Furari Flores – the exhibition 2024

Enter a world of multisensory botanical magic and join the artist on a journey of deep listening, Earth admiration and plant love.

First exhibited at the University of Southern Queensland Art Gallery between 8 January to 16 February 2024. 
Listen to the audiobook catalogue for free here. Buy the catalogue here.

Acknowledgement of Country

I acknowledge that the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people are the first people and original storytellers of this nation. To Elders past, present, emerging and future, I pay my respects. I acknowledge the Traditional Custodians of the land, water and skies throughout Australia, including those where I live, work and journey. I acknowledge Country as my guide, protector and provider. 

I acknowledge the cultural diversity of all Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples, and celebrate their continued living cultures. I honour the continuous connection and contribution of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples to Country, community and culture. Sovereignty has never been ceded. This land always was, and always will be, Aboriginal land. 

Furari Flores – Cara-Ann Simpson, teaser video by Ben Tupas 2024

Stay tuned for the video documentary of Furari Flores exhibition at UniSQ Art Gallery produced by Ben Tupas.

The fragile vanity of death

In 2017, I went through living-death, where my body was a battleground. My immune system turned on my brain to wage war on its friends, its allies. After several months of hospitalisation, my medical team discovered I had a severe brain infection. I was later diagnosed with multiple sclerosis and neurosarcoidosis – both are neurodegenerative diseases.

During 2018, I began my new life, emerging from that living death. I was a fragile, vulnerable thing – not quite human, not quite nothing. In my beginning, I fumbled, stumbled and bled sorrow over the life I had lost, grieving my death. There is a vanity that coexists with death. The romanticised ideal of a peaceful, heroic or rebellious death, that allows a person to ‘go out on their terms’. Reality is rather different, and in my experiences with death, that vanity is fragile, shattering at the first turn. It is a human thing to create vanity around an inevitable event like death. The grief that comes from the loss of a self is unique in its misery and expansiveness. That grief is at odds with society and is unknowable by any but those who have experienced it.

These experiences led me to look outward and towards nature. In bringing that back to death, I now see the potential of death for new life, to support others, and give back to the earth that has given to me. Fragili vanitatem mortis (the fragile vanity of death) 2020 was one of the first resolved artworks forming ‘Furari Flores’. I started this work in 2018 as I emerged from my living death into a new life. My body felt like a shell. It was not mine, nor was my mind the one I knew. I sought to make sense of the world, and found that flowers and plants were a way to build a soul and understand death as simply part of a living, evolving cycle.

I have a vague memory of taking the yellow grevillea from a neighbour’s garden in Pakenham (Victoria), where Michael and I lived after my hospital discharge. Part of my ongoing physical rehabilitation was walking and learning to move through pain and fatigue. It felt like a new purgatory, but I wasn’t sure of my sins. In those years, 2018-19, I had constant nerve pain, like centipedes running up and down my spine, into my limbs and across my face. Fragili vanitatem mortis (the fragile vanity of death) represents the sharp pain of my nervous system fighting against my body and mind. The nerve-like spine that connects the two flowers reveals this pain and its irresistible pull. This keystone work is a summation of my journey through living death to a new life that started by stealing flowers for my rehabilitation and rebirth.

Rewritten from Cara-Ann Simpson (2023), ‘Listening to Earth’s Stories’, in Martin-Chew, L. et al, Furari Flores. Haden: Cara-Ann Simpson, pp. 68.

audite abyssi I (listen to the deep I) 2021
pigment print on Canson baryta photographique rag
76.2 x 76.2cm

Plant: Mansoa alliaceum (garlic vine)

I listen to the depth of the earth–
The deep slow breaths and cyclic patterns
That happen beneath the surface underfoot
And in the centre of our souls.

deflorationis fides tua virtus (deflowering faith by your virtue) 2019
pigment print on Canson baryta photographique rag
40.0 x 40.0cm

Plant: Justicia carnea (Brazilian plume)

cadere in amore cum anima terrae II (to fall in love with the soul of the earth II) 2021
pigment print on Canson baryta photographique rag
40.0 x 40.0cm

Plant: Eucalyptus torquata (coral gum)

Spiritus Terrae

One of the Latin words I love is ‘spiritus’. It has the dual meaning of ‘spirit’ and ‘breath’. It hits me hard in the chest, resonating with the truth of those two things being agreeable to the same term. Here, on my family’s farm, there is a plant that speaks to me of the Earth’s spiritus, Hovea Lorata. During late winter, after the first flush of warmth, they burst into bloom, expanding the plant like a lung filled with air, or a physical presence of the Earth’s spirit. They grow under the canopy of tall Corymbia citriodora subsp variegata (spotted gums).

