When facing this work, there is a yellow fabric bench behind you. The bench has a back and armrests.
Hi, it’s Cindy Sissokho again, the curator of ‘Hard Graft’.
A life-sized, headless washerwoman straddles a grey steel washtub half-full of water. Her arms and legs are sculpted from yellowish-brown beeswax and resin; the rest of her body and the low stool she sits on are hidden by her stained beige cotton blouse and floor-length skirt made of rows of wooden pegs. Her body and clothes bear the marks of time and hard labour. Her blouse is stiff and open at the collar, where her head and neck should be. She clutches a long, pale-tan cotton cloth that spools from her lap, into the water in the washtub, and trails along the floor.
The washerwoman was inspired by an unnamed woman in a photograph taken by J W Cleary, who ran a photography studio in Kingston, Jamaica in the 1890s. The brown and beige colours of the sculpture echo the sepia tones of the photograph. Her missing head reflects the artist’s intent not to represent an individual, but rather the labour of many women in the Caribbean over generations.
Artist Shannon Alonzo made ‘Washerwoman’ in her grandmother’s house in Trinidad. Here she describes her experience of making the sculpture:
“Somehow, through the process of making, ‘Washerwoman’ became an old friend. I sat with her, placing clothes pins and sculpting the wax. I meditated on her story, although unwritten in the pages of any book, and hoped that it could be revealed through the work of my hands, working alongside hers. I imagine garments as their own form of time capsule: literally absorbing our blood, sweat and tears. Absorbing our essence. Though she washes perpetually, she cannot remove the remnants of the past, whether seen or unseen.”
Domestic work is repetitive and can be backbreakingly hard; it scars and prematurely ages the body. The washerwoman’s waxy skin is blotchy with age and stained by the chemicals in her work. Her fingers are swollen, and veins bulge in her feet. In the 19th century, the work of a washerwoman was particularly difficult. It involved making soap and starch, carrying water, boiling and rinsing clothes, drying and ironing. Some washerwomen carried their loads of washing to the banks of a river or lake.
In folk tales and songs from around the world, washerwomen are usually older women who wash clothes by the water’s edge at night. An encounter with these women is said to bestow good fortune for those who assist them with their labour – though in some stories, to disturb them is to bring bad luck or even death.
The washerwoman’s stained, yellowish-brown cotton blouse, its pleated front fraying at the edges, contrasts with the whiteness of the cloth that she washes. The one who is doing the work of making things clean for others is herself clothed in rags, with a heavy skirt made of cascading wooden clothes pegs with metal springs that identify her with her trade. The role of washerwoman was often done by women who were marginalised by society. Yet the respect and care with which the artist has brought this figure into being – placing her centre stage – honours her.
‘Washerwoman’ requires its own routines of care while it is on display. Each week our conservators perform a ritual of emptying and refilling the water in the washtub to keep it fresh. At the same time, the organic materials that make up her body continue to gradually fray and decay. It is almost as if she is alive, living and ageing as we are.
This is the end of stop 10.