Shells, vines and feathers are irresistible. Some of my fondest memories of growing up are those of discovering feathers on adventures behind my house, or bringing home pails full of shells from the beach. One of my favorite memories took place in a park years ago across from BU in Cambridge. The geese that were passing through were molting and there were thousands of beautiful white feathers – it looked like a downy Christmas scene. I immediately started collecting the feathers and some people approached me – and asked what Fraternity I was rushing because collecting feathers could only be some sort of bizarre hazing ritual. As I was leaving, a man named Little Brook stopped me and told me stories about how he used to collect feathers on the Plains where he grew up and he gave me a recipe for cleaning the dirt from them that I still use.
These days, I still collect shells and feathers, and am heartened to see that my children have the same affinity for these objects that connect us to water, air and the magic of metamorphosis. The wreaths and constructions give me a way to play with these materials and give them another life through different compositions. I especially enjoy working with wreaths because of the time I spent making them with my mom while growing up – during times of celebrations in the year, Christmas, birthdays and Easter.
Everytime I make a circle out of vine, it always gives me the same feeling of wonder and joy. Bending the vine into an eternal form becomes meditative, as I learn the nuance of the pliability of the vine, the feel of it on my skin and how to adjust my approach to it so that the form is right in the end. As ever, the process of assembling and creating motivates me to get out in the world and see what inspires me so I can experience the magic of process again.
