u n f o l d i n g
(working title)
Over these the last six months I have been working in a new body of work. I am finding it that it is centering around seasonality. I would love to be able to offer these works for sale, and yet I am finding something in me wants to keep them together at the beginning— I want to give the opportunity to speak to each other and grow into a kind of continuity and shape as the seasons shift one into the next.
Each piece is it’s own, and speaks in its own way. And yet as I consider them together I would like to imagine them being in a space together in a gallery exhibit in perhaps the next year or so. In light of that, I will be sharing some of the works in progress here on my website and other places, however they will not be for sale just yet. If one sparks your curiosity or interest please feel free to reach out to me to inquire about it for purchase next autumn or winter.
spring
May 2024
It is the spring of the 17 year cicadas. The ground feels fresh, still rubbing sleep from its eyes. I find myself with a strange swelling affection for the tiny radish sprouts coming up out of the dark ground— young, tender and curiously brave. So far hope takes up the most space in this dark brown canvas of dirt and earthworms. The tenderness of it all—delicate and as old as time—presses into my eyes and spirit. So far the cicadas which come first as a curiosity and only later as a force are only half believed. Later their harsh beauty will have to be reckoned with, a hard reconciliation to make with young hope. Two kinds of wide eyed wonder this spring: one tender, the next fierce.
summer
June 2023
My tomato plants are just starting to flower, days feel long and bright, and I am treasureing the last few months with my housemates before our living arrangements shift around in late summer.
The window is open window on a young summer day with the tangible and pressing sunlight only an open window can bring. I don’t think I am the only one to experience my breath feeling trapped within me in times of stress or anxiety. And yet, even amid this, there are some blessed and bright moments which feel like opening a window–allowing breath, and light, snippets of conversation, and the smell of young tomato plants to flow freely in and out. Although it can sometimes be as fleeting as the beating of a bird's wing, it is absolutely and truly real.