Why Flowers Become Omens in My Work
When flowers appear in my drawings, they are never neutral decoration. I work with them as carriers of signs. Not signs that predict the future in a literal sense, but signs that reveal what is already forming beneath the surface. In my work, botanical forms behave like omens because plants have always been read this way across cultures: as quiet indicators of timing, readiness, and internal states. A bloom, a mutation, a mirrored petal often tells more than a spoken sentence.
Sacred Flora and the Language of Signs
Historically, plants have functioned as messengers long before they became motifs. In Slavic folklore, in Mediterranean herbal traditions, in medieval bestiaries and grimoires, plants were read as moral, spiritual, and emotional indicators. Certain flowers warned, others protected, others marked thresholds between worlds. I’m drawn to this way of seeing flora as active participants rather than passive symbols. In my drawings, flowers inherit this role. They don’t illustrate myths. They behave mythically.
Mythical Flowers as Emotional Prophecy
The florals I draw rarely resemble real species. They stretch, repeat, mutate, and mirror themselves. This is intentional. Mythical flowers don’t exist to be identified. They exist to be felt. Their exaggerated symmetry, unnatural colours, and impossible growth patterns turn them into emotional forecasts. Not predictions of events, but indications of internal movement. Something is ripening. Something is splitting. Something is holding.
Symmetry, Mirroring, and Omen Logic
Many of my botanical compositions rely on symmetry and mirroring. This isn’t decorative balance. It’s a structural signal. In folk logic, repetition often marks importance. When a form appears twice, it asks to be noticed. Mirrored plants suggest moments of alignment or confrontation, when inner and outer states reflect each other. This is where omen logic enters. The image doesn’t shout. It repeats quietly until recognition happens.
Colour as Prophetic Atmosphere
Colour plays a crucial role in how these botanical omens operate. Acid greens, blood reds, nocturnal blues, and luminous pinks don’t function as aesthetic choices alone. They create emotional weather. A red flower in my work doesn’t warn of danger in a literal sense, but it does indicate pressure, heat, or intensity that cannot be ignored. Pale greens and lilacs suggest sensitivity or transition. Colour becomes the tone in which the omen speaks.
Plant Wisdom Beyond Explanation
I’m not interested in explaining what each flower “means.” That kind of decoding flattens the experience. Plant wisdom works differently. It’s closer to intuition than interpretation. You don’t analyse an omen. You register it. In my drawings, botanical forms often feel familiar without being recognisable. This familiarity comes from bodily memory rather than knowledge. We know plants as living systems that respond to time, light, damage, and care. My florals carry that same intelligence.
Flowers as Witnesses, Not Decorations
In many of my pieces, flowers function like witnesses. They surround figures, replace faces, or become environments. This positioning matters. The plant is not an accessory to the human presence. It observes, records, and sometimes overtakes it. This reflects older cosmologies where nature was not background, but an active moral and spiritual force. The omen does not belong to the flower alone. It belongs to the relationship between body, plant, and space.
Mutation and the Omen of Change
The slightly unsettling quality some of my botanical drawings carry comes from mutation. Petals multiply. Roots behave like veins. Flowers resemble organs or eyes. This is not about shock. It’s about signalling change. In myth and folklore, mutations often appear before transformation. They mark instability, but also possibility. A mutated flower suggests that something is no longer following the old pattern. That, in itself, is a prophecy.
Why Omens Feel Quiet Rather Than Dramatic
Real omens are rarely loud. They appear in repetition, coincidence, and subtle deviation. This is why my botanical imagery tends to feel contained rather than explosive. The prophecy is embedded, not announced. You notice it slowly. It stays with you. This slowness is important to me. It respects the way intuition actually works, through accumulation rather than revelation.
The Viewer as Participant in the Omen
My work doesn’t deliver a finished message. It sets up a condition. The omen completes itself through the viewer’s attention. What you notice first, what unsettles or attracts you, becomes part of the reading. This is why I consider these florals omens rather than symbols. Symbols point outward. Omens activate inward response.
Botanical Omens as Contemporary Myth
In a world saturated with data and explanation, I’m interested in restoring a quieter form of knowing. Botanical omens allow for that. They bring mythic logic into contemporary visual language without nostalgia. These flowers don’t belong to the past. They belong to the present moment of sensing, recognising, and adjusting.
For me, drawing mythical flowers is a way of listening. Each piece is less a statement and more a sign left open. The prophecy is not about what will happen. It’s about what is already asking to be seen.
