Paige Young

Smell The Flowers

photography & installation
2025

Two illuminated artwork pieces on the wall, one displaying a red-lit image with the word 'CRY,' and the other featuring an abstract design, alongside a panel with text that reads 'DO YOU REMEMBER THE SMELL OF THE FLOWERS?' adorned with small round colored elements.
A lit display featuring a framed photograph of a family sitting together, overlaid with the words 'I can't' in various sizes and orientations, set in a gallery space.
An artistic installation featuring various orange and clear bottles arranged in a grid pattern, with the text 'DO YOU REMEMBER' prominently displayed.
An overhead view of a table with several prescription pill bottles, stacks of rectangular objects, and a small container filled with rolled items.
A close-up photograph of two people sitting together, with their hands intertwined. The image has a reddish tint and features text overlaying their faces that reads 'UNABLE' and 'IM'.
A close-up of five amber prescription bottles filled with various objects, placed on a white surface, illuminated with warm lighting. The bottles have labels with typed messages.
An art gallery interior featuring a wooden sign with the text 'WHAT IF I TOLD YOU' and illuminated display cases with photographs or artworks along the wall.
A backlit orange display featuring the word 'CRY' against a blurred image of a person and patient in a medical setting.
A dramatic red-tinted image featuring a group of people interacting, with one individual lying in bed, while another person appears to be comforting them. The word 'WANT' is prominently displayed in the foreground.
Close-up of a wall adorned with vibrant orange bottles, with warm lighting in the background and a glimpse of a dark ceiling.
An art installation featuring illuminated orange frames on the wall, displaying photographs. A pedestal with small jars is located in the center, and a sign reading 'WHAT IF I TOLD YOU' is positioned nearby. The floor is wooden and the lighting creates a warm ambiance.
A close-up of multiple orange prescription bottles with labels, some partially obscured, placed on a light-colored surface. There are also a few pill bottle caps and stacks of paper in the background.
Close-up of orange prescription bottles arranged against a light background, with varying angles and depths creating a unique visual effect.

SMELL THE FLOWERS Exhibition

Stop and Smell the Flowers…

But what if you can’t remember the smell of them?

‘Smell of the Flowers’ explores the complex duality of grief and medication in the lives of those who rely on it to survive. For me, medication is both a necessity and a limitation. Without it, I wouldn’t be here — but with it, certain emotions become dulled, and the full range of human experience can feel just out of reach. When my grandfather died of dementia, I wanted to cry but couldn’t — not until I saw my grandmother sobbing. Only then, through sympathetic tears, could I release anything. In joyful moments, like being on the beach with friends or during family gatherings, I’ve wanted to match their happiness, but I often feel like I’m watching from the outside. With my diagnosis of manic depression, I’ve come to accept that my emotional experience may never fully align with others.

This body of work includes still images that capture the complexities of grief and identity, alongside illuminated lightboxes that reflect emotionally muted or fragmented moments. These pieces aim to make visible what is often hidden — the internal tug-of-war between chemical balance and emotional fullness. Interactivity is central to the exhibition. A medication board is presented which allows a message-sharing space for viewers to reflect, connect, or respond. This piece contains 190 medication bottles that allow small pieces of paper to be shared from one viewer to another. Another key installation is built around VHS tapes — a metaphor for memory loss. Due to my diagnosis, much of my childhood feels inaccessible, not because it was traumatic, but because I simply can’t recall it. I long to relive these moments, just as I long to hold onto loved ones I’ve lost — but the memories remain distorted, diluted or inaccessible. To represent this, I display original VHS tapes with handwritten labels in shadow boxes. Next to them, I present their actual VHS tape — pulled from the cassettes and strung out in 20×30 frames, hiding an image behind it. The film is unreadable, unplayable, and permanently detached from its source — just like the memories stored in my mind, and similarly to my grandfather’s brain in his last days, detached from its source of function. I’ve been told about my family’s history and the people within it, but those stories are about as clear or understood as some of my lived experiences.

Grief and medication create a hindrance for memory, and similarly to my grandfather’s dementia, we are left in the same state of lack of memory. This work explores the intersection of mental health, medication, and my struggle to feel joy and grief. Medication has saved my life, yet it often mutes my emotional experience. Through this exhibition, I invite you to pause—to reflect on memory, absence, and sensation. I encourage you to try, just for a moment, to stop and remember what it feels like to smell the flowers, if you are able.