For two years, I have painted landscapes of the places that helped heal me from a grief I can not begin to describe. As I paced through local forests, I came to find solace in the play of light on leaves and bark. The jumbled chaos of the forest floor felt like a reflection of my thoughts. But with more and more undistracted time in the woods (and a botanist for a husband) I started to feel grateful for the logic of trees. They make so much sense and despite looking rather haphazard, every bit of them is remarkably reasonable. The twists and turns of branches, the textural diversity, the death of one right near another that continues to thrive; something about all of that gave me a clarity I could hold onto when I couldn’t find it elsewhere.
Fine Art