Romantic Offering to Every Single Cell in My Body (or maybe the. Ballad of a Sick Girl, depends on the day?)
This piece began as an offering, a kind of quiet devotion directed inward. (Ok but actually I just jumped into making the collage, as I tend to do, the thought “a kind of quiet devotion directed inward” actually came after, once I had finished the piece, and placed it in its cute lil frame).
I was thinking about the body not as one unified whole, but as something made up of countless small parts, each carrying its own needs, histories, and states of being. The idea of “cells” became symbolic here: tiny inner selves, fragments of identity, or even emotional states that exist beneath awareness (most of the time) but still shape everything.
The roses felt like a romantic gesture toward those parts. An offering of beauty, care, and attention. Something soft being placed in front of something often unseen. (the kinda funny thing is, is that really don’t like roses) I started to wonder what it means to extend tenderness toward every single part of oneself, especially the ones that are usually overlooked or only noticed when something feels wrong. (and maybe, its a reflection, or reminder that there are still parts of myself I have not met yet)
The vase of flowers holds a tension for me. Cut flowers are beautiful, but temporary. They are already in the process of fading. And yet, in this image, they are preserved. They continue to exist. There is something about art here that interrupts time (or maybe preserves it?) that allows something fleeting to be held, even if only for a moment longer than it would naturally last. The flowers become both alive already disappearing, and possibly a secret third thing.
The circular forms in the piece feel like portals or mirrors. One of them leans toward the idea of reflection a way of seeing oneself looking back. (Writing this write up, months after I made the art has its limitations). The other looks/ feels more open, less defined, like an entry point or a threshold. I keep thinking about what is being framed and what cannot be contained. The gold frame might suggests value, reverence, attention, shiny/sparkle vibes. but the pink layered background resists containment. It spills outward. It refuses to be fully held. Expansive one might eve say.
There is something unfamiliar for me in the use of pink in this work. It shifts the emotional vibes of the piece. Alongside the matte black and gold, it creates a kind of tension (both push and pull) between softness, richness, and weight. I recognize the gold and black as a familiar visual language for me, but the pink feels like a departure, a shift, more vulnerable, more bodily, more exposed.
I keep returning to the question of what we are actually looking at. Is it flowers? Cells? A body? A prayer? A reflection? The ambiguity feels important. (But also uncomfortable)The piece doesn’t settle into one meaning. Instead, it hovers in between interpretations, like a space of noticing rather than defining. A times, the meaning and feeling change based on how I am feeling that day. Collaborative shift/dance maybe?
At its core, this work feels (to me) like a kind of internal offering (an invitation?) maybe even a quiet wish for healing or care. (or maybe the Ballad of a sick girl?) But not in a fixed or resolved way, but in the sense of turning toward the body with attention. As if each part of it is something worth seeing, worth tending to, worth placing a rose in front of.
If you’d like to hear more about the particulars of the show, check out Linnea and John’s podcast This is Not Art Therapy (The Podcast) for more banter. In Episode 47: Linnea-sode (Slow Bloom) {Art Show/ Fundraiser}, they discuss the show in greater detail.