Story behind the art of Anne Mantini

29th Annual International

American Society of Botanical Artists and the Society of Illustrators

Seneca Red Stalker

Zea mays

“Leaves escape their sheaths with a drawn-out creak and sometimes, when all is still, you can hear the sudden pop of ruptured pith when water-filled cells become too large and turgid for the confines of the stem. These are the sounds of being, but they are not the voice.”  In Braiding Sweetgrass, Robin Wall Kimmerer writes of corn, beans, and squash as teachers whose lessons arrive not through speech, but through growth, generosity, and interdependence. 

For years, I admired ornamental corn at Thanksgiving for its analogous colors, orange and yellow, and complementary colors of purple and gold. I saw beauty, but not relationship. I had not yet understood corn as ‘Corn Mother’, honored by many Indigenous peoples as a life-giving being that transforms light, water, and soil into nourishment.

That changed when I discovered ‘Seneca Red Stalker’ in the Kitchen Table Seed House catalogue. Here was corn I could grow, paint, and eat. It is a native variety originating with the Seneca Nation of western New York, far removed from the vast industrial fields I was accustomed to seeing outside the city, created for convenience and efficiency.

I started a single kernel indoors, then planted it in my front garden, squeezed between roses and spent peonies, where it adapted well. As it grew quickly, straight, tall, and flushed with mulberry, I became absorbed by its anatomy and intelligence: silks waving in the air catching pollen, male and female flowers meeting in precise sequence, each movement purposeful and alive. I recalled Kimmerer’s words which invited me to listen differently—to attend to the subtle sounds of leaves, silk, stem, and seed, and to consider corn not as object, but as living presence.

Watching Zea mays grow strong and determined altered the way I approached my botanical art. Drawing, color selection, and composition has a duty to reflect attention to life. I wanted this painting to honor not a decoration, but a collaborator - rooted, responsive, and full of intent.

This piece is an offering of that encounter: a record of slowing down long enough to see and hear Zea Mays as teacher, sustainer, and living being worthy of respect.

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