Tears that water my flowers of wisdom
There is a kind of knowing that only grief can teach , depth that joy, in its brightness, cannot reach.
This work does not ask you to heal.
It asks you to stay, to let sorrow be what it has always been: not an ending, but a slow and necessary opening.
From its eye, a trail of teardrops falls until it finds the flower that could only bloom because something, somewhere, wept.
Sadness is personal.
But never unique
Installation made out of EVA foam , spraypaint , led lights in Los Angeles in abandoned hospital
