A Hill Country Bouquet

For this artwork, I wanted to highlight my favorite butterfly, the Pipevine Swallowtail, and the native plants essential to its survival. Over the last decade, I have seen a dramatic drop in the number of butterflies and bees in the Texas Hill Country. One of the causes is the overuse of insecticides, pesticides, and herbicides in the area.

Thistles are extremely common in Texas. They have the ability to reproduce and spread quickly, making them difficult to control. Farmers and ranchers must battle them every year to preserve land for crops and cattle. An effective but time-consuming method is to cut the top flower off the plant so it cannot spread seeds. However, many people turn to the easier and quicker method of spraying herbicides to kill the plants. This method is effective, but it also kills other plants, flowers, and grasses. It seeps into the ground, killing larvae and poisoning caterpillars in the area.

This piece showcases the beauty and necessity of thistle plants. They are a vital source of food for pollinators. By poisoning these plants, the number of pollinators and other wildflowers is decreasing drastically. It is important to find a balance between natural, untamed land and plowed, cultivated land. We need pollinators; therefore, we need the weeds and flowers essential to their survival.

My artist reference for this piece is Victoria Ford. She focuses her work on animals and their interaction with the environment around them. Her use of fine detail creates intricate patterns that reflect textures found in the natural world. In some of her pieces, she depicts animals “breaking out” of the printed frame. This approach felt appropriate for this project because I wanted people’s perception of the thistle to also “break out” of its categorization as a weed. Thistles can be annoying and difficult, but, like the butterflies and Indian paintbrushes in the composition, they are also extremely beautiful

My relationship with the Lord is quiet, sacred, and deeply treasured. To be fully known by God—and still deeply loved—is a joy beyond words, a peace that settles gently within my soul. To follow Him is to grow each day in His likeness, to reflect His light in both word and deed. This in turn guides others softly toward the warmth of His love.

The colors and design of this print are inspired by the radiant stained glass windows of Trinity Lutheran Church in Stonewall, Texas. This place holds a special space in my heart, woven with memories of moments both monumental and meaningful. The windows have always filled me with a feeling of immense peace, casting light and color in a way that feels almost heavenly—bringing me quiet joy each time I look at them.

Creating art that reflects God’s love is the purpose set upon my heart. It is my prayer that this gentle little lamb might offer you a moment of stillness, a breath of peace, and a sense of closeness with Him.

In 2020, my parents and I were in the process of moving to Granby, Colorado, when the East Troublesome Fire began just 32 miles away in Kremmling. My father and I were in Texas finalizing the move, while my mother was in Granby starting her new job at the hospital. As the fire grew rapidly, we were told that only a worst-case scenario would put Granby in danger. Still, my family waited anxiously to hear whether my mother would need to evacuate.

A couple of days later, my mother called while driving down the mountain. Overnight, the fire had grown from 10,000 acres to more than 100,000 acres, generating its own weather and spreading faster than firefighters could contain it. Evacuation was the only option. Residents packed what they could, loaded animals into trailers, and headed down the mountain, hoping to return to their homes still standing. Many did not. The scars of the East Troublesome Fire still mark the landscape today.

In March of 2025, my family faced another wildfire—this time in Texas. We had moved back to be closer to family. When the fire started, it was located between my parents, sister, uncle, and grandmother. No matter which direction it spread, someone in my family would have been forced to evacuate. Although the fire was eventually contained before reaching our land, several homes, farms, and cattle herds were lost.

After both fires, as people returned to their homes, something else had gotten there first: owls. Highly adaptable and resilient, owls are among the first animals to return to fire-damaged areas. They are capable hunters, protective and attentive, and can thrive under these conditions. For me, they symbolize hope and the rebuilding of life from the ashes.

This project explores the impact humans have on the world around them. Both fires were caused by human accidents—the East Troublesome Fire by the improper use of a camp stove during a burn ban, and the Lower Crabapple Fire likely by a vehicle parked in tall grass or a discarded cigarette. Although these fires destroyed land and homes, they also brought communities together. Like owls, people are adaptable and resilient. Even in the wake of devastating accidents, we come together to support one another and rebuild.