My affinity to Calla Lilies began as an innocent interest in their morphology. The beauty of their form and structure fascinated me. Slowly, with quiet subterfuge, the essence of their being became a metaphor for aspects of my life.

Seductively beautiful with their large, soft, funnel-shaped petals, cushioning a spike emerging from the center, they invite a sense of antiquity, yet familiarity. At first glance, Callas impart a sense of fragility. Yet underlying this disguise lurks a tough survivor. They flourish and propagate, independent of care, in unexpected places: near the foundation of an abandoned building, in highway dividers, and along wild streams, requiring nothing but plentiful water and shady afternoons.

Calla Lilies evoke an intimate past: Victorian gardens, elegant weddings, and mournful burials. Their pristine whiteness belies they exotic origin in the marshes of tropical South Africa. These and other innate contradictions fascinate me. Callas are at once soft, yet hard, elegant, yet rugged; domesticated, yet wild; sheltered, yet independent. Callas give voice to both feminine and masculine aspects not only in their inherent structure, but also in their essence. They speak to this by displaying their androgyny without shame.

With deeper reflection, I believe that instead of contradictions, I am experiencing perfectly balanced opposites. The tension between these opposites gently, but persistently, draws my gaze back to the Calla