JPG Magazine: Stories: Photo Essay: Iris

Iris

By Jessica Martinez

28 May 2008

My grandmother was one of those people that has a sense of nostalgia about her. She passed when I was about 10 years old but her memory is still fresh in my mind. She was the glue to the family as many grandmothers are. Stubborn, peaceful and internally beautiful all were words that described her. She was one of those people that everyone still talks about, one of those people that even though she passed 17 years ago will still bring a tear into her loved ones eyes when she is mentioned. She left a legacy in this world, she touched many hearts as a teacher, a friend, a lover, a mom and a grandmother. Her name was Iris.

My obsession with the flower did not occur merely because that was my grandmothers name, but because of many other encounters in my life. I have found memories of planting Iris's with my grandmother as a child and I was always amazed by their beauty. They bloom like clockwork every year standing proud and tall. In my home state of Michigan they were a breeding ground for ants the big black carpenter ants, I would spend hours watching them crawl in and out of the crevices of the petals. I always wanted to pick them as many young girls do but my mother would never let me bring them into the house, because there was always bugs hiding in them. As I grew into a young artist I had a fascination with Georgia O'Keffe and her large abstract painting of flowers, the Iris in particular.

Later when I gave birth to my daughter I also named her after the beauty of this flower, the beauty of my grandmother, the beauty that lies within the name. As I got out my camera last weekend and began to photograph these magnificant flowers it reminded me of my life, my memories of the hours spent pondering life while watching the ants marching up and down and in and out. Memmories of my loved ones, both my grandma and my daughter. I could spend hours photographing these beauties as millions before me have. It is no coincidence that my grandma or my daughter carry the same name. It carries into their personalities, beautiful inside and out, a little rigid, a little different, intricate, colorful, reliable but most of all proud.