Description
Maybe it's about the thin line between medicine and poison. The way we use science to control nature, but it ends up controlling us. Or maybe it's a metaphor for the human condition. We're all just fragile vessels, holding a bouquet of chemicals and memories and dreams. In the end, I don't like to explain my work. Art should be a mirror, reflecting something different to everyone who looks. All I know is that when I gaze at this piece, I feel a sense of unease. A prickling at the edge of my consciousness. Like there's a message hidden in the arrangement, a riddle I'm meant to solve. But the harder I look, the more it seems to slip away. Perhaps that's the point. To make something that can never be fully understood, only felt. A bouquet of questions, forever in bloom.