Ferns and lichen, moss, wood, and leaves.  Fragile materials, vulnerable to the seasons and the elements.  But also flexible and strong, patient, resilient.

Walks during the pandemic led me deep into the woods, where I began to notice the hanging mosses, clinging lichens, and sprouting ferns as forms I wanted to incorporate into my work.  They whispered to me of hair fluttering on the wind, veins splayed across branches, spines sprouting from the ground: body parts strewn about the forest.  Over time this palette expanded to include wasp-nest paper, leaves, bark, and paint, all held together by wax and resin on wood.

While crafting this work, I was meditating on the stories secreted away inside of us–that inner wilderness in which we cache our questions and wounds, the parts of us that are fragile and vulnerable, the ways we grapple with the dark.  And the ways we hope for light, for sight, to be seen. 

But I was also contemplating renewal and redemption: how we rise from the damp darkness, emerging like a fern unfurling from the forest floor, transforming decay into new life, creating something beautiful out of this beautiful mess.