In the dark years after the loss, flowers told the story. I was drawn to flowers in their beauty and in their demise. I appreciated their full life cycle and how it reflected my own aging and loss. When blossoms returned the next season, they offered hope for the future. My future, if I managed to survive the trials I faced. 

In early spring, dozens of camellia blossoms would crowd against the window by my desk, as I struggled to find a path through my upended life. When the blossoms were spent, the wind would scatter them across the patio. A whole season later, a new bud would beckon to me through the glass.

When I made Camellia in the Night Garden, I was still in a winter of profound grief. Looking back at this image years now, I understand. The new blossom represented the promise of future tenderness.

From the Journey of Grief series, through which I processed the loss of my husband to cancer.