Where the Garden Opens Its Eyes

There is a moment, if you've ever stood at the edge of something new, when the world around you goes very still and very bright all at once. That's the moment Kat Tatz and Karen Workman-Montoya have captured here. The white rabbit — Kat's lifelong alter ego, her stand-in for anyone mid-transformation — sits in the center of a glowing garden, surrounded by tulips and roses that seem to lean toward him like they recognize something. His blue eyes hold the look of a creature who has just decided to keep going. Around him, the frame itself has become part of the story. The hand-carved mandala — all interlocking circles and negative space — is a collaboration made physical: one artist's painted world cradled inside another's sculptural form. Three butterflies have escaped the painted garden entirely and anchored themselves to the wood, caught mid-flight between the painting and the room you're standing in. Purple. Blue. Gold. Each one slightly different. Each one refusing to stay still. This is what Kat's work has always been about — the place where one thing becomes another, where the frame isn't a boundary but an invitation. In this collaboration, that idea found a new form. The rabbit is mid-leap. The butterflies are already gone. And standing in front of this piece, you feel, for just a moment, like you might be, too.