INSPIRED BY MY POEM, “MY RAGE IS LIKE A FLOWER GARDEN”
Floral and Feminine,
Bold and Energetic
IF MY RAGE IS LIKE A FLOWER GARDEN, WHAT HAVE I HARVESTED FROM THAT GARDEN?
“WHAT HAS BEEN BROUGHT FROM THE GARDEN?” IS MY BOLDEST COLLECTION OF ARTWORK TO DATE. THIS COLLECTION IS AN ODE TO MY RAGE, A LOVE LETTER, THANKING HER FOR BRINGING ME THIS FAR.
Flow through the story below to find your statement piece
INSPIRED BY MY POEM, “MY RAGE IS LIKE A FLOWER GARDEN”
MY RAGE IS LIKE A FLOWER GARDEN
My rage is like a flower garden
That is generous in its blooms.
It is hot and sticky like blood and summer-
But in the south where it tends to linger.
My rage is like a flower garden
Tangled with knots of vines-
The start of one and the end of another-
Just webs of stories woven together.
My rage is like a flower garden
Full of thorns like teeth,
That bite, and tear, and leave their marks,
Protecting the roots that are buried deep.
My rage is like a flower garden
Smoking with steam from a heavy rain.
So much so, it makes it hard to swallow,
So I carry it in my mouth-
Boiling,
Shaking,
And spilling it as I go.
Healing isn’t a destination that can be found, it is more like a garden that requires regular tending, weeding, pruning - even more importantly, our attention.
What Has Been Brought From the Garden?
Wise or not, I walk to my garden barefoot
The earth, though warm, is cool on my feet
Compared to the thickness of southern summer heat.
The garden, neglected, is wild, surviving,
I step on a spikey weed.
Thick, overgrown, dogged, resistant,
Overripe vegetables now rotten,
Patterned, combative, protective, unrelenting,
Untamed, untended,
A tangled mess.
What can be brought from this garden?
Wise or not, I garden without gloves,
Pulling the weeds with my hands and
The plants bite back.
Fibers of stems stabbing through my skin,
A familiar pain creeping in while I
Untangle knots of vines.
There is a core of rot in the garden.
Digging, purging, ripping, tearing,
Crying, chopping, cutting, remembering,
Exhuming, scraping, digging, hoeing,
There is a violence to birthing that many don't see.
There is so much rot in the garden.
Wise or not, I lay in the dirt,
Mixing tears and sweat into mud,
Painting my face with pigment of the earth,
I’ve lived through many wars.
Amending, nurturing, restoring, repairing,
Regretting, forgiving, wishing for forgetting,
But knowing that learning comes from remembering,
What has been wrought from the garden?
the print collection
What has been brought from the garden?
Printed on luxurious fine art velvet paper with archival pigments so your print stands the test of time
Dear Collectors, thank you so much for being here and for allowing me to share this body of work with you. This collection feels more raw than any collection to date - mostly because of what I have been processing through creating work. In these paintings I see marks of freedom, anger, sadness, joy, courage, despair, and everything in between, but I am also seeing a new level of security.
What continues to be true for me through every collection is how generous creativity is and how the act of creating always brings me home to myself.
CREATING IS like
coming home.
2023
What has been brought from the garden?
Collection
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