Lotus crossed the threshold...
There comes a season when becoming is
no longer the work.
Being is.
Not the kind of being the world measures by accomplishments or titles.
The quieter kind.
The kind that settles into your bones after years of searching.
The kind that no longer asks,
I Am Lotus arrived during one of those seasons.
Not as an answer.
As a recognition.
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She was interested in telling me about the flower.
She appeared quietly.
Only remembrance.
As I worked, I realized she wasn't becoming Lotus.
She was introducing herself.
I am Lotus.
Not,
"I hope to be."
Not,
"One day I will become."
Simply—
I am.
Interior: Silk kimono fabric dyed yellow as the sun.
Being is.
Not the kind of being the world measures by accomplishments or titles.
The quieter kind.
The kind that settles into your bones after years of searching.
The kind that no longer asks,
"Who should I become?"
but gently whispers,
"Who have I been all along?"
But somewhere along the way,
her hands found heart center.
And she whispered,
I am Lotus.
but gently whispers,
"Who have I been all along?"
She began as The Dreamer.
But somewhere along the way,
her hands found heart center.
And she whispered,
I am Lotus.
I Am Lotus arrived during one of those seasons.
Not as an answer.
As a recognition.
For years my work has been about symbolism.
Every stitch, every fragment of cloth, every found object carries meaning.
I have always believed that objects remember.
But recently something has shifted.
I find myself listening less to what a symbol traditionally represents and more to what it wishes to reveal through the piece itself.
The lotus has always been associated with rising from muddy waters into bloom.
We know that story...
But this Lotus was not interested in telling me about the mud.She was interested in telling me about the flower.
She appeared quietly.
Her eyes are closed—not in sleep, but in knowing.
Her hands rest over her heart.
Lotus leaves cover her robe. Layer upon layer, they hold traces of time, wear, and light.
They remind me that the flower does not exist apart from the place that nourished it.
She wears no armor.
Only remembrance.
As I worked, I realized she wasn't becoming Lotus.
She was introducing herself.
I am Lotus.
Not,
"I hope to be."
Not,
"One day I will become."
Simply—
I am.
Lotus:
Hand-dyed Japanese paper, silk, pod from nature, vintage stamens.
Leaves:
gold silk—the light already present.
dyed paper—the places where life has worn through, leaving openings rather than perfection.
blue silk—the deep water, the quiet.
metallic stitching radiating outward—the invisible connections, almost like veins or the memory held within every leaf.
Until one day we no longer introduce ourselves
by what we have accomplished, overcome, or become.
We simply place our hands over our hearts,
and remember.
I am.
