When I was a child I remember feeling an immense calm when studying fungus on the forest floor. They seemed so intelligent – sitting calmly with autumns annual death march all around them. I admired the staunch presence of a large fat mushroom with a heavy cap or the way a fuzzy mould reached it’s little hairs to the sun – all seemed to be celebrating life and accepting death, like little Buddhas.
My work life has brought up lots of thoughts about mortality lately (I work with seniors). The mushrooms willingness to sit with death and glow with unique vibrancy during their short lives has been so inspiring to me this autumn.
I wanted to create a fantastical piece about the fungus world. What is it like to know their wisdom?