Giving Birth To a Butterfly, and The Killing of Jane Doe
2021-2023 (dimnesions vary).quilted huacatay-dyed silk organza, printed film photographs, text on vellum, hand strung marigolds.
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I will always be a student of the seasons, of the flowers, of its foliage and its rivers, and I will always be a student of natural dye. It is a practice inaccessible by means of command or control, but based upon a quiet commitment to constant learning, and the relinquishment of fixed end-goals. It is in this space of experimentation that I am free to listen most intently to my materials. The colors ask me questions, and the ethereal nature of working with plant color demands that I become receptive to its revelations. I sense that same receptivity when I go on walks, when I forage, when I tend to my meals and when I tend to those I love.
Turmeric whispered many songs to me throughout this project, and when I realized my dear butterfly would fade so quickly in the sun, I wanted her death to be celebratory. I did not realize then, that she was on the brink of a powerful collaboration with the greatest lover of all!
I would like to first recognize all those who have gifted their time to this project, especially my old roommate Nash for patiently documenting the performance. I would like to thank the river for gifting me with such resources and for tasking me with this memorial. And finally, as a settler I would like to recognize the Piscataway band, the “people where the rivers bend” whose unceded land now known as Baltimore, Maryland, we live and work on. It is impossible to talk of the spirit of natural dye without considering the aboriginal peoples around the world from whence these gifts came. Their artistry grounds natural dye in a ritual that illuminates the colorways of the landscape, like a secret hidden from all those who move too quickly or without curiosity.
It is through generations of colonial violence and misappropriation of indigenous culture that has erased our understanding of dye traditions and recast them within the framework of a capitalist world, extracted and commodified. My relationship to natural dye is coded by my whiteness, and I do not pretend to see these rituals through another’s eye for I will never comprehend how profound this sacred knowledge is in its entirety. Rather, I come to these technologies that have been handed down and shared with me, with reverence. And on this late spring afternoon, I felt something grand confront me with reciprocal gratitude, and it left me in awe. I wish to share with you a window into this space of unconditional forgiveness, and of return.
Thank you.
Now,
I want to walk you through
the butterfly fields.
marigold and chickweed
and golden turmeric.
Rich with color,
of antioxidants and of the Sun.
I want to walk you through
the butterfly fields.
marigold and chickweed
and golden turmeric.
Rich with color,
of antioxidants and of the Sun.
I bind you, I beat you,
I must grind you into pigment,
pieces of sunlight and glowing sienna.
The light is boiling now,
I ready the cocoon!
Each thread veins the body,
with every stitch a beat of the heart.
I must grind you into pigment,
pieces of sunlight and glowing sienna.
The light is boiling now,
I ready the cocoon!
Each thread veins the body,
with every stitch a beat of the heart.
Breath in,
n out,
she's ready for light
I stretch and knot its body,
not a single thread remains loose.
And tightened, contracted, and holding its breath,
now shaped into the mass of two wings.
n out,
she's ready for light
I stretch and knot its body,
not a single thread remains loose.
And tightened, contracted, and holding its breath,
now shaped into the mass of two wings.
For hours you moaned on the fire,
bubbling and dancing in the pot
What music did you hear,
when bathed in the Sun's loving flames?
But the steam cooled
and overnight the tattoos of the procedure had set in fully.
bubbling and dancing in the pot
What music did you hear,
when bathed in the Sun's loving flames?
But the steam cooled
and overnight the tattoos of the procedure had set in fully.
Drenched in its beauty, I opened your wings!
You never shone quite as bright,
as when you rested on the kitchen floor
newborn and untouching
still pooling of sunshine.
You never shone quite as bright,
as when you rested on the kitchen floor
newborn and untouching
still pooling of sunshine.
A Letter to Jane Doe,
They must have stepped on you,
over you, through you
many times over.
Like you were the doorway to the ether,
but they couldn’t bother to knock.
They must have stepped on you,
over you, through you
many times over.
Like you were the doorway to the ether,
but they couldn’t bother to knock.
I held your out-splayed legs,
and softly
with agonizing slowness
eased it across your body,
your many pieces.
and softly
with agonizing slowness
eased it across your body,
your many pieces.
Pink and purple and blue
oh blue river, blue river
What killed you?
You slipped closer to the waters,
Even in death.
oh blue river, blue river
What killed you?
You slipped closer to the waters,
Even in death.
I think we've done all we can for you,
and I placed the last flowers,
they were orange and blistered and glistening, too.
If only these currents could sweep you down stream
forever and ever
you would never lay still.
and I placed the last flowers,
they were orange and blistered and glistening, too.
If only these currents could sweep you down stream
forever and ever
you would never lay still.
But these same currents push, pull
on their own time of course.
slow, but changing all the same.
now you will rest.
They will not see you that way anymore
you are with the Sun.
on their own time of course.
slow, but changing all the same.
now you will rest.
They will not see you that way anymore
you are with the Sun.
