the magnolia tree

If I had a camera inextricably linked to my hand, I would never miss the opportunity to capture moments that strike me as special. I realized this as I walked to the Art and Design building on the campus of the University of Illinois on a brisk morning in 1998. It was a bitter day in early spring and I bustled along with my head down lost in my own thoughts. Looking up by chance, I witnessed a small, extraordinary moment as a magnolia tree vibrated on the brink of blooming. Every bud was tightly closed but for one. A single bud, one of thousands on the tree, had burst open, unable to wait another moment. Minutes earlier or minutes later, my experience would have been different, with no buds open, or several already in bloom.

The inherent tension and suspense of the moment consumed me. I was witnessing a split second in the transition from winter to spring the perfect visualization of the shift between two seasons. I stopped and appreciated that minute, absorbing the image as a memory I could always hold on to.

The fragility of this particular memory, and the thought that it’s been more than ten years since, makes me question the memory itself. Was it even a magnolia tree after all? Initially an objective image, I consider how the years have etched their paths over it and what other memories have impressed on it. What was this moment of change and how has my personal history altered it? My work is inspired by such thoughts and questions, and celebrates these small overlooked, often forgotten moments.