Here, hovea represent the spirit and breath of the earth. They survive against the odds, yet when your back is turned small pieces have fallen, gently and quietly, to return to earth. These works are a reminder of our Earth’s fierce regenerative spirit that is now falling and failing under humanity’s pursuit of progress and capitalism.

spiritus terrae leniter et quiete cadit (the spirit of the earth falls gently and quietly) 2023
video, 6:03

Plant: Hovea lorata (hovea/purple pea bush)

spiritus terrae vitam (breathing earth’s life) 2023
custom-designed scent, nebuliser, recycled PLA filament

confluentes animarum (confluence of souls) 2023
recycled microfibre
300.0 x 130.0cm

Plant: Acacia conferta (crowded-leaf wattle)

Beauty in grief & death

This work, made in the aftermath of a death, is that fierce grip of the ephemeral beauty of life and the evasion of fleeting memories. Here, in this murky mire I linger between grief, remembrance, and a changed future.

The grief that comes from the earthly reality of a life’s end tears apart the incorporeal self. A catalyst of disruption shaping and changing future paths. The botanical circlet dates back millennia, symbolising peace, honour and power, while the ironbark reflects an iron will, beauty, strength, and connection to place. Eddie, as his name suggested, was our guardian and a wealth of love. Soaring above and shielding beneath is a spectrograph of the title spoken in Latin.

Dr Louise Martin-Chew says of the work:
[This work] …uses the image of Eucalyptus sideroxylon rosea (pink-flowering iron bark) to memorialise and remember Simpson’s dog Eddie, whose face is captured with ghostly subtlety within the wreath. The spectrograph analysis of the spoken Latin title is a blaze of orange on either side with pink strobing lines that electrify the black background. The circlet evokes the lengthy tradition of floral wreaths, and the strength of the ironwood Eddie’s will and influence in the corporeal world. The preciously ephemeral nature of life, represented by the tendrils of leaves and flowers, contrasts with the straightness of the spectrograph lines and blackness behind.   

Excerpt from Dr Louise Martin-Chew (2023), ‘Furari Flores (Stealing Flowers)’, in Martin-Chew, L. et al, Furari Flores. Haden: Cara-Ann Simpson, p. 14.

Petrichor: the smell of earth & rain

[This scent] …for me [Cat Jones] is extraterrestrial, meteorite, rock, spice, watery, dank rock, a grotto of tears, ozone, a border between atmospheres. It sends me outward, out of body, like a disassociation, that might accompany pronouncement of a diagnosis, launching a new map of the future. The sculpture housing this scent contains iron filament. It represents the red soil composition of the family farm where Simpson lives, which in turn influences the unique profile of the petrichor note she has constructed. Geosmin, a volatile chemical produced by Streptomyces bacteria, reacts with the iron in the soil (and the eucalypt forest) in a particular way at this site. A similar scent to that produced by iron reacting, to contact with human skin – like the smell of blood.

Excerpt from Cat Jones (2023), ‘Reaggragating a Body’, in Martin-Chew, L. et al, Furari Flores. Haden: Cara-Ann Simpson, p. 42.

Anatomy of a voice

Where others might see wreaths of grief in works such as carpe omnia, sed relinquo nihil (seize everything, but leave nothing), mutantur narrationis exsequitur, tua veritas I (changing the narrative, into your truth I), and ut audiat vocem dei terrae I (listening to the voice of the earth I), I see the anatomy of vocal folds, pictured from above, inside the throat. From between the chords, sounds and notes emanate with the breath-like transparencies of spectrographs. Bird song flies through these arrangements suggesting specific multi-species relationships, but also making me imagine Simpson, learning to talk again as part of her recovery. Perhaps these images are asking when will the land, the Country recover its voice?

