After moving to California in 2011, I became captivated by the fennel plant. Found in abundance along highways and open fields, it drew me in with its vigor, fragrance, and clusters of tiny yellow blossoms. Over time, I began to notice another, quieter beauty—the stage that comes after bloom. When the flowers fade, delicate spires remain, holding the memory of their former life.
While spending time with my family at Oyster Bay Regional Park, I gathered bags of these spent fennel umbels. Once home, I placed each stem carefully with tweezers onto a linen-lined board, arranging them by instinct. To my surprise, unplanned patterns began to emerge, each one unique and full of quiet grace, shaped by chance and by nature’s patient hand.
24 x 24 in.Fennel umbrellas on linen board
After moving to California in 2011, I became captivated by the fennel plant. Found in abundance along highways and open fields, it drew me in with its vigor, fragrance, and clusters of tiny yellow blossoms. Over time, I began to notice another, quieter beauty—the stage that comes after bloom. When the flowers fade, delicate spires remain, holding the memory of their former life.
While spending time with my family at Oyster Bay Regional Park, I gathered bags of these spent fennel umbels. Once home, I placed each stem carefully with tweezers onto a linen-lined board, arranging them by instinct. To my surprise, unplanned patterns began to emerge, each one unique and full of quiet grace, shaped by chance and by nature’s patient hand.
24 x 24 in.Fennel umbrellas on linen board