delving deeply into the question of extinction and what it means for humans. I found that my own feelings of grief and my struggle to find optimism has many ups and downs and even more layers.

But I found hope and a path toward healing in the writings of Potowatami ecologist, writer, and educator Robin Wall Kimmerer who has argued for re-kinning with the natural world…. Meaning, reestablishing kinship connections to all other life and everything else in our world. This would go a long way toward recovering an indigenous worldview that sees humans as interdependent with the ecosystem. In my current projects, I am exploring this idea more, but for me, I believe the first step is to face the loss, to grieve, and  to acknowledge the absence of these beings. I think that is what Aldo Leopold meant when he said that “One of the penalties of an ecological education is that one lives alone in a world of wounds.” 

My final title of this piece is “Mourning our Kin (23 Extinct)” to frame this work as an entrypoint for reconsidering our stance toward other species and  to repair that rift. I think we can only do that if we mourn first. I worked through my own mourning of these lost beings through the act of witnessing and stitching. And I hope that it will inspire viewers to engage with their own process of grief, which begins with witnessing.