Excerpt from Cat Jones (2023), ‘Reaggragating a Body’, in Martin-Chew, L. et al, Furari Flores. Haden: Cara-Ann Simpson, p. 35.

mutantur narrationis exsequitur, tua veritas I (changing the narrative, into your truth I) 2021
pigment print on Canson baryta photographique rag
76.2 x 76.2cm

Plant: Eucalyptus sp. (mallee gum)

As we navigate a way into an unknown future, we are granted the endless opportunity to also look back – to see the past with present eyes, understand it anew, and find our truths. So often this means changing a narrative that has been committed to writing. Fighting against text that is accepted, endorsed and taught. Challenging the accepted is a far more difficult task, than writing an acceptable version of events for the very first time.

Persausive, pervasive invasive

There are a few works in the series dedicated to persuasive and pervasive plant invaders. Curiously, many of these featured species are associated with mythology, witchcraft, and spirituality. This was not a conscious intention, only revealing itself after further research. Humans are the primary source of these plants’ introduction to the Australian landscape. Plants themselves cannot relocate continent to continent – they are reliant on animals, weather and humans….

[This work features a] … water lily [that] has naturalised across eastern Australian coastal regions.¹ In this work, I draw upon the Greek mythology of lotus-eaters, immortalised in Homer’s epic poem, The Odyssey.² Lotophagi no longer wish to return to their lives of labour after eating lotus fruit. Blissful forgetfulness overcomes them. The Lotophagi mythology has long fascinated me. Lotophagi, historically thought to be foolish and unproductive, found their lives fulfilling. Lotophagi do not seek to break ground, make discoveries, or yearn for accomplishment. For me, there is a lesson to find joy in the surrounding world, and be present to the Earth’s quiet gifts.

Excerpt from Cara-Ann Simpson (2023), ‘Listening to Earth’s Stories’, in Martin-Chew, L. et al, Furari Flores. Haden: Cara-Ann Simpson, pp. 76-77.

[1] Identic Pty Ltd, ‘Nymphaea caerulea’, Weeds of Australia 2016, accessed 15 September 2023 < https://keyserver.lucidcentral.org/weeds/data/media/Html/nymphaea_caerulea.htm>.

[2] Homer, The Odyssey (c. 8^th century) translated by Samuel Butler (1999), Project Gutenberg, accessed 04 January 2023, https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/1727/pg1727-images.html. See Book IX.

toxicus ossa (toxic bones) 2023
pigment print on Canson baryta photographique rag
76.2 x 76.2cm

Plant: Lycium ferocissimum (African boxthorn)

Notions of geometry through symmetry are all around us, however, we only see an object not the individual components that make up its whole. For example, take a walk in your neighbourhood and you will see basic symmetrical principles or ordered shape work in the flora you find. There are all sorts of shapes found in flora. Conifers are in the shape of cones, dew drops that coalesce on the leaves of plants are spheres, and salt granules are perfect cubes. Fractals are naturally occurring patterns that you can find in nature, such as succulent growth spirals and ferns, or in how tree branches grow. Dropping a pebble into a pond, circles ripple out in repeated fashion, or the rings that circle one another on a tree stump. These are all concentric circles, which are nature’s repetitive geometry that vary in size but share the same centre. They circle each other, growing out and getting bigger and bigger, such as the ripple on the pond. All these elements can be viewed in the work of Cara-Ann where the photographic images compositionally move out but are always looking back in, in a process of back and forth, drawing the viewer to roam and return within the composition that captures erosion in stasis, and multiplicity within the singular.

Excerpt from A/Prof Kyle Jenkins (2023), ‘Erosion in Stasis’, in Martin-Chew, L. et al, Furari Flores. Haden: Cara-Ann Simpson, p. 80.

