During the many, long months of Covid I kept my hands busy with assorted crafts and sewing projects. I have always enjoyed the creative spirit and the results of this sort of activity. In the past few years, somehow, my fingers have found their way time after time with projects centered on the keyboard of the computer, another type of handwork.

A few weekends ago, however, I set aside my usual Saturday morning activity to participate in a hands-on project in a small exhibition space not too far from home, but off my usual radar.

To reach the venue, you pass miles of new shopping centers and strip malls then make several turns to a winding, almost unmarked road. The looming, neighboring cultural center could be a guiding landmark, if you knew what a landmark is (the great “they” believe that millennials and younger folk don’t know what landmarks are, another sign of aging). The colorful mural filling one side of the unmarked destination could also serve as a sign that you had arrived. I used my native intelligence to guess that I was where I intended to be.

The Frank C. Ortis Art Gallery is named after Pembroke Pines Mayor Frank C. Ortis for his decades-long commitment to the cultural arts. Known simply as ‘The Frank,’ this contemporary gallery regularly brings together multidisciplinary exhibitions. Constant Companion’s devotion to certain artists leads him to make the trek north to see their work occasionally.

My drive was inspired by our recent friendship with local artist Mai Yap and a workshop based on her work in the Frank’s current exhibit, Ebb & Flow: Exploring the Womanhood Continuum (https://www.thefrankgallery.org/p/on-view/now-on-exhibition). The exhibit was actually drawn from current work by Mai Yap in which she explores the physical and mental changes women go through during menopause. Her monumental work, “In the Absence of Blood,” is the centerpiece of the exhibit featuring eight other women artists (https://maiyap.com/in-the-absence-of-blood). It is indistinct contrast to her color saturated palette knife paintings of flowers.

Mai continued to use the imagery of flowers to tell the story of her personal journey through menopause. The 1,000 flowers making her sculpture, in this case, were carefully constructed over many months of delicate work from sanitary napkins, arrayed over a cardboard template.

She offered a short workshop for participants to make their own flower and reflect on the changes in the lives associated with the presence of lack of the monthly ebb and flow of menstrual blood. And I went.

For the workshop, Mai provided a huge selection of pads in different sizes, weights, colors to chose from. I understood that much of her raw material was purchased during trips to Mexico.

She spoke at some length about her motivation to go in this unusual direction to create her monumental artwork. Then she carefully described her process and invited the twentysome participants to chose from the materials provided in order to create their own “flower.” She created a small display of samples to motivate our individual sense of creativity.

I chose what I thought a simple grouping of materials to build my flower, drawn to the colors and imagery.

That morning, it felt good to venture out of town to do some handwork alongside others.