Grief in cloth

I was exploring grief. My mum passed away a year ago. I was exploring the shape of grief. In the beginning, a year ago, the grief was wide, as the year went on it narrowed. A year on, the anniversary blows the grief up. The entire piece is hollow, empty inside. It is made from the fabric which my mum sewed her clothes from. Clothes I remember so clearly as a small child looking up, clinging to her legs, the static crackle from her slip colliding with the synthetic fabrics of her full skirts.