The artist writes about ubique invasores (pervasive invaders):

The Wardian case is responsible for the dispersal of many plants across the Earth, with both positive and negative consequences. For example, consider the positive value of food crops and their ability to establish and feed communities. Or, the cultural and educational value of ornamental species in household and botanic gardens.

Conversely, the negative side of this plant economy and globalisation, include the unknown consequences of bringing plants and soil to new ecologies. Consider the detrimental impact of lantana and African box thorn in regional Queensland. Or, the devastating effect that African tulip trees have on the native stingless bee population.¹ And, the more recent catastrophe of accidentally introducing phytophtora, a soil pathogen, to the Bunya Mountains National Park that is killing ancient Bunya pines.² Or, the accelerating spread of fire ants in Australia, often through organic garden and livestock products, or inorganic materials.³

So often humanity acts before understanding the consequences of the action. We thrive on activity, on progress defined by sociocultural norms, and on the construction of abstract systems that maintain a sense of order. Sometimes, we perceive, far too late, the dire consequences that our actions have on the environment that is also our only chance right now to survive. Yet, the environment continues to persevere, revealing its mystical powers of regeneration.

Excerpt from Cara-Ann Simpson (2023), ‘Listening to Earth’s Stories’, in Martin-Chew, L. et al, Furari Flores. Haden: Cara-Ann Simpson, p. 80.

 [2] Queensland Government, ‘African tulip tree’, Department of Agriculture and Fisheries 2023, fact sheet, accessed 10 October 2023 < https://www.daf.qld.gov.au/__data/assets/pdf_file/0007/52846/african-tulip-tree.pdf>.

[3] Jo Khan, ‘Ancient bunya trees in Queensland are dying from an invasive soil-borne disease’, ABC News, 10 December 2019, accessed 20 August 2022.

[4] Queensland Government, ‘How fire ants spread’, National Fires Ant Eradication Program, accessed 10 October 2023 < https://www.fireants.org.au/stop-the-spread/how-fire-ants-spread>.

Of home and place

The works in this section feature plants that grow in or near the bushland where I live and work. They are the tenacious survivors, some are prickly and compact, while others seek to attract pollinators with savoury and sweet scents. They are a reflection of the earth that they grow in, the iron-rich, clay-heavy soil and gravel that I love so dearly.

amor terrenus (earthly love) 2023
recycled microfibre
220.0 x 390.0

Plants: Acacia podalyriifolia (Queensland silver wattle), Corymbia citriodora subsp variegata (spotted gum), Pittosporum angustifolium (gumbi gumbi)

Furari Flores 2023
NZ wool mix handwoven rug
250.0 x 250.0cm

Plants: Grevillea robusta (silky oak), Xerochrysum bracteatum (Golden Everlasting), Ozothamnus diosmifolius (rice flower)

odorem perditae memoriae (the scent of a lost memory) 2023
recycled microfibre
300.0 x 125.0cm

Plant: Carissa spinarum (conkerberry)

procidens per aerem (falling through air) 2023 
recycled microfibre
300.0 x 530.0cm

Plants: Flindersia xanthoxyla (yellowwood ash), Hovea lorata (purple pea bush), Melaleuca linariifolia (snow in summer paperbark), Glycine sp. (lover’s twine)

narratio regenerationis (the narrative of rebirth) 2022
video, 5:48

Plant: Acacia podalyriifolia (Queensland silver wattle)

regeneratio spei sub floribus aureis (a rebirth of hope under golden flowers) 2022
pigment print on Canson baryta photographique rag
120.0 x 120.0cm

Plant: Acacia macradenia (zigzag wattle)

This work is like a moth opening its wings and sweeping upwards towards a bright future. It reflects the tentative hope of shifting sociocultural values and the political landscape. Featuring Acacia macradenia (zigzag wattle) and a spectrograph (visual analysis of sound), the sensory delight of the wattle is embedded in the image like a synaesthetic pop.

de terra: nos crescere et reditus (from the earth: we grow and return) 2022
video, 6:18

Plant: Pittosporum angustifolium (gumbi gumbi)

Cycles of life & healing plants

[This work’s soundscape] …comprises footsteps on dried grass. That crunch, crunch…crunch. You can hear the flutter of birds, the song of currawongs. The kaleidoscope images are joyful, as the artist intended. She is heeding [Michael] Marder’s advice¹ and revelling in the cycles of life, as they happen. This work also heeds an aesthetic of care. The work includes gumbi gumbi plants which is a type of bush medicine used extensively by Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples in Australia for aeons.

