Words by Maya’s Father
Back in my own workspace at last, after being with Maya and Matt’s daughter. One to one time, cooking and making puppets out of the card, kebab sticks and paper. Magically full of echoes of her mum at work, the thousand-yard stare of concentration, the patience, the obstinacy about how she wants it to be and the gentle sing/humming while she works. Such a privilege to again share this process that has always meant so much to me.
Maya was an instinctive and surprisingly patient maker, right from the start. Not only was she observant and quick to learn things like stripping down a bike carburettor or making some dad nonsense woodwork for the house. She was also surprisingly confident. I never gave her kid versions of tools, always the full weight sharp one that I used.
She emerged into art school when everybody was telling her that conceptual art was the thing, that grit under the fingernails and simple raw materials were outmoded and backward looking. That’s when the thousand-yard stare helped her out - because being Maya she wanted to have both. To live and breathe in a workshop at the same time as rigorously, patiently, tenderly, nurturing her thoughts and feelings into a conceptual framework that will sustain her work for a lifetime.