SOLD, Limestone Formations, Rockport State Recreation Area

12/21/21, Oil on canvas, 11" x 14"

What do you see here? Are they mountains? They certainly look like mountains but they are actually artificially constructed formations of limestone. Over 350 million years ago, the peninsulas that are now known as Michigan were covered by a shallow sea. On the bottom of the sea, there were coral reefs. When the sea evaporated, the skeletons of the coral and sea life formed the limestone cobble shore, limestone bedrock lakeshore, and limestone bedrock glade natural communities that are in the northeastern region of the lower peninsula, along Lake Huron.

During the first half of the 20th century, the Great Lakes Stone and Lime Company and The Kelly Island Lime and Transport Company had limestone quarrying operations around Alpena and Presque Isle Counties. After the limestone was mined from the quarry, it would be shipped by rail and piled into giant mounds along the shore above surge tunnels. The stones would drop down into the tunnels, be crushed, and then moved along to the docks where they could be loaded onto freighters. Industrial operations in this location stopped in the 1950s, but the limestone formations, tunnels, and an aging dock remain. Today, the site is managed by Michigan Department of Natural Resources as Rockport State Recreation Area. The tunnels now function as a bat hibernaculum where Little Brown Bats, Big Brown Bats, Northern Long-Eared Bats, and Tri-Colored Bats hibernate.

Murmuration Over Toussaint Wildlife Area

11/16/21, Oil on Gessobord, 14" x 11"

On a day when I was struck with a particular case of wanderlust I drove south of Detroit, passed through Toledo, and turned east. I meandered around the many wildlife areas that line the southern coast of Lake Erie like Ottawa National Wildlife Refuge, Black Swamp Bird Observatory, Magee Marsh Wildlife Area, and others. This area often reminds me of being in the southern bayou with its flat land composed of wetland, farms, and pockmarked with industry running toward the vast horizon. I settled in the quiet warm glow of evening at Toussaint Wildlife Area. As I began painting a winding tunnel of Starling chatter broke through the calm and came streaming through the sky passing over my head. This painting depicts my impression of that moment.

Mushwa & Yellow Hawkweed, Mouillée Creek

7/19/21 & 7/20/21, Oil on canvas, 11" x 14"

This painting was inspired by a reading of The Mighty Mushwa, The Muskrat Tradition in Monroe County, Michigan by Ralph Naveaux.

Diving Tern and Boat Wreck, Humbug Marsh,

5/24/21, Oil on canvas, 11" x 14"

This boat wreck sits in the Detroit River at the mouth of the Handler Drain. It is situated between the Humbug Marsh unit of the Detroit River International Wildlife Refuge and Humbug Marina. Its origins are unknown to me. I have asked around but have not uncovered its story yet. I enjoy spending time on my own plying the U.S. and Canadian shores of the river, searching for subjects to paint. As I do so, I continue to learn about the Detroit River region’s colorful history which still floats just under the surface, a diverse range of cultures and communities, as well as the natural habitats tucked into pockets and thriving in quiet determination. Peeling back the layers of the river region’s history, exploring it, as well as volunteering with organizations that care for its ecological health gives me a perception that is reframed from the negligent viewpoint that I grew up with. I’ve gotten to know the river region better and I’m aware that I’ve only scratched the surface. I continue to find the area to be altogether dramatic, tragic, scenic, rustic, mysterious, gritty, humble, and unique.

I scrambled out onto a muddy spit of land to get just the right view of the boat wreck. As I painted the scene, I was impressed by a Common Tern as it tucked its wings and fearlessly plunge-dove into the water like a dive bomber. In the painting, I tried to create tension through the fraught proximity of the wreck’s location and the direction of the tern’s dive. The rusty shadow that the boat casts in the water suggests the pollutants that could have waded out into the watershed from its neglected carcass and calls into question the health of the fish on which the tern feeds.

