Last Bloom, First Step
Gateway Pavilion, San Francisco — on view May 14 2025 for Together Bay Area
A thirty-foot wall of compost-to-be in The Presidio offered an unexpected palette: eucalyptus bark still fragrant, dark violet flowers, weeds with roots intact, a solitary palm frond, and half-buried cherry-blossom branches already softening into soil. With permission to forage on this federal land, I gathered these overlooked fragments exactly as they lay—moist, imperfect, alive—and improvised them into an impermanent, walkable labyrinth for Together Bay Area’s annual conference.
Tonight, the labyrinth stands on its greens alone—lush, vital, and vibrant even before a single flower has been added.The stems that once shaded trails or perfumed wind now perform one last choreography before returning to earth. Roots remain visible to honor provenance; weeds flaunt their tenacity; eucalyptus releases scent. It is a living meditation on circularity—beauty discovered in what society discards, vitality shimmering in the half-life between usefulness and decay.
Tomorrow morning, I’ll layer fresh blooms from Front Porch Farm—perfumed garden roses in coral and yellow, towering hollyhocks, snapdragons, peonies still cool from dawn harvest. Their almost-embarrassing abundance contrasts sharply with the compostable base, reminding us that sourcing close to home sustains local soil, farmers, and economies rather than flying flowers thousands of miles. Together, the discarded greens and freshly-cut blossoms invite a deeper look at value: what we revere, what we overlook, and what happens when those categories meet.
Visitors enter through curiosity. Beneath their feet the greens still breathe; above them tomorrow, petals will glow—an ephemeral duet asking, ‘How might I honor what roots me while stepping toward what’s next?’ By five o’clock the mandala will be dismantled—yet not discarded. I’ll gather every branch, blossom, and root once more to build a second labyrinth this weekend, extending their story and underscoring the promise that endings are rarely final.
Walk lightly, look closely, and imagine what might bloom if every ending—every stem—were given one more turn.
