The era when clear social messages could be read in a bouquet, yellow for unrequited love, white for purity, are gone. So are the physical usefulnesses of a plant: yarrow for a nose bleed, hibiscus for abortion. We have lost specific communication and function and are left with an icon. These are just flowers, non specific sex organs, pleasing, electric, and undoubtably feminine. The piece is layered and fragmented, some flowers realistic, some flat, chunky unidentifiable bits cling to the plant and background- a fragment, an infestation?

 

Perhaps now we are all reduced to a basic bitch status. 

Don’t worry, it is all coming up roses.

 

Components of the arrangement are lovingly hand built, some flowers are made of wild dug clays, other fired unto three times and mounted on a backing to create varied layers.