Ashley MacLure

The Suicide

Inspired by: Kenro Izu, Blue #1010B

liquid acrylic on paper

9″ x 12″

2020

Not For Sale

We found my mother on a Saturday morning in April 2012, the sun casting a soft glow over the musty living room, couch, body. I was twenty-four with a complicated mother. I graduated art school, got a good job, fell in love. I wanted to be unremarkable, normal. My mother gave me a big hug one day and said, “I love you, baby” and took handfuls of pills the next night. She left no reassurances, or real goodbyes. I spread her ashes, wrote a eulogy. I remember the day in shades of blue.

@ashley.maclure

Ashley MacLure

Kelly Garabadian

Cycle Breakers

mixed media assemblage: embroidery, found objects, fabric, ink

30″ x 60″

2024

Not for sale

Cycle Breakers: It’s been said that generational trauma continues until someone is ready to heal it. Using discarded and broken materials, we are repairing, stitching, rebuilding in order to create a peaceful space for our daughters to thrive. We hold them sacred and safe from the burden of carrying a legacy of pain with them. We will heal it for them. We will hold it from them. We will break the cycle.

@ashley.maclure

@kgizzledizzle

Ashley MacLure

Daddy Likes Your Hair Long

mixed media: collage, drawing, Play-Doh, acrylic, ink

2’x2′

2022

I was not allowed to cut my hair. “Daddy and Papa like long hair”, my mother said. I learned to please everyone around me. I never learned to say no; not in high school, not in college. My body does not exist for others. My hair is mine. My body is mine. What messages are we sending to our children through seemingly benign statements? I was more than the length of my hair.

@ashley.maclure

Ashley MacLure

Bone and Paper

Inspired by: Mixteca-Puebla Artist, Tripod Bowl Unknown Artist, English Teapot

stoneware, glaze

12 ” x 12 ” (both bowls)

2022

Bone and Paper My mother’s “safe foods” were meat and chocolate ice cream. It wasn’t until I got older that I heard her vomiting at night in her bedroom. She used newspaper delivery bags– the long skinny ones that hold papers– then tied them in a knot and left them beside her bed filled with whatever she ate that day. I don’t remember the meals, or my mom’s weight, but the feeling of helplessness. Her bones, and the paper bags. These tea bowls are sharp, jagged like bones, inky like newspaper. My mealtime ritual.

@ashley.maclure