Hollyce mack
faces of sexual abuse collection
These drawings were representative of the girl I thought I was, the sexual being I believed I was, the naive blindness to my reality. The evil hardon I became and the proud warrior I have become. One me, so many possibilities.
Still I Bloom
I am an artist and gardener whose work celebrates memory, resilience, and the enduring legacy of women who cultivate beauty. Though my award-winning garden is no longer mine to tend, its flowers continue to bloom in my heart, a testament to the love and care sown through generations of Mack women. Through my art, I hope to honor the gardens of my past and show the strength that carries me forward, ensuring that beauty and hope will always flourish.
The Weight
Two black birds exist in an uncertain space—are they perched on a branch or standing in water? One gazes toward the other, while the second bows its head, looking downward. The muted pink and beige background wraps around them, soft yet suffocating.
This piece is a reflection of an abusive relationship—the unspoken tension, the imbalance of power, the weight of silence. It captures the quiet heaviness that lingers, pressing down like an unseen force.
Yet, even in stillness, there is recognition. A moment held in pastel, where pain is acknowledged and given form.
Wheezy's Golden Gaze
Wheezy’s golden eyes held the weight of 31 years—years of survival, love, and quiet knowing. As the first senior cat saved in Kitties Garden Paradise, she was more than just a pet; she was the heart of a sanctuary, a symbol of second chances and the enduring power of kindness. Though the shelter was lost when I left my abuser, Wheezy’s gaze remains—watching, remembering, and reminding that the love we give is never truly taken away. It lingers in the lives we touch, in the souls we save, and in the eyes of those who once felt forgotten but were, at last, seen.
The Mirror Remembers
A garden bathed in twilight hues of blue and violet stretches beyond the glass, its vines twisting into an arbor that frames a silent observer—a cat, its back turned to us, lost in the dance of butterflies above. The air hums with the language of wings, a conversation of weightlessness and wonder.
Symbols without meaning drift across the surface, like echoes of a forgotten script, remnants of something once known but now only felt. The cat does not chase, does not stir. It simply watches, caught between presence and memory, between what was and what remains.
This mirror holds more than reflection. It holds a garden that time cannot erase.