A piece from my past:
The fountain “Grandma Smells Like Roses" was one of five sculptures in my first public gallery show after graduating from college. I put rosewater in the fountain; the whole gallery smelled like roses. The blue birds are glass knick knacks like the ones which caught the sunlight on the windowsill above the sink in grandma's kitchen. My mom had rose wallpaper in her bathroom, roses on her fine china, and the most elegant gown she ever wore was floor-length, white, and embellished with two beautiful red roses which climbed from the hem to her torso in embroidered silk. I created the sculpture well over a decade ago. The fountain traveled to Nebraska for my grandmother's funeral a few years ago. Small roses adorned the metalwork on her casket. The rhythmic soft splash of water pouring from the “Grandma Smells Like Roses” fountain added subtle life and melody to the standard mortuary silence. The glass sculpture I saw today ties in with imagery and feelings woven intricately between past memories and current events. If I were ever to get a tattoo it would be a delicate rose as an expression of the ultra feminine lineage I share with my mother and her mother.