FLOWER CHILD ❋ Jackie Mlotek
my first day working with flowers, i looked down at my hands at the end of the day and saw blood
reasonable retribution, i said softly, as i wrapped long, full, dusty pink roses in twine
plants have been around forever, but flowers evolved for the sole purpose of making plants look desirable to bugs so they can reproduce
the softness of fresh petals, smooth stems, shocking thorns, and the sensuality of gently pressing your fingers into soil. slow. deep.
there is some mysticism about flowers, i think. working with flowers and sex and catharsis finds me.
i snapped like a tall stem last summer and ever since i can’t stop thinking about origin stories. mythologies. cycles, circles, fertility, growing, beauty, mortality, reincarnating, healing. wondering how to be, of course. just girly things.
flowers go through trauma all the time, i snap so many stems, surprising myself at my roughness, and their conflicting strength and delicacy. i unpack layer after layer of corrugated cardboard, thick creamy sheets of paper, in an effort to protect them. they snap and slice my fingers all the same.
going through trauma as human feels different. but also the same.