Bud, bloom, poppy sprouting. Wildflower lilac. Roots bursting the earth. The freshness of the flowers – born perfume of violent beauty corrupting my senses. The moment is a living seed. I am on a quest, which may be also yours. We are all flowers blossoming. Life-long search of some memory of the memory of the long-lost memory. My intent is the brightest flower’s opulent blossom, its splendor forever etched on the wall plaster. Deep inside, the flowers always come back, perhaps to capture their own secret of quiet intensity and visual vastness. If not as the rose, they come back as the blood of nature, extravagant, mysterious and necessary. Once sprung, one flower becomes the silence of the other, everything looks at everything, every piece experiences the other, their world utterly reciprocal. The present contemplating the present. Everything could be called anything, because anything could be changed into the same resonating muteness. Since my body is the only way I experience the transparency of all things, every time it feels wilted, another summer opens up. I live from an obsessed place of invented truth, an inner state of bloom and shadow. The works created for this series were shown as a solo show at the SFMOMA Artists Gallery in San Francisco in 2012. They are all mixed media.