Art Letters

Native to South America, the Bougainvillea plant - as enjoyable to look at as it is to say - has been a favorite since childhood. My Mom grew them in my childhood home in west Texas. Every spring I’d watch them thrive, not knowing the care she took to keep them alive during the winter.

Decades later, she asked if I wanted to try my hand at growing my own. Before gifting two of her plants, she advised, for the bougainvillea to thrive outside it’s native environment, it must be cut back annually.

I didn’t anticipate however, their brown branches post winter-pruning, leaving me with waning trust in their rebound.

I’d later learn what appeared dead was simply dormant. Shifting worry to the quiet action of attention, I began watching them daily for signs of spring progress.

While many of the brown branches remained, I noticed new leaves slowly sprouting from the base.

I tended to them throughout the summer, worried as the heat threatened. I looked daily for the signals of their pink blossoms, only to be met by more leaves. Wishful for flowers, I questioned, when will you bloom?

I began doubting I had the right capabilities, or knowledge, or conditions to grow.

And then -

A single, vibrant, proud bloom emerged.

As I put down my brushes, I remembered a phrase, used often by my husband’s family from Jamaica.

Soon Come.

As Dominique Gebru describes -

a phrase that we would come to understand, resent and eventually, maybe appreciate.

“Soon come” is a brilliant display of the value of time. It means, “it will come,” and that could literally mean soon, eventually, next week, soon enough, or it might mean that enough time will pass such that you’ll forget you were waiting for something.

When will it bloom?

Soon Come.

SOON COME
93 x 41 Triptych, Acrylic on Canvas, Framed in Maple
Mont Art House

Thank you for personally connecting with me through this work. May your wishes, aligned with you, soon come.