Last week I finished smoke-shaped forest, which continues a series reflecting on the simultaneous gains and losses associated with 200 acres of land being cleared adjacent to my parent’s property outside of Charleston, SC. In such cases waste wood and plowed stumps are often stacked up and burned, and they create an eerily beautiful sight at dusk in that thick southern air. Anyone who has ever sat around a campfire knows the seduction of staring into the coals, a kind of primal reverie of thought and thoughtlessness, comfort and fear, and the clear insistence of a light in the darkness.
broadleaf plantain with clover is the first in what I believe will be a series of edible wild plant paintings, most of which can be quickly located in urban environments. These are works about the act of foraging, which is another way of seeking a depth of experience outside of the dominant culture. But they also raise questions regarding patterns of recognition and the problems associated with the indirect transfer of knowledge. One of the classic problems of depicting plants is the method of depicting a “representative sample”. That is, the collection or photographic documentation of a single plant does not account for the inevitability of variation, and this creates a reservoir of doubt. Paintings are effective in communicating some types of specificity, but often at the expense of others. The payoff of this more “scenic” method, in my mind, is that it describes more fully a set of relationships within a given habitat. And just as my front lawn establishes criteria for fruitfulness, so does the limited context of my panel.
grackle with smartweed and clover keeps up the thematic approach to ground-cover, and the act of looking down as a move out of the demands of the body and into the life of the mind. Because the bird’s eye is denied to the viewer as a point of reference, the grackle straddles a space between life and death.