Rosa returns to the boarded up Tudor mansion of her childhood where she must now learn to survive without the privileges of her forefathers.
In her dreams Rosa remembers the enchantment of luscious flower petals falling like pink rain, back when the seasons had a predictable ebb and flow.
Based on the Victorian hoop skirt, the armature is made from Willow branches from my garden.
Caught between wistfully looking back at her old life and facing the challenges of her new one.
The Tara dress is left to decompose outdoors, where the soft pinks turn into deep magentas.
Months have passed and while the Douglas Fir sprouts its first buds, the dresses’ flowers have dried and the hardy Magnolia leaves have browned.
A moth seeks to camouflaged itself within the white fuzzy skin of the dried Camellia petals.
The now disused pool of this grand old property reflects a yesteryear blind to the consequences of its actions.