Gouache on paper

9”x12”

From the Monotropa Uniflora collection.

This piece is part of an ongoing exploration of mine: what happens at night in the wild when we aren’t there to see it? Magical things, I imagine.

The Ghost Pipe is a highly medicinal plant, often used for helping with epilepsy and PTSD, and also helpful in times of transition or great loss; it is a healer. It is indeed a flower, though it lacks chlorophyll and instead draws its nutrients from the roots of trees and the fungi between them without starving either; it is a secret and determined survivor. It pushes its shoulders through the forest decay after the rains to stand strong with frail petals among the pines; it is a proud and humble warrior. I began my attempts at capturing the Ghost Pipe years ago, focusing on its frail translucence and pale glow. I have used all mediums available to me (linocut, painting, chainstitch embroidery) to portray its visionary essence. When I was diagnosed with breast cancer in June of 2022, it was no surprise to me that I turned again to this healer, this survivor, this warrior. What came pouring out of me now though, instead of the white and glowing portrayals of the Ghost Pipe in its prime, was the autumnal version of the flower. In the fall as the Ghost Pipe dies, its luminescent body furls and browns, becoming a hardened and shriveled stalk. Throughout my cancer treatment I found myself leaning heavily on this form of the Ghost Pipe.

Here then is my wrestling with the realms. And here is the Ghost Pipe as my steadfast guide through the nebulous, terrible, gorgeous and fragile dance between life and death.