Build a garden with me

In May, we laid my maternal grandmother to rest in a shady cemetery in an Appalachian hill town, just down the mountain from where she grew up. Shovel by shovel, my family and I filled the grave.

She was my last grandparent, and with her passing, I found myself in the “middle generation,” with the children of my siblings and cousins now the youngest ones, and my mom and aunts being the oldest. A shift into unknown territory.

I also marked a new decade. It was a long weekend of celebration with so many dear friends, and it really lifted my spirits.

Another thing that brought joy to this sweltering season is the mango. During the early summer, I run what amounts to a provisional bread factory in my kitchen, so that I have sourdough loaves in good supply to trade with neighbors, friends, even random strangers for the magic that is a box of fresh mangoes.

Sharing bounty with others felt so profound at that particular moment; there was something satisfying about this non-monetary exchange of value. Briefly, we were stepping outside of the pervasive system that keeps us all tied to desks and computer monitors, daring to feel the frequency of a different reality.

The sweetness of these interactions was a contrast with what humanity seems to be barreling towards…for months I’d been feeling so burdened by the heartbreak and outrage of the world. So many things I thought were givens, absolutes, non-negotiables, are now apparently up for grabs. Things I thought sacred…such as national parks and forests… and things I thought that everyone agreed were foundational to society… like the human rights declaration, due process…

I observed the rageful discourse going down on our devices, in our streets, and it silenced me. It seemed that the worst thing I could do was speak from anger, even as it roiled in my belly.

And yet, it felt absolutely necessary to do something. Pent-up expression was waiting to come through me, but almost in reverse: the channel that I inevitably end up serving as was dry; instead it felt like a vacuum. No words, no images, no symbols, no visions; just suction-like pressure, heavy in my lungs.

At my birthday party, late in the evening after most had left, as the last morsels were coming off the grill and a handful of us settled into a quieter conversation, a friend asked me how my art practice was adjusting to the state of the world.

A prescient question, perhaps. Even though I still didn’t know what it would be, I told her that something was imminent. I’d be speaking to current events sooner than later.

And it was true. In the days immediately following, that channel finally opened and a flood of energetic inspiration rushed through. In a flash, the stars aligned on a larger-than-life project, and I’m pinching myself in disbelief that I get to bring this into existence. It’s a project that doesn’t shy away from the dismay many of us are feeling; in fact, it’s a space where we can acknowledge our collective experiences.

Please join me and North Bay Village Commissioner Doris Acosta in building Garden of Essence, a temporary public art installation for contemplation and meditation. This project is made possible through sponsorship by the North Bay Village Commission.

This project is a space for us to come together and connect during these challenging times. Inspired by human migration pathways and the waterways of the Everglades, this experiential artwork is designed to open space for people to process their lived experiences.

The project uses natural materials—like branches, sticks, and palm fronds—to form meditation paths. The public is invited to help construct the artwork during collaborative building sessions (see our info page for more details).

Our public opening is September 9th, 6:00- 7:30pm. Hope you can be part of this project.