Organic Horror as Emotional Language
When I think about Suspiria, one of the elements that stays with me most is its organic horror—the sense that bodies, environments, and unseen forces are connected through something living and visceral. The film’s use of sinewy textures, pulsing colour, and bodily metaphor creates a feeling that transformation happens from the inside out. In my artwork, I translate that emotional intensity into twisting botanical forms that carry their own internal life. Rather than depicting literal body horror, I allow roots, veins, and petals to suggest that change is happening beneath the surface, quietly but powerfully.
Roots as Unseen Narratives
Roots have always fascinated me because they operate in secrecy. Suspiria often hints at hidden structures controlling the visible world, and roots mirror that idea perfectly. In my pieces, roots curl and tighten like subconscious threads, holding emotional histories that viewers can feel but not fully decode. Their movement implies connection, memory, and entanglement. The viewer senses that something important is happening underground—not sinister, but charged with potential. This echoes the film’s tension between beauty and threat, where the unseen becomes the source of transformation.
Veins as Lifelines and Warnings
Vein-like structures in my botanicals carry dual meaning. They resemble delicate networks sustaining growth, yet they also reference vulnerability and exposure. In Suspiria, colours travel like blood flow, signaling emotional shifts. I use similar logic by letting veins glow or darken, acting as visual indicators of internal states. A bright vein may suggest awakening or intuition, while a shadowed one hints at emotional heaviness. This interplay becomes a symbolic system where the viewer reads the artwork almost physiologically, sensing its pulse.
Floral Transformation and Fairytale Logic
The dark fairytale atmosphere of Suspiria resonates deeply with how I treat transformation in my work. Flowers that open into unfamiliar shapes or petals that sharpen into tooth-like edges embody that uncanny shift from beauty to strangeness. Fairytales often use metamorphosis to reveal truths, and I approach floral transformation in the same way. A bloom that twists unexpectedly invites reflection: what emotional change is unfolding? The logic is intuitive rather than literal, allowing the artwork to feel both magical and psychologically grounded.
Twisting Botanicals as Emotional Bodies
In my visual language, botanicals function almost like bodies. Their curves evoke movement, tension, and sensation. A stem stretching upward may feel like longing, while a spiraling vine suggests introspection or constriction. Suspiria’s choreography and flowing camera movements inspire this sense of bodily motion. The plants seem to breathe, stretch, or recoil, embodying emotional responses without human figure. This allows viewers to project their own feelings onto the forms, creating personal resonance.
Texture as Visceral Atmosphere
Suspiria’s tactile surfaces—the grain of film, the saturated lighting, the dampness implied in its spaces—influence how I build texture. Soft haze and grain in my work create a visceral atmosphere, as if the artwork carries humidity and breath. Texture makes the botanicals feel alive, almost touchable. It evokes the sensation of being close to something organic and slightly unsettling. This tactile quality shifts the artwork from purely visual to almost physical, deepening emotional engagement.
Folklore and Botanical Magic
Many folk traditions assign plants roles as protectors, healers, or carriers of curses. Suspiria taps into similar mythic undercurrents, where environments hold symbolic power. When I incorporate mirrored petals, thorned curls, or glowing seeds, I draw on Slavic and Mediterranean folklore in which botanicals act as magical intermediaries. These forms become talismanic, offering both vulnerability and protection. They reinforce the idea that transformation is ritualistic, rooted in ancient symbolic systems.
Why Botanical Horror Resonates
I continue to explore botanical horror because it allows darkness to feel organic rather than violent. The tension arises from growth, mutation, and emotional evolution. Viewers recognise themselves in these shifting forms, sensing their own internal cycles reflected through twisting vines and glowing seeds. On the wall, the artwork becomes a living presence, holding space for quiet transformation and the mysterious beauty of change.
