prologue.

Nobody really asks to be born, yet here we are, living, breathing, philosophical beings - well, at least, some of us are philosophical. Why we are here is the big question, one that I am not going to answer in this work, but you are most welcome to connect to such meaning, should you find it embedded in black and white, and everything in between. 

By now, we have all come across some version of the phrase, “carpe diem,” to seize the day and make the most of what time you have, because you never know when you - and it all - will be gone. But I am here to contest that ideal; life is long. Life is a throbbing, villainous heart fueled with desire, contempt, and plot twists… or it can be, anyway. I challenge you to find a balance between living each day as if it were your last, while simultaneously planning your years ahead - the constant tug and pull surely keeping you afloat amidst uncharted waters. 

Ultimately, life is what you make of it, and I hope yours is being made with intentionality, an open heart, and a dash of perseverance.

autoimmunity.

Violence surrounds us, sometimes - albeit most times - internally. My inner violence stems from an army of cells, all fighting one another for their place in me, in this world. I am a composition of these cells, thus, I too, am fighting. But as people, why are we all fighting?

Some crave food, fame, connection; I crave harmony. A place where the functions of my mind and body are one. A time where my internal army is dismantled and combat has ceased. A cohesive community where no threats are detected, not because communication in the system is down, but because there are no threats to be detected.

Harmony. I cannot deny that “harm” is in the word itself, yet I yearn for the absence of such hate and cruetly to be filled instead with a seamless dance to the song of life. Harmony. Words can be funny that way.

Food is medicine, but it can also be at the helm of what makes us ill. I have type 1 diabetes, thalassemia, gluten sensitivity, among other conditions - all of which regularly remind me that food is crucial to my survival and recovery, yet it may also serve as the very culprit to my chronic pain and inflammation. I am mindful to nourish my mind and body with nutritious foods, experiences, and communities, and I hope that you are too.

the in-between.

flo(u)r contains 100% plant-based materials, teaching me that nature not only surrounds us, but nature is organically in us (i.e., organs). I am continually fascinated by linguistics, especially homonyms and word play. This piece combines the words “flour”, “flower”, and “flor” (i.e., flower in Spanish) to illustrate that growth is a process (similar to baking). 

Spatters of all-purpose flour atop a humble cutting board showcase the intention - the raw, pulsating energy - to generate and birth a new creation; whereas the dry, withering flowers emerging from the ashy pile allude to the conclusion of a cycle. 

“Cyclical” (siklək(ə)l) in of itself nods to the notion of waxing and waning from a circle of “sickness”. Furthermore, the cutting board may also serve as a colloquial “chopping block” to signal a shift, an abrupt end, or more likely, a trimming to stimulate a newfound direction. 

Layers of identity undoubtedly intertwine and are integral to who we are, similar to how strands of DNA miraculously structure our rooted foundation. Race can be a fickle subject; as a multiracial woman, I am propelled by my ancestry to ensure our stories are perennial. The literal whiteness of the all-purpose flour dusts my mind with stark realities (e.g., White-passing, colorism, spectrum of privilege) that I live with and will not soon forget. 

flo(u)r has reminded me that everything is connected and emanates from within, should we choose to perceive things that way. Rather than fueling a perpetual purgatory for ourselves, we must highlight our innate ability to gradually move through life (and death) in a flow of phases; “flo, u r” (i.e., flow, you are).

autonomy.

I created this piece to showcase that in order to truly grow, we must first bid adieu to our wilted, old flo(u)r buds. From death and destruction comes the potential for refresh and revival. Life is contextual; who are we, but the budding versions of our truest selves?

We tend to be surrounded by competing forces, some serving as inspirations, and others as distractions. Incidentally, we are often someone else’s - or even our own - outside world. The surrounding noise that we try so valiently to discard, the unnecessary item that complicates a decision (e.g., foil in the foreground). We must ask, “who am I, not for others, but for myself”? One’s quality of life is arguably dependent on situation, perspective, and skill level. It is an opportunity to try something in another way, sometimes failing. But failure is fleeting - a mere moment in our rhythmic, ever-evolving lives. In learning to fail, we do not fail to learn.

epilogue.

Perhaps a singular flower, rather than a bouquet, would better centralize the theme and be more aesthetically pleasing. Yet, a variety of flowers does not divert attention away from the entire work. On the contrary, it signifies how each individual flower, so carefully collected, is evidence of intrinsic power, principle, and the tearing of autoimmunity to its core until there is just… autoimmunity. Unity within, exuding throughout.

Materials:

Bouquet of dried flowers, burlap jute twine, a cup of all-purpose flour, cooked tofu, and a miniature bamboo cutting board. Note: I utilized tofu for structural integrity; however, it is not necessary for the installation.

Special thanks to Janah Esplana Balane for the beautiful bouquet on International Women's Day!