Eastern Cottontail, Manresa Jesuit Retreat

5/11/21, Oil on canvas, 11" x 14"

I painted this during a paint out with the Plein Air Troupe at Manresa Jesuit Retreat. I was raised without religion and I've never prescribed to any particular faith. Because of this, I find that I am generally interested in religion – not necessarily in a critical sense but as something I am curious to learn more about, as to better understand humankind. While painting at Manresa Jesuit Retreat, I couldn't help but incorporate the Christianity of the place into my imagery. The verdant leafy grounds have a winding path with stops where the devout can contemplate the fifteen stations of the cross. I noticed a tree trunk and branch, which when overlapped made an elegant sweeping motion and resembled a crucifix. I was painting beside the fourth station of the cross, where Jesus meets his mother. There were a number of Eastern Cottontails hopping around at the edge of the wooded area. In Christianity, rabbits sometimes symbolize fertility. I was reminded of Titian's "Madonna and Child with St. Catherine and Shepherd (Madonna of the Rabbit)." I chose to include an Eastern Cottontail looking back at the shadow cast by the crucifix's crosspiece.

SOLD, Two Trees' Roots, Oakwoods Metropark, 4/12/21 & 4/13/21, Oil on Gessobord, 11" x 14"

One revelation that has come from sitting quietly for long periods of time and painting in the outdoors is just how much activity there is. The idea of being alone in nature starts to feel misguided when you become aware of the many living things which are far more aware of your intrusion than you are of their presence. To illustrate this, here is a description of some of the animals that kept me company (as far as I am aware) while creating this painting: Toe to toe with a foolhardy Crawdad before each going our separate ways, the "Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you all?" song of a hidden Barred Owl, two Wild Turkeys quietly strutting behind me, the ever-present yammer of a Pileated Woodpecker (is it laughing at me?), the swoop and chatter of two Belted Kingfishers, the raspy primeval call of a Sandhill Crane overhead, a tentative guarded herd of White-tailed Deer in the early morning field mist, the undulating symphony of Midland Chorus Frogs and their plop plop plop as they jump away from me into a vernal pool, the shy Brown Snake who quietly disappeared under the detritus. I tried to convey all of this activity by rendering the painting with busy brushwork. I also had another theme in mind.

When I painted this, I had recently learned that my outside understanding of a particular long term relationship was very different from the reality as experienced by those within it. I couldn't help but compare and contrast this new understanding with a life event that I am currently planning for: My own wedding. On the far bank of the river, there are two old trees side by side and their roots have grown to be intertwined. They remain planted in the soil as the river runs by. Their foundation is interdependent, not necessarily based on love, but as a result of time and proximity. Along the surface of the river, two Belted Kingfishers chase one another in the Spring ritual of courtship.

SOLD, Gulp of Double-crested Cormorants, Hull's Trace

4/5/21, Oil on Gessobord, 14" x 11"

Double-Crested Cormorants nearly went extinct because of toxins like DDT in the environment from the 1940s through the 1970s. The species has been making a comeback in the Great Lakes region; although, their resurgence is unwelcome by some people, especially those who have a vested interest in commercial and sport fishing.

SOLD, Wah Sash Kah Moqua Nature Preserve, 3/25/21, Oil on Gessobord, 14" x 11"

Wah Sash Kah Moqua Nature Preserve is a nature preserve belonging to Saginaw Basin Land Conservancy in partnership with the Saginaw Chippewa Indian Tribe. It is an excellent case study in how an area previously used for farming can be regenerated back into a thriving native ecosystem.

Shedding Bark, Wolcott Mill Metropark, 3/15/21, Oil on canvas, 14" x 11"

The woods feel like a space where mystery can still exist. This is one of the elements that draws me away from the attempted rationality of the human world and into a place where my imagination can wonder. When I saw this sheath of bark opened-up and peeling away from a dying tree trunk, it caught my attention because of its surreality. It looked like the tree was disrobing or that it could be some kind of portal. While looking at it, I also began to think about it metaphorically as representing the shedding of emotional, ideological, or identificatory layers – or, that it was molting as it passed from life into death.

