And I Call Her Mother
A collection of new work exploring concepts of nature and the feminine
May 6-30, 2022
She was here before I came into the world and will be here when I am gone.
The tulips leaned into each other as if they were huddled in conversation. And when the wind came they danced and swayed in unison. And when the and stopped they leaned on one another.
She sighed as she studied them --- if only she was a nestled tulip.
To birth and life and death. Be it celebration, pain, joy or sorrow --to the beauty and complexity and validity of it all.
Her heart was always too big for her body but managed to somehow stay contained until that great and terrible day when it burst from her exterior shell and was exposed for all to see and all to judge. And her heart had the space to beat, filling her being with strength, and her lungs had the space to breathe, filling her being with life. She was finally making space for herself--- and it was freeing. The carrot from the garden spoke truths.
Due to the constant and extreme heat the actual carrots were small and deformed but the blooms on top were explosive. While in duress instead of putting all there energy into their roots the carrots shot up into large blossom sreachign for the sky that would soon go to seed. And she wondered, where was she channeling her energy? Her roots or her blossoms?
California poppies really are one of the most resilient and radiant of flowers. Their cheery disposition in an environment where most things struggle to even grow is an inspiration. I want to be a California poppy.