Grown Woman Print

from $20.00
“Grown Woman”💐🪲🦋 Oil on canvas, 18x24” I am a woman grown in the garden of the world, tended to by every woman who came before me. This piece is scattered with tokens from the girls and women who’ve shaped me: a hummingbird for my grandmother, tulips for my mother, sunflowers for my sister—and her misspelled Eras Tour bracelet that became our favorite inside joke. It’s about the small, tender things we carry—and how girlhood doesn’t end, it evolves. Lately, I’ve been thinking about the power of kitsch: rainbows, sunsets, butterflies, glitter. Symbols that get dismissed as superficial—especially when tied to femininity. But why is beauty less serious than war? Why do we ridicule frills and praise firearms? I lean into what’s “tacky” because I love it. I’m a serious artist who loves glitter. Now what? I stand on the shoulders of the few women who made it into the art canon: Frida Kahlo for her raw, vivid self-portraits, and Georgia O’Keeffe for her florals and desert visions. Like them, I use personal imagery to speak to something collective. I had this visual in mind for a while, but something clicked after reading Braiding Sweetgrass. In the background, I painted the Three Sisters—corn, beans, and squash—as a nod to Indigenous teachings about mutual care and sustenance. That cyclical, cooperative wisdom reflects the feminine lineage I’m honoring here. When I showed this piece to my friend Trinity, she described it as: “Garden of Eden but referring to childhood. It’s the beauty and whimsy of being little with storms on the horizon—but in that moment you’re okay and appreciating what’s still there.” Which meaning do you prefer?
Size:
“Grown Woman”💐🪲🦋 Oil on canvas, 18x24” I am a woman grown in the garden of the world, tended to by every woman who came before me. This piece is scattered with tokens from the girls and women who’ve shaped me: a hummingbird for my grandmother, tulips for my mother, sunflowers for my sister—and her misspelled Eras Tour bracelet that became our favorite inside joke. It’s about the small, tender things we carry—and how girlhood doesn’t end, it evolves. Lately, I’ve been thinking about the power of kitsch: rainbows, sunsets, butterflies, glitter. Symbols that get dismissed as superficial—especially when tied to femininity. But why is beauty less serious than war? Why do we ridicule frills and praise firearms? I lean into what’s “tacky” because I love it. I’m a serious artist who loves glitter. Now what? I stand on the shoulders of the few women who made it into the art canon: Frida Kahlo for her raw, vivid self-portraits, and Georgia O’Keeffe for her florals and desert visions. Like them, I use personal imagery to speak to something collective. I had this visual in mind for a while, but something clicked after reading Braiding Sweetgrass. In the background, I painted the Three Sisters—corn, beans, and squash—as a nod to Indigenous teachings about mutual care and sustenance. That cyclical, cooperative wisdom reflects the feminine lineage I’m honoring here. When I showed this piece to my friend Trinity, she described it as: “Garden of Eden but referring to childhood. It’s the beauty and whimsy of being little with storms on the horizon—but in that moment you’re okay and appreciating what’s still there.” Which meaning do you prefer?