SOLD, Mute & Trumpeter Swans, Humbug Marsh

Oil on canvas, 11" x 14"

Sun Pillar, Pointe Mouillée Marsh, 2/15/21, Oil on canvas, 11" x 14"

Everything revolves around the particular subject matter that I choose; it is what I play off of. There are three primary dimensions that influence how I paint a subject: The elemental and temporal factors which are constantly in flux and changing the way that the subject appears, the interaction between my own feelings and state of mind with those of the subject, and whether or not there is a particular message or idea that I have about the subject that I would like to communicate. I feel that the most successful paintings contain a mix of these three dimensions. 

Often, when a painter keeps an impartial distance from the subject and is solely concerned with the overly accurate depiction of the subject’s physical characteristics, I find that it falls a bit flat. I appreciate this kind of work for its technical execution, but it rarely holds much mystery and doesn’t often pique my curiosity beyond an inquisition into its plastic elements. This type of verbatim painting is essential to any painter during their developmental phase because it advances the fundamental skills of picture making; however, a painter must build on these fundamental skills, push further, and communicate something that isn’t readily apparent about the subject. On the other hand, I often find that paintings that predominantly focus on emotions and cryptic ideas while neglecting craft and an understanding of materials, similarly don’t hold my attention for very long. Successful paintings strike an appropriate balance between the three aforementioned dimensions, as determined by the subject and what the artist is attempting to say. 

In my painting, Sun Pillar, Pointe Mouillée Marsh, one of my primary concerns was to visually translate the emotions that I felt when I witnessed the sun pillar. One of the primary questions that I have received about this painting is, “did it really look like that?” In a way, it did. When I drove out to the tip of the marsh and looked out past the frozen swampy archipelago to icy Lake Erie, the hot orange sun peeked over the horizon and shot a warm beam of light straight up into the cold purple sky. At first, I was looking through my windshield and I thought I might have been seeing a glare through the glass, so I got out of my car to find the shimmering vertical beam of light still there. I had never seen this atmospheric phenomenon before and I didn’t know anything about it at the time. In the painting, I tried to depict the perplexity and awe that I felt while looking at the sun pillar as well as the feeling of being captivated by an unknown and dwarfing force of nature. What I found out later is that “sun pillars, or light pillars, are shafts of light extending from the sun or other bright light sources under the right atmospheric conditions. They’re caused by ice crystals drifting in Earth’s air” (Byrd, “What are sun pillars or light pillars?”). The pillar of light had dissipated  before I had begun putting it down on canvas so I relied on my memory and my impression of what I had seen. In memory, objective realities lose their definition as they dissolve into one’s personal narrative. I tried to embrace the dreamlike veil that memory drapes over everything to pull out the sun pillar’s emotive qualities.

White-tailed Deer at Fix Unit, Detroit River International Wildlife Refuge

1/26/21, Oil on Gessobord, 14" x 11"

The Fix Unit of the Detroit River International Wildlife Refuge is near Lake Erie, hidden away at the end of a dead end road, and wedged between farm fields and the DTE Energy Fermi II Nuclear Power Plant. Although the unit is open for public visitation, it is a small somewhat secluded place that someone would likely not happen upon unless they were looking for it. Out of the way incongruous places like this are where I am most at ease and where I feel most inspired to make art. At its core, being an artist is an independent activity for me. It is an occupation which gives me the freedom to pursue my own authentic path to the outer edges, where most others don’t presently seem to be looking; this is where I feel liberated and where I seek to know a truer version of the self that I am in pursuit of. 

Keeping up with contemporary trends in the field of the arts really does not play a role in motivating me to be an artist. I don’t pay much attention to whether what I am making is in sync with the current direction that the art industry is going in. I’m trying to stay sincere on my own path and if that happens to rub up against what is trending, that’s okay, but it isn’t guiding me. In fact, if I feel external pressure to take my art in a particular direction that doesn’t resonate with me, whether that pressure is real or imagined, I tend to push in the opposite direction in my own quiet determined way.

