To eloquently describe oneself is no simple feat. It requires you to consider who exactly you are – which is ironic given that, to the daily mind it’s often a resounding mystery. Of course, there are the facts that comprise our nature - our place of birth; our current residence; our choice of love but those are simply the envelope we’ve made for ourselves; not our reason for being. It might seem elusive but there are cues to be found; cues in the common threads woven through thoughts and actions - the unspoken obsessions, or compelling idiosyncrasies that allude to inner workings.
And what of myself; I’m an Australian, currently living on the East Coast with my husband. I’m also a former architect with a proclivity for procrastination and wild imaginings. I bare many contradictions; I’m a romantic and a realist; an introvert wearing my heart on my sleeve, a perfectionist draw to the beauty of attrition; the imperfect and the uninhibited. I’m in the youthful years of my life but my soul is old. I’m restless and wayward; discontent to settle ordinarily but eager to live artfully slow. There’s a chaos to my mind. I’d like to think it the mastered kind but there’s no denying it often takes over; like water running downhill channelling the earth unpredictably; I’m ever in motion.
I’m enthralled by the untouchable aspects of life. The ephemeral moments, thoughts and endeavours. Humankind is a mysterious beast. There are so many facets to our existence that my mind aches with the bigness of it all. I’m not a scholar or philosopher and certainly no revolutionary but to dwell and nest and gather is the crux of what I understand to be my raison d'être. It’s what drew me to architecture and it’s certainly what compels me creatively. I feel like there are many who hunger for such notions too. Notions of simplicity sought in the beauty and humanness of occasion and of daily life. In pleasure and sorrow and space.
The Botanical Kitchen is my tiny atlas. A place for pondering and stories and plates. It’s everything and entirely nothing; a corner that documents stolen moments and thoughts. It’s appreciation for gestures, places and food. A visual illustration. An examined life. Most of it takes place around the table because food is a home that stills me.
It’s such a wonderful folly; food, it’s our culture; our history; our sustenance. It’s the best of us and the worst of us. From the perfection of a risen soufflé to the tragedy of a broken yolk it’s the whole human experience; a common language irrelevant of tongue or class. Our tables are the epitome of such beauty and when we consider them with care they become a place made of themselves. A temporary shelter. Built and adorned we gather ourselves around them. They might be dismantled or moved or separated by time, culture and distance but we come back again and again and again. It’s that reverence; that theatre and that familiarity that enthrals me.
As I started; no one is easily defined so I doubt the notion of ones reason for being is something small. It might be a common thread that weaves together happiness or a series of work that brings contentment. It’s likely to transform and reveal itself in different ways, but its nurture can serve as undercurrent. The art of gathering; the art of life; it’s mundanity and daily ritual; it’s ceremony and it’s beauty is my irrational obsession. A pursuit that meanders I give you but one that compels me nonetheless. The Botanical Kitchen then is merely a place I’ve created to let it free.
For enquiries and an introduction which a little less whimsy head here.