by Ayqa Khan
The importance of kindness
Ripe
What?
Body math
Reality on the rocks
These are just a few words and phrases embroidered onto plain white t-shirts by artist Mia Lockhart. I noticed Sculpture Poems on my Instagram about a year ago. I remember seeing a series of t-shirts with mysterious phrases and felt compelled to buy one that said “a sign”. I wondered about how this message would read for those who would encounter me. Would I become someone’s sign? Or my own?
I was intrigued by Mia’s practice with words. In an ever changing world, words feel simultaneously obsolete and finite. I think about how affirming it is to be understood when listened to. I find myself seeking meaning in small ways––reading my horoscope regularly, asking for extra fortune cookies, noticing patterns in numbers and looking up their meaning. When I think about words as statements in fashion, what comes to mind are contemporary brands like Body Citaed and Anna Bolina, along with brands like Bobby Jack and graphic tees from the early 2000s.
The desire to “wear meaning” that is quite literal feels like an easy way to connect to or understand someone’s orientation––also a way to assert yourself. The history of imprinting messages ranges from cave drawings and words to text messages. We want to be understood in a myriad of ways. My quest of understanding this desire led me to Mia’s studio, to find out more about her messages.
Sculpture Poems is distinct in its use of Arial, a typeface so present that it often goes unnoticed. While the typeface stands out as being part of common and popular practice having been adopted into Microsoft Office and Mac type libraries as a standard sans serif, the intent behind this choice for Lockhart can be seen as both subversive and nonchalant. Arial typeface is minimal, sleek, a bit futuristic, and to the point. When I asked Mia about her relationship to typography, she said, “The first answer that comes to my head is who cares lol. the second is—its here its there its everywhere. Sometimes it’s loud, quiet, cute, elegant, ugly—either way my mind will try to read it if it’s large enough 🤷🏽♀️.”
Each piece is embroidered by Mia in her living room-turned-studio. The embroidery is thick and bold; her machine, small and quaint. Sculpture Poems is her side project while she is a freelance graphic designer. Speaking to the practice of embroidery, she said “I bought an embroidery machine because I felt excited by the idea of creating, and that creation being punctured onto a surface and lasting––the embroidery machine acts as a tattoo needle—besides that creation being accessible because someone can wear the creation…The plan was just to play with old clothes.”
Beyond t-shirts, Sculpture Poems range from cat clothing to kids jumpsuits. There is a blend of streetwear aesthetics with text-based art, in a sort of minimalist fashion. Lockhart aims to transcend/subvert the context/area of “the surface”. There is irony and social commentary.
“The t-shirt sort of turns into objects––that’s what they’re doing. The text on the shirt can become a measurement for something, for example, a cat wearing a t-shirt that describes its physical contents as being made up of ‘8lbs of Affection’. But within that same breath, it becomes flattened like a label. I like to play with absurdity,” says Lockhart.
I think about absurdity more when Mia shares this, and I think about my t-shirt that says “a sign”. I think about how it could mean so much and very little, depending on who’s reading it. I guess absurdity by definition is…foolish, and I guess I’m a fool for meaning.
I asked Mia if she believes in signs or if she sees her pieces as such. She said, “I believe in signs. Signs are all around us, but I believe seeing them depends on our mental conditions/ability to be open to seeing/receiving them. When presented with signs that we may happen to notice, I believe it’s a call to action or change, the decision to act is a choice that we can make or not.”
Her background in graphic design inevitably shapes her work. “I do acknowledge that my background with graphic design may influence them—like with thinking about colour/information/text hierarchy organisation/legibility. I use these tools within Sculpture Poems to help me convey a message. But the Sculpture Poems themselves are not about graphic design—they’re my diary, they’re about being vulnerable, embracing discomfort and absurdity, raising questions and making art more accessible by turning you into [the artwork].”
There is a poetic nature to Sculpture poems––almost like an ominous message that greets the eyes. I think about Mia’s vulnerability, and her precise yet raw approach. Her personal diary as apparel, an everyday item turned profound. Walking sages.
When I ask Mia about how graphic design has influenced her creative process, she says, “Language is the thing that flows more than the tiny visual choices,” She adds, “The language really flows because––phew, I’ve been in some really dark places before. I’ve needed to journal and reflect and read in order to get out of it, because no one is going to save me. Digging yourself out of that, you being the one one to do is so rewarding, however long it takes, whether it takes three years or ten years. No one can force you to think. You have to think for yourself.
This reflection has helped me creatively flow with my emotions. My work isn’t meant to look or feel cold. Someone thought I generate my words through ChatGPT. They were almost in disbelief, and I took it as a compliment. You’re basically saying that I am beyond.”
About the Author
Ayqa Khan (b. 1995) is a multidisciplinary artist born and based in New York.