Unquiet
Things

I am currently ensorcelled by Petah Coyne’s darkly romantic sculptures, where wax, silk flowers, and taxidermy birds transform into ethereal, baroque-like forms. Her pieces conjure the atmosphere of those moments in gothic paperbacks where the heroine discovers the truth isn’t in the attic after all, but blooming madly in plain sight in the conservatory. Massive chandeliers of black flowers drip with wax, their surfaces catching light in unexpected ways, like something dredged up from the depths but somehow still gleaming.

While the scale of her work is awe-inspiring – these aren’t delicate tabletop pieces but enormous installations that gather the shadows around them like dark pools, and seem to seep into every corner of their spaces. Delicate pearl pins catch stray beams of light, velvet moves like ink suspended in water, and wax accumulates in layers that feel ancient yet freshly formed. These pieces exist in a realm between preservation and decay, between memory and loss. Like Miss Havisham’s wedding cake, if it evolved into something nightmarish, they speak to mortality and remembrance through both their imposing presence and their intimate details.

Her use of materials is particularly spellbinding – especially the way she works with velvet, creating rich, undulating landscapes that cascade through space. The fabric collects twilight in its folds, transforming familiar luxury into something more complex and otherworldly. The way she builds up layers feels like discovering an enchanted chest where all the scraps and jewels and rich gowns from fairy tale queens have been deconstructed, scattered, and reassembled to tell new stories.

Here are the remnants of familiar tales – silk flowers trapped in crystalline wax, strands of pearls woven through branches, ribbons stiffened into strange new forms – all transformed into a private language written in texture and shadow. In these environments, collective memory mingles with personal mythology, where each element carries a story of mortality, memory, desire, and loss – private griefs and universal longings captured in frozen moments of perpetual bloom.

If you enjoy posts like these or if you have ever enjoyed or been inspired by something I have written, and you would like to support this blog, consider buying the author a coffee?