What If

This woven mini series is a collection of delicate and intricate pieces that explore the theme of “WHAT IF”. What if we could weave our dreams into reality? What if we could create a new world with our imagination? What if we could transform the ordinary into the extraordinary?

Each piece is made with either pearls, dried flowers, gold wire and always natural yarns, creating a contrast between the natural and the artificial, the organic and the metallic, the soft and the hard. The colours are inspired by the hues of the sky, the sea, the sun and the moon, evoking a sense of wonder and awe. The strings that connect the pieces are symbolic of the lines that blur the boundaries between reality and dreams, and between ideas and actions.

Through Bosch’s woven mini series, she invites the viewer to enter a dreamlike state of mind, where anything is possible and everything is beautiful. Hoping to inspire the viewer to question their own reality and to imagine their own “what if” scenarios.

The Purple Host

 by Emily Dickinson

Who took the purple from the rainbow, And gave it to the distant mountains? Who sowed the sunset’s burning gold Among the fields of clover?

Who robbed the twilight of its rose And gave it to the lonely willow? Who stole the starlight from the skies And hid it in the lily’s chalice?

Who did this wonder, and for why? Who knows the secret of this magic? Who paints the canvas of the night With such a tender beauty?

Who is the artist, and the art? Who is the giver, and the given? Who is the master of the heart That makes this earth a heaven?


A Dream Within a Dream 

by Edgar Allan Poe

Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, Thus much let me avow — You are not wrong, who deem That my days have been a dream; Yet if hope has flown away In a night, or in a day, In a vision, or in none, Is it therefore the less gone? All that we see or seem Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar Of a surf-tormented shore, And I hold within my hand Grains of the golden sand — How few! yet how they creep Through my fingers to the deep, While I weep — while I weep! O God! can I not grasp Them with a tighter clasp? O God! can I not save One from the pitiless wave? Is all that we see or seem But a dream within a dream?



by langston hughes

Hold fast to dreams 
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.

Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.