19/10/2026
I was looking at some beautiful photographs Michoacán, Mexico, where flowers are harvested in preparation for Día de los Mu***os. The colours, the oranges, the yellows, all those autumn tones. Such stunning decorations, and I found myself wanting to recreate a little something from it, in my own way.
Growing up, I think death was a bit of a taboo subject, and being far away from Mexican culture, I never really grew up with this tradition. And, of course, the word itself can sound quite scary. But through a few conversations lately, and hearing different ways of approaching the subject, I’ve found myself connecting a few dots.
My husband has a very calm way of looking at it. He once said that the person who dies has nothing to lose, because they are in nothingness itself. And I thought, perhaps it’s those of us who remain who have more to overcome. There is also the uncertainty of what comes afterwards, of course. I don’t think we necessarily need to have the answers, but sometimes it’s interesting to sit with these thoughts for a moment.
Somewhere between those conversations and those beautiful photographs of flowers, this hanging installation came to life. Not as a tribute, exactly, but as a little exploration of a tradition and the autumn season, and a way of playing with some of its colours and meanings.
For me, the shape of the installation also became a reflection on life. We begin with flowers, and as the arrangement descends, it gradually comes to an end, with the last flower echoing the one at the beginning. A little circle, perhaps. Or a reminder that the end and the beginning might not be so far apart after all.
It also made me think of my great-grandfather, who was Spanish, an eloquent man, and someone with his own struggles. I don’t have many photographs of relatives who have passed away, but I do have one of him. My mum has always carried with her a poem he once shared:
“Me abrazo fuerte a mí mismo porque siento que entre mis brazos y mi corazón estás tú.”