“Art is the lie that enables us to realize the truth.” — Pablo Picasso
The Whispering Botanists, Monterey, CA, 2008
2011 Juried Exhibition, Center for Photographic Art, Carmel, CA
They were never meant to be glamorous. No one ever wrote sonnets about them or pressed them between the pages of love letters. Yet, here they are, delicate, defiant, impossibly dignified, standing in a field of faded blue-turned-green, whispering their stories to anyone patient enough to listen.
They are the wallflowers of the plant world, quite literally. Pale stalks against a textured, timeworn backdrop, leaning ever so slightly, as if caught in mid-conversation. You can almost hear them gossiping about the weather, about the sun that came too close, about the moon that never writes back. Each fuzzy plume holds its own opinion, its own secret rhythm. Some stand tall and self-assured; others bow shyly, caught between laughter and reverence.
This gathering of soft, spectral forms evokes the sense of something ancient yet alive. Their arrangement, with each stem slightly imperfect and each tuft distinct, feels like a chorus of gentle personalities. Together, they suggest a quiet community: humble, enduring, and beautifully out of sync. There’s elegance in their simplicity, humor in their awkward tilt, and poetry in their persistence.
What makes the piece so engaging is not just what is shown, but what is implied. The aged textures and muted tones of the image, born from the cyanotype’s signature palette, seem to trap time itself. It’s as if the artist has pressed not just plants, but memory and silence between glass and light. In that alchemy, something ineffable emerges: a playful melancholy, the kind that knows life’s fragility yet smiles anyway.
In this work, I channel my quiet fascination with the thresholds between being and memory. My art often lingers where form and feeling blur, where simplicity hides mystery, and humor walks hand-in-hand with grace. “The Whispering Botanists” reminds us that art, like nature, doesn’t need to shout to be heard. Sometimes, all it takes is a whisper.
Artist’s Statement:
In this work, I was drawn to the idea of quiet persistence, the way even the most unassuming elements of nature can hold an entire world of feeling. The cyanotype process, with its dreamlike tones and imperfections, became a metaphor for memory itself: fragile, fluid, and tinted by time. These forms remind me that art doesn’t always emerge from grandeur; sometimes it blooms in silence. And then, following my need to improvise, I reworked the visual, blending the real with the cinematic to create an image that feels both ephemeral and emotionally charged, and will linger like poetry in the subconscious.
A Short History of the Cyanotype Process:
The cyanotype process, one of the earliest photographic printing methods, was invented in 1842 by Sir John Herschel. Unlike other photographic techniques that rely on silver, cyanotypes use iron salts that react to ultraviolet light. When exposed and rinsed, they produce the signature Prussian blue tones. The process was made famous by Anna Atkins, often regarded as the first female photographer, who used cyanotypes to document botanical specimens.
Over time, artists have reimagined the process: toning, layering, and digitally blending it to expand its expressive range. In my work, the cyanotype’s nostalgic imperfection becomes a poetic device, transforming humble botanical forms into timeless meditations on memory, resilience, and humor.
This piece carries my hallmark blend of mysticism, nostalgia, and subtle humor. The delicate subjects echo my fascination with fragility and persistence, while the aged aesthetic and ethereal mood invite the viewer into a contemplative, dreamlike state.