This time last year on Crete I found the most beautiful flower. She is not a rare and delicate being, more she is feisty, tough, ubiquitous. A plant that has adapted so well that once I discovered her bright purple tri-petaled face existing in a sandy hollow, I found her everywhere in various guises: purple and lilac flowers rooted into seemingly inhospitable and rocky ground on Crete or Croatian clifftops, or as bright yellow flags next to ponds and lakes in Slovenia and Italy. I adore this adaptable flower that, in Greek mythology is a messanger between people and the gods, symbolised as a rainbow. And this week she has begun blossoming here on the southernmost point of Portugal, in a place called Sagres, a name that means sacred, because at one time, this was the farthest point of our understanding of the world. Here I’m reminded that Iris’ three petals hold meaning for me: love, creation, ceremony. I had forgotten that last. Or perhaps I just need more time to weave this element into my life. But this, for me, is how art works together with the land, creating cornerstones in the memory for us to visit and return, visit and return.
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