Excerpt from Dr Prudence Gibson (2023), ‘Furari Flores (Stealing Flowers)’, in Martin-Chew, L. et al, Furari Flores. Haden: Cara-Ann Simpson, p. 29.

¹ [Michael] Marder says that in this current epoch, death no longer represents or assures new life for all species. Once a triumphant and a worthy opponent for masterful humans, Earth is now a victim.

Gibson referring to: Michael Marder, The Phoenix Complex (2023), MIT Press, Cambridge, Mass.

illic est nemo adhuc stantes in lutum (there is no standing still in the dirt) I.I 2023
video, 5:00

Plant: Backhousia citriodora (lemon myrtle)

stultitia repetita replicationem (the folly of repetitive replication) I.I 2023
video, 5:00

Plant: Eucalyptus sp. (pink flowering gum)

Falling in love with the soul of the Earth

[This work] transforms grey leaves and a red flower into a wreath shape. A veil of coloured lines descends down the picture plane like tears over the black background, with a sense that you may fall deep into its darkness, yet held back by the subtle beauty of this tiny flower from Eucalyptus torquata (coral gum). For Simpson, it speaks to the transformative experience she had on Country with Jarowair Traditional Custodians. In this situation she found truths ‘evoked that I cannot verbalise’ when she ‘fell in love again with the soul of the earth, drinking in these moments, this tree’.¹

Excerpt from Dr Louise Martin-Chew (2023), ‘Furari Flores (Stealing Flowers)’, in Martin-Chew, L. et al, Furari Flores. Haden: Cara-Ann Simpson, p. 11.

[1] Cara-Ann Simpson, Unpublished notes on artworks, 2023.

intra corpus putre ruina vitae I (inside the body’s crumbling ruin on life I) 2021
pigment print on Canson baryta photographique rag
76.2 x 76.2cm

Plant: Eucalyptus sp. (cream flowering ironbark)

Power of plants & place

This work is a celebration of returning to heart’s home: the joy, fulfilment and healing nature of place. Here I am grounded, deeply connected to the earth and sky. The plant is Gumbi Gumbi (pittosporum angustifolium), which grows across many areas of Australia. Scientific research demonstrates it has health benefits as a detoxifier, blood pressure regulator, immune system booster and antiviral, among others. In the face of a viral pandemic Gumbi Gumbi is a symbol of hope and a reminder to remain grounded in the face of adversity. Gumbi gumbi is a beautiful weeping tree – lyrical, medicinal and a peacock within the bush. Through the title, I remind myself that all medicine comes from our earth in some form or another.

stultitia repetita replicationem II (the folly of repetitive replication II) 2020
pigment print on Canson baryta photographique rag
76.2 x 76.2cm

Plant: Eucalyptus sp. (pink flowering gum)

Sensory overload

The sensory overload that characterises modern life and its digital busyness is the subject of aures repleti bombacio: de realis fantasy quaerimus II (ears filled with cotton: seeking the real fantasy II), 2020, featuring the Hibiscus tiliaceus rubra (red cottonwood tree). A small branch of leaves, featuring two small flowers on each side of the image, drip luminosity over the dark background. The sight, sound and scent of flowers and trees is used to replace the less substantive content we are so often drawn to, over-refined and synthetic. In her capture of this tree she looks to the physical and spiritual sustenance offered in nature’s reality.

Excerpt from Dr Louise Martin-Chew (2023), ‘Furari Flores (Stealing Flowers)’, in Martin-Chew, L. et al, Furari Flores. Haden: Cara-Ann Simpson, p. 11.

consummatio et restitutio – exolvuntur sine fine (consumption and restoration – an endless cycle) 2020
pigment print on Canson baryta photographique rag
76.2 x 76.2cm

Plant: Callistemon viminalis (weeping red bottlebrush)

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