
a november marigold
a november marigold is still a marigold. when we think marigold, the image that comes to mind is the marigold in full bloom during high summer. but this marigold is also marigold. and those porcupine like seeds are also marigold (who knew?). my personal goal is to expand my visual dictionary– so when i hear marigold , or iris, or rose, or tulip, or thistle, or milkweed, i don’t only think of the most obvious expression of each but also all the other ways marigold can be marigold.
marigold

a random day in november 2020
this is an old favorite i am revisiting–a massive burdock leaf i peeled from a downed log a couple of years ago. i am posting this because nothing major happened today. i visited my mom, and i had tea with my bestie krisitin, and then i made carne asada tacos for the family, then i sat in front of the fire with my steve until it was too late to create a still blog for the day. so. there you are. i hope you understand.
winter burdock leaf

november gardening
november gardens, when everything has begun to wilt and decay, but before the snow falls, may be my favorite harvest season. i recently watched a documentary on piet oudolf, the designer of the nyc high line gardens among many other famous gardens. the documentary showed the expansive gardens surrounding his home in the netherlands through a whole year. the late-fall, early winter garden, frozen between blooming and being blown clean, was by far my favorite. his too, it turns out.
dried echinacea
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your use of language is as stunning as the photography. “Frozen between blooming and blown clean.” Such a perfect metaphor for this time in history in the middle of a pandemic. Thank you for providing such wonderful inspiration!
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when winter comes early
this year winter came early to minnesota. these lilac leaves never had a chance to slowly fade and fall away. they got attacked by an early frost and have been clinging to the branches ever since in their frostbit agony. the way they have clung to life along the central vein feels so familiar. we humans do the same thing, losing our extremities to cold first, in order to preserve our core. now i am feeling chilled inside my 70 degree house. and feeling empathy for lilac leaves.
frost bitten lilac leaves

mod snow
i’m usually pretty good at imagining an image in my head before i assemble them. not this time. i thought these stars made of different colored stem pieces might look sort of like snowkflakes. we just got 4 inches of snow today, so snow was on my mind. instead i made a piece of 1970’s mod wall art. you could call it a happy surprise. but i was never a big fan of 1970s art. so, really, it’s just a surprise.
winter stems pieces
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Nature’s POP art (with a little help from you) – love it!
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