beginnings

As a child, I spent a good part of my summers with my grandparents in Duluth, Minnesota. The original ceramic bee was a fixture on a bright- yellow-Formica-topped table in their kitchen with a million-dollar view overlooking Lake Superior. I remember it was always filled with jam that my Grandma Frances made from the raspberries harvested from a patch in her back yard. The bee project evolved out of the childhood memories I have of this time. My relationship with Frances was complex- layered with unspoken dialogues and body language-regardless of my assignment whether it was picking berries or crawling inside and scrubbing out the lower kitchen cupboard- I understood. I knew what was expected and I never questioned why. I think of this experience as similar to living in a hive where female bees work and converse knowing and understanding with an unspoken language found in the silent space that connects them. I think the most direct talks I had with Frances where probably during this time.