“The deaths I am mourning are all deeply connected under our capitalist, imperialist society which must impose violence and fabricate fear to profit and maintain power, and anything that threatens that—any liberatory thinking, any demand for a better world, anyone in the way—is a target. I feel that every one of these flowers is for a sibling, of mine, of yours, of each other; our queerness connects us inextricably to Palestine and to so much else, as none of us are free.

Additionally, this work is a spiritual exploration for me. Raised excessively atheist, it’s taken me a long time to find a way into thinking deeply about life and death and ancestral relations and all things bigger than us. But in a world full of so much loss and injustice—and also so much beauty and community-coming-togetherness, even if it’s not enough—I don’t yet know what I’m praying to, but I feel I am learning to pray.

While this work was taking shape, I came to realize that I feel most connected to my ancestors when I’m doing what for them was considered ‘women’s work,’ like baking and fiber arts. My mother and grandmother passed those skills down to me, never forced by my gender, but rather because I saw the potential for intergenerational connection through craft and they saw my hunger. I am deeply grateful.

With this piece, after trying a slew of new techniques to suspend the flowers from something grounded in Palestinian keffiyeh motifs, I realized my ancestors already taught me what I needed to do: just knit it, make the fishnet pattern with wire. By weaving in my own swirling spiritual feelings about who I came from and where they’ve gone, I kept myself present to approach the task of honoring lost ones with the most serious of intentions."