growing up, mom loved to garden, loved roses, loved taking clippings from plants she found on the side of the street. a pothos trailed around our living room. christmas cactuses that bloom red just as it starts to cool down in my hometown of Reno. passively, my mom would often say, "give me flowers while I'm still alive and can smell them".
as happens with probably every teenager, I was full of rage and anger and resentment. I hated beauty, condemned it, took no effort to find joy in the world around me. I came across clay as an accident, made a thousand milk bottles, fell in (and out!) of love, and came around to happiness in the form of playing in what is essentially just fancy mud. my mom gets flowers twice a year (when I can manage to order them before she scolds me for spending money on them), and I get flowers for myself whenever I am able to. my house now also made into a makeshift greenhouse full of too many toxic-to-cats plants for a household with two cats - they are loved, I promise.
I have gone through many iterations as a maker - almost as many iterations as I have a lover and a loser - and I am so pleased with this chapter. I realized after my birthday this year that I did not have nearly enough homes for flowers! how could I ask for flowers if I couldn't even give them a proper place to stay? and so, I made vases. lots of them.
I spent my angry, rage-filled, teenage years as an aspiring photographer. shooting almost exclusively in black and white film, and as I transitioned into undergrad it only took one bad photo teacher to end that relationship. and yet...and yet...I've never stopped taking photos. here are some of my favorites.
I hope you enjoy
- a m