I arrived in the art world in midlife as an outsider with mostly self-taught fiber skills and my creativity to carry me forward. I quickly learned that fiber art received mixed reviews from its very beginning, and to add to the challenge, I intended to pair it with another craft-based medium, clay. Weaving is in my DNA (as remains of warp-weighted looms from 5500 B.C. excavated near the Tisza river in Hungary prove), and I am dedicated to keeping this time-honored craft alive. Suspended between this and the other side of the Atlantic as an immigrant, I have come to understand that my several decades long desire to create is about belonging and connections. The dichotomy of then and now, here or there, clay and thread, soft and hard, rough and smooth, whole and broken are constants in my work. My geometric wall plate designs speak the need for stability, precision and accuracy while delicate threads whisper emotions, uncertainty and doubt. The almost invisible tiny spaces between warp and weft, the pierced holes on a ceramic wall plate filled with stitches interpret this visceral existence in code. My search for putting down roots has driven me to working with what is around me; inspiration comes from the land where I currently live. I study the over and understory for shape, texture, color, symbolism and cultural associations that abound between the roots and the canopy of my botanical companions. I pore over field guides learning about the trees and plants and the potential for color extracted from their roots, bark, leaves and nuts. I studied many languages in the past and have always been intrigued how characters are shaped, words are formed, sentences are composed to create meaning. But I am most curious about coded communication: the knotted strings used by ancient Andean civilizations, the runic alphabet, the dots and dashes of the Morse Code. The language of nature is yet the most curious of all. It is not grounded in syllables and grammatical rules, yet I am aiming at decoding the magical communication of fungi, lichen, moss and birdsong. Text originates in the Latin textus, which is derived from texere – weaving. Indeed, I am writing my story on the loom of a voluntary migrant with a desire to grow where planted and of an artist weaving and stitching herself through and into the landscape to finally arrive home.