Growing in the cracks of sidewalks, along roads, in between train tracks, and in the carefully tended gardens of our grandmothers, grow plants with whom our ancestors had relationships.

They gave them names based on what they observed about them; coffeeweed, scotchbriar, white man’s footprint, and bloodwort are a few. They boiled them into teas, applied them to wounds and rashes, added them to stews, placed poultices on the chests of sick children, and learned which plants were helpers.

Our ancestors recognized the significance of these “weeds” and wildflowers, understanding how they signaled the health of the land and marked the passage of seasons. This deep relationship with plants is echoed in the songs and poetry of cultures worldwide.

Yet, in modern times, our attention is often elsewhere. For many of us, simply identifying a wildflower is a challenge. I, too, once overlooked the resilient plants pushing through neglected soil, dismissing them as signs of forgotten spaces.

Now, I find myself captivated by these overlooked plants. I paint them, finding beauty and mystery in their forms. As I paint, I am not only identifying them but delving into their stories and sharing them through my art. In doing so, I honor our ancestors’ wisdom, passing their knowledge on in the best way I know how.