Plants and weather patterns have long shaped artist Ann Wood’s worldview. As a child, she spent spring afternoons gathering wildflowers with her grandmother in central Iowa. Her father, a farmer, taught Wood to look down at the soil, and observe seasonal shifts, storms, and developments.  

“We really felt that everything was dependent on the weather, including our family's income. Whenever there was a storm in the summer, when the crops were vulnerable, we'd all get in the car and drive around and see what the shape of the landscape was,” Wood told Sierra. “Growing plants, ever since I can remember, has been at the center of my life.”

These days, Wood grows plants that inspire three-dimensional botanical art documenting nature's brilliant but fleeting moments. Roots reaching from spring bulbs. Dahlias in full bloom. Citrus at peak ripeness. Using paper, paint, and wire, she crafts intricate, incredibly lifelike flowers, feathers, and garden plants. 

Through her work, Wood hopes individuals will appreciate the ephemeral magnificence of nature and what she calls “the beauty of the ordinary.”

“When you're a kid, you draw plants and you make all the petals the same. But they're not. Every petal is unique. Every aspect of a plant is not generalized,” she says. “I find that to be just mind-blowing, how nature constructs things.”

On her path to plant-making, Wood studied photography, attended art school, and established a Minneapolis-based business with her husband, artist Dean Lucker. The pair built a portfolio of mixed-media and mechanical pieces through Woodlucker Studio.

For three decades, they sold to clients and exhibited at fine art craft shows around the United States.  

Five years ago, Wood moved from fine art to paper botanicals. The transition took root in the last days of her father's life. His illness came after Wood had spent a decade watching other family members face serious health challenges. While the gravity weighed on her, she found hope in her father’s closing words. 

Some of the farmer’s final conversations focused on the splendor of nature.

“My father was commenting on plants in the last few days of his life, and it really brought me back to what I loved about Iowa,” Wood says. “It's a huge life transformation to watch someone you love pass away. When he died, I came to the realization that I needed a shift.” 

Around that same time, Wood had started an Instagram account. On the platform, she discovered a community of individuals who crafted flowers from things like sugar, clay, and paper—and recognized an opportunity to honor her lifelong interest in plants while refocusing her artistic efforts.

As she started outlining ideas, Wood made the choice to focus on flowers that might grow in her own backyard, explaining that she feels a stronger connection to petunias, violets, and geraniums, for example, than exotic plants or blooms grown for wedding bouquets. Wood also made a choice to stick with simple tools.

“I was always a person who could take really common things, like paper, wire, and beads, and turn them into something,” she says. “Plants are available and around us all the time, and I like that they're not made of gold or glass or expensive gems. So, I also use very accessible and common materials.”

Before assembling her earliest pieces, Wood referenced vintage botanical illustrations and photographs. She quickly realized that she’d need more detail to accurately replicate plants’ complex structures. Now, she starts about 300 seedlings in her basement each winter. In spring, they’re transferred to a backyard garden where she grows geraniums, zinnias, marigolds, petunias, pansies, sweet peas, and other plants to observe and dissect. 

Most of Wood’s projects feature Midwestern flora, along with occasional birds and insects. She works on one species at a time and begins by analyzing a plant’s composition, noting the shape of stems, the patterns of petals, the heft of leaves, and the transparency of seeds. Wood then cuts paper and manipulates wire, starting at the center of a bloom and moving outward as she constructs and connects individual components. 

A typical project takes three to 10 days to complete. In addition to fashioning elements by hand, Wood creates custom-colored paper for each piece. She works with about 20 different paper types, ranging from tissue-thin sheets to pages that resemble card stock.

“I go to my local art store and select white paper by weight, transparency, and the ability to roll or be smooth. Then I flood the papers with paint to come up with a spectrum of colors,” she says. “In a rose, for example, that might go from a bright yellow to the deep, forest green of the petals.”

To date, Wood has created more than 300 life-size plants that she displays on an ever-evolving botanical wall in her studio. Last year, she shipped about 200 pieces to the Netherlands, where they were part of a Delftware exhibition at the Kunstmuseum in The Hague. Wood hopes to do additional museum shows as her collection grows.

“I’d like people to look at my work and start noticing more nature in their lives. Maybe that’s taking a closer look at plants while they're out for a walk, or while they're doing their own gardening,” she says. “I hope it sparks conversations about the memories that people have around plants.”

Wood certainly sparks such discussions among her more than 145,000 Instagram followers. The platform provides a place for her to share studio snapshots and videos, showcase in-progress pieces, and dig into the stories behind her projects.

Plant enthusiasts and fellow artists frequently respond to Wood’s posts with their own thoughts on art, nature, gardening, and life. The regular routine of sharing and participating in these conversations helps the artist understand how her pieces resonate with viewers. 

Forging personal connections through her work also helped Wood process the loss of her father.

“I'm a pretty introverted person, so being on a schedule and having to engage with people was really useful. Now, I look at my botanical wall, and it's like each plant I made has somehow helped to heal that grief,” she says. “To see people really enjoy this work turns a sad thing into a beautiful thing, and that has been really satisfying.”