There was a honeysuckle bush at the end of the lane by our house. My Brother, my Cousins and I would go to it before we would head down to the ravine. We would reach up, pull the heads off the flowers and suck out the nectar. Some memories become small and distant with time, dissipating like the sound of scared birds as they fly away from you. This memory is not that. It is as big in my face as those blossoms I would pick as I crawled deeper into the bush to get at them. These dresses are those flowers and the representation of that event… The dresses are completely enclosed and connected to a pair of it's own scissors, ready for the owner to cut out, and get into. They are hung together on a garment rack; a retelling of the honeysuckle bush.
Gordon Lane
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