Dana Falconberry - Monotropa uniflora

Spring Equinox 2023

Dana Falconberry is an artist and musician living in Northern Michigan and West Texas. She grew up dancing classical ballet and modern dance in Dearborn, MI before attending Hendrix College in Arkansas. In college she studied songwriting, which prompted her move to Austin in 2005. After touring, recording, and leading a band for over a decade, she now finds herself focused on visual art. She worked for 6 years as a lead stitcher/designer at Fort Lonesome, a custom chainstitch embroidery company based in Austin. She is now focusing on her own art including landscape paintings, chainstitched wall hangings, and linoleum block prints. Her work draws on the natural world, often including supernatural elements playing with the concepts of time and the effects of humankind on natural landscapes, and aims to connect the viewer to the land around them.

danafalconberry.com

I first stumbled (literally) upon the Ghost Pipe, Monotropa uniflora, on a hike in one of my favorite Lake Michigan forests. I was immediately struck by its strange beauty, having seen nothing like it before. Upon learning more about this elusive plant, my fascination with it has only grown.

The Ghost Pipe is a highly medicinal plant, often used for helping with epilepsy and PTSD, and also helpful in times of transition or great loss; it is a healer. It is indeed a flower, though it lacks chlorophyll and instead draws its nutrients from the roots of trees and the fungi between them without starving either; it is a secret and determined survivor. It pushes its shoulders through the forest decay after the rains to stand strong with frail petals among the pines; it is a proud and humble warrior.

I began my attempts at capturing the Ghost Pipe years ago, focusing on its frail translucence and pale glow. I have used all mediums available to me (linocut, painting, chainstitch embroidery) to portray its visionary essence. When I was diagnosed with breast cancer in June of 2022, it was no surprise to me that I turned again to this healer, this survivor, this warrior. What came pouring out of me now though, instead of the white and glowing portrayals of the Ghost Pipe in its prime, was the autumnal version of the flower. In the fall as the Ghost Pipe dies, its luminescent body furls and browns, becoming a hardened and shriveled stalk. Throughout my cancer treatment I found myself leaning heavily on this form of the Ghost Pipe.

Here then is my wrestling with the realms. And here is the Ghost Pipe as my steadfast guide through the nebulous, terrible, gorgeous and fragile dance between life and death.