Once a year, on the seventh day of the seventh lunar month, the Weaver Girl (Vega) and the Cowherd (Altair) are reunited on a magpie-made bridge across the Milky Way.
— derived from traditional Chinese folktale, The Cowherd and the Weaver Girl
In 2025, Qixi — the sacred lovers’ festival — falls on August 29. On this night, breath crosses galaxies, threads remember touch, and bodies intertwine, becoming bridges across heaven and earth.
Creation begins in silence: a thread pulled taut, a breath held in the belly.
Love is written in the stars.
Once a year, Altair and Vega meets on the bridge of magpies.
They make love, they breath life into the womb weaved by the constellations.
Somewhere in between, life begins.
Weaving Wombspace gathers three artists who labor at the threshold between material and spirit, between body and cosmos. Through thread, rope, fiber, and plant, they summon what history cannot hold: mythic intimacy, ancestral echo, the quiet force of care.
South Korean-born sculptor Kyong Boon Oh contributes ID ME – Mediator to this show, a life-sized wire figure woven from brass. Suspended between presence and transparency, the work embodies Oh’s ongoing exploration of ritual, resilience, and transformation. Drawing from Christian iconography and personal history, the sculpture invokes an archetype of the intercessor — a maternal force that mediates between silence and speech, past and becoming. Mediator emerges from the same lineage as her series of works, ID ME, holding within its ethereal form a reverent dialogue with childhood, faith, and the invisible labors of womanhood. Both guardian and vessel, Mediator becomes a figure of intergenerational care, forged from wire, memory, and breath.
Snežana Saraswati Petrović composes with orchids, zip ties, grasses, and plastics—mixing and juxtaposing materials that are both living and manufactured. Working at the crossroads of ecological impermanence and synthetic temporality, her surrealist installations evoke Taoist and Buddhist philosophies of transience and regeneration.
Victoria May salvages discarded textiles, surplus materials, and industrial remnants to create sculptural forms that speak quietly of containment, fragmentation, and healing. Her works simultaneously delicate and raw—juxtapose the refined with the abject: silk blooming from stitched rubber, organza pressed into concrete seams. In her practice, recognizable detritus becomes metaphor; found objects carry both memory and contradiction. “There is always the fly in the typewriter,” she writes—an acknowledgment of the absurd and vulnerable woven through human invention. Through both humorously crude and painstakingly delicate handwork, May mends what cannot be spoken, creating suspended gestures of labor, absurdity, and grace.
Weaving Wombspace is a space of yearning and return: myth made tactile, ritual made personal. Weavers in collaboration, they dwell in the liminal: not-quite-wound, not-quite-healed.
They are not simply objects.
They are of erings.
To lovers across the Milky Way.
To mothers weaving through absence.
To bodies that hold, even when broken.
To weave is to return.
