Grief in Bloom
Yana Northen • 30 June 2025
Grief in Bloom
I picked a poppy in the garden and brought it home. I don’t know why or what guided me.
When I took it apart into tiny pieces and laid them out on the table, I realised how beautiful it had been before — but now the poppy looked completely different.
A sudden thought flashed through my mind… How much we resemble each other!
I started reading about the origin of poppies, and the first thing I came across was the myth of Demeter.
The sacred symbol of Demeter — poppies — has long been associated with her; they grew among the wheat fields and were one of her attributes.
Persephone, the daughter of Demeter and Zeus, was abducted by Hades, the god of the underworld, while she was gathering flowers with the nymphs. After her daughter’s disappearance, Demeter wandered the earth in deep sorrow — for nine days and nights, as described in the "Homeric Hymn to Demeter" — and poppies are said to have grown where she walked.
In another version of the myth, it is said that Hypnos, the god of sleep, created poppies himself to comfort Demeter...
Now I’m beginning to understand that growing poppies in my garden for three years after my husband’s death —
was my unconscious farewell, my inner mourning.
A reflection on waiting and uncertainty, where fragile moments and strange images reveal the inner echoes of the soul through photography.
A reflection on freedom and choice within life’s limits, inspired by Camus’ absurd: finding meaning through our actions despite mortality.
Capturing the invisible: wind, time, and fleeting moments. A reflection on memory, life, and eternity in a breath.
Thoughts on time, life’s fleeting moments, and discovering your inner compass amidst the rush of days.
Honouring my uncle’s memory through art, music, and the wisdom he shared about living life to the fullest.
Exploring how flowers, emotions, and images intersect — one layer of reality over another.
A brief reflection on change, loss, and quiet presence. How one bare tree in a blooming garden became a reminder that everything passes, everything moves — and sometimes, the most important thing we can do is simply be.
A quiet morning. A small mirror. A body, remembered.
In this letter-like reflection, I explore what happens when we pause long enough to truly meet ourselves. Through a series of movements — gaze, touch, presence — I reconnect with my body not as an object, but as a part of me that feels, remembers, and responds.
This is a continuation of the project A Conversation with My Body — where photography and words become a form of healing, presence, and quiet truth.
A quiet meditation on memory, loss, and what remains of us when we’re gone. Through a daughter’s gesture and the few objects left behind — old photographs, a worn belt, and a watch — this story reflects on how life continues in traces, in light, in dust, in love remembered. Accompanied by a symbolic photograph capturing the intimacy of this moment.
A deeply personal letter from the body to the self — an invitation to listen, feel, and reconnect. This message speaks about pain, silence, self-compassion, and the unbreakable bond between mind and body.