《 Soul Cloths 》

Weaving is a ritual of repetition - a silent, disciplined surrender.

It asks not only for obedience to pattern and code, but for the gift of time, of gaze, of touch. Eyes, fingers, heart and breath - all are offered upon this humble altar.

What emerges from the loom carries a whisper of witchcraft.

More than ornament, a carpet is a banner woven in color and texture - a declaration, a symbol hung or laid with purpose.

Whether spread in pioneers’ huts, castles under stars, yurts open to the sky, IKEA daydreams, or tents in the wild - a carpet consecrates the ground. It is a circle drawn, a territory claimed, a shield against the unseen.

And it is women, so often, who weave - with intuition, fierce patience, and a will that borders on devotion - through what seems like endless time.

Lieke vor der Vorst fell under its spell. In painting after painting, she pays homage to the carpet. To her, it is more than object - it is vessel. It carries the weaver’s prayers, memories, emotions, each thread a nerve of inner life. The soul leaves its trace in the weave. In essence, a carpet is a tapestry of spirit - a brocade spun from the rhythm of breath, the map of blood, telling hidden stories, warp by weft.

When Lieke paints, she too is weaving. Her hand moves in steady rhythm, as though climbing a gentle stair toward joy. It doesn’t matter where it leads. She climbs. Starting with a simple ballpoint pen, then colored pencils, acrylics, oils - dot by dot, line by line - she fills the void with color. An artist’s life may seem unbound, but its magic is brewed from daily labor - a spell only the sincere can cast.

Like all of Lieke’s work, her carpet series is woven from fragments of luminous ordinary life: a quiet picnic on sweet grass, chicks and puppies at play - yet beneath it all hums a child’s grave question about being. Or perhaps no metaphor is needed. Might the truth be nothing more than a cup of tea, a bowl of salad, a hedgehog drawn in pencil?