In a world of weeds, all roses are wild
Beautiful Gallery, Chicago IL
Organized by COOPER COLE GALLERY
September 24 - November 26, 2016
A formal garden is planted deep in the reptile bits of the brain, not in
the head, but in the base of the neck. Between the lungs and the mouth,
between the stomach and the teeth. Where the vocal chords and the tongue
took root is where we learned to taste, to name, to repeat, and to choose.
Sweet or bitter. Good or bad. The rose or the weed. But in a rose garden,
even a lily is a weed.
Imagine landing on Venus to find uncultivated plants creeping and unnamed
blossoms opening and closing like mouths. In a world without gardeners,
which is the rose, and which is the weed? Or go to the city’s train tracks,
where goldenrod and dandelion and the many other unknown species tangle.
A weed is not planted; it flies in on a seed, taking no work of the
gardener to grow. In a world of weeds, all roses are wild.
Found glass and metal vessels, pressed flowers, pressed coins, found metal,
Outside: pressed flowers, water, juice, alcohol, insects