The Rise & Fall of the Monarchy

Any gardener will tell you tales of butterflies...if you ask or care to listen. Of course you can find endless stories and myths surrounding these majestic insects on your own. They’ve permeated the human narrative. Across cultures. Covering the globe. We are fascinated by these transformative creatures who have multiple lives and personas and the ability to literally metamorphosize. We’ve attached endless metaphor and symbolism to their mystery.

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I grew up in a veritable forest where caterpillars and butterflies were plentiful. I’ve so many memories of studying them for countless hours. Year after year I captured caterpillars and kept them in an old aquarium, hoping to catch a glimpse of their trickery and unravel their secrets as they transitioned. Of course I never did.

I took it for granted that they were just everywhere. And then I moved...and I rarely saw a caterpillar or a butterfly again.

THE END

Just kidding...

Except that in an ominous way, I’m not. I honestly didn’t see any for many years. I remember noting their absence. And even commenting about it.

Until I started gardening. And it was like being magically transported back to the forest of my childhood.

I once again saw butterflies all of the time. And while I can’t say that I literally buy into the mythologies that accompany them, they do make me feel delightfully joyful right down to my very core. They speak to me on a primal level. As long as I’m willing to listen...

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One day recently, after watering and weeding our tiny, thriving plot, we took a stroll with our cats through the rest of the community garden. The cats suddenly perked up, lunged forward, and began to howl. This is what they saw:

An injured monarch butterfly mourning over a dead one. It was excruciatingly beautiful. As a storyteller and photographer, I couldn’t resist immortalizing the scene so I pulled out my iPhone and began snapping.

But I had no idea what to do with these photos. I archived them, hoping the day would come when their meaning would reveal itself to me.

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Lately I’ve been in a bit of a creative rut. I’m writing. I’m producing and working. But I’ve lacked the level of inspiration I once had. Intellectually I know this is just a phase. Artistically I’ve been a distraught drama queen. But this morning I finally pulled out the photos of the poetic butterfly wake and began editing.

History is peppered with fables and stories about the power of butterflies to inspire. From their color to their patterns to their epic life journey; their habits to their flight to the structure of their wings, these amazing sorcerers have been credited with all manner of science and miracles.

And today I can add my tale to the fold.

As I was editing, an impression of an image began forming in my head. For the first time in ages, I was driven to create a new piece of photo-art.

I wanted to incorporate the sense of mourning and surrender. I wanted to translate it to humans. And I wanted to communicate a ritual of passing. Passing time. Passing life. Passing of power.

I searched through my archives for another photo I could superimpose with the butterflies to effectively tell my story. Eventually I chose these two photos to work with:

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This is a tale of rise & fall. Of ebb and flow. Of the phases and cycles we all live and die by. It’s a story of how when I least expected it, I stumbled upon one of the most poignant rituals I’ve ever seen. How I had no idea what it meant to me...only that it was profound. How surrendering to the beauty and the power around me allowed something magical to unfold. And it’s a reminder that the more I live, the less I understand...and how that paradox is the foundation for some of my best work.

It’s not my job to know anything. I’m just a vessel, a storyteller, a speck of dust in the wind. It’s not my job to find clarity. I’m a contradiction of senses and feelings and thoughts. It’s not my job to be definitively anything. When I am at my best I’m pliable yet steadfast; rooted yet flexible. When I shine as an artist I’m but a conduit for metamorphosis.

My job is simple: I merely must be brave enough to bear witness to the stories that need to be told.

The Rise & Fall of the Monarchy
Photoart by Lisa L Peters ©️ 2018