On the day that I went to Fix Unit to create this painting, the temperature had risen a few degrees from the previous day and some of the snow on the ground had begun to evaporate, creating a haze that hung over everything. As I walked into the field, a heavy wet snow began to fall. The snow mixed with the hissing steam that billowed out of the nuclear power plant’s cooling towers into the grey overcast sky. The features of the scene beyond my vicinity became dull and muted. In this floating space that seemed to exist somewhere out of time, a White-tailed Deer silently leapt across the dike into the tall grass, checked me, then disappeared into the mist. When I witness wild animals, I often get the feeling that they are divine beings that exist within a logical natural system. In these moments it feels apparent that we humans as a species, although yearning to be natural, exist in an artificial system of our own devising which has been progressively destroying animals and their world. This is the story that I tried to tell in the painting.

SOLD, Light Pollution, Independence Oaks County Park

1/11/21, Oil on canvas, 11" x 14"

In terms of my cultural substratum and how it relates to my research on the theme of landscape: I come from and have always lived in the Great Lakes region of the midwestern United States, a relatively short distance from Canada. I grew up on the outside edge of a metropolitan sprawl which originates from a city that, for many, has come to define post industrialism, Detroit. My childhood home hung somewhere in the balance. If I went roughly north, the scene quickly became rural and agricultural. If I went south, the scene became progressively suburban, then urban. The immediate surroundings which came to define my childhood memories were characterized by this delicate balance. I lived within a small, quiet, and relatively established neighborhood stocked with plenty of other kids to run around with unattended. Right out our door, we could easily walk to the woods, the swamp, the pond, the field, the sledding hill, the lagoon, and the lake – all cherished and integral parts of the neighborhood community. The neighborhood was surrounded by miles of dirt roads, which as an adolescent I independently pushed out into on my dirt bike sojourning my favorite patches of woods and fields, riding trails that I had memorized. This is where, in a short span of time, I began to witness the erosion of seemingly wild places for the first time as the sprawl of development pushed itself further into every crack and crevice of supposedly open land. Some of the woods where I would ride all day were stripped bare and became gravel pits, which then became subdivisions of large characterless McMansions spaced out evenly, casting long shadows across the barren landscape. Now, when I leave my rented apartment in Detroit, where I’ve lived for seven years, and take the interstate north to visit the areas around where I grew up, I can see where the new subdivisions are proliferating and where the capitalist tendrils of ubiquitous commercial development crawl out from the exit ramps and stretch up the roads intersection by intersection, artificially fabricating and simultaneously satiating the consumer desires of the growing population. What is lost isn’t easily replaced and each generation that grows up without it doesn’t miss what they’ve never known. And as people continue to move further out searching for greener pastures, the concrete wave follows close behind, most fervent at the edges. This is the emotion that I tried to convey in the painting, Light Pollution, Independence Oaks County Park. The ever brightening sky glow is a harbinger of the approaching sprawl. It is alluring in an eerie ominous way but it is blinding and it will cause us to lose our way as the dome of artificial light widens and snuffs out the constellations in the night sky.

SOLD, Beaver Stump, Belle Isle State Park

12/11/21 & 12/13/21, Oil on canvas, 11" x 14"

At Belle Isle State Park, there is a line of weeping willow trees which were planted along a thin strip of grass that runs between The Strand and Lake Tacoma. A few years ago, there was a North American Beaver that began gnawing a groove in the trunk of one of these trees. The park service likely saw this as a potential hazard to the nearby roadway where the cars zoom by, so they chopped the tree down above the groove. What was left looked a bit like a statue to me. The lower trunk formed the torso, the groove that the beaver made formed the shoulders and neck, and the remaining bit of trunk above the groove where the park service made their cut looked like a head with a jaw jutting-out. The park service then tied fluorescent orange flagging tape around the groove, which gave the statue a bit of personality, like it was wearing a flashy necktie.

This incidental statue, created through the layered efforts of the beaver and the park service, was an unintended collaboration and it embodied an idea that had been rattling around in my head. When I was doing research for my Michigan Conservation Stewards capstone project about the relationship between beavers and a prairie fen in a nature preserve in Springfield Township, I sat down with Gerald Wykes, author and illustrator of “A Beaver Tale: The Castors of Conners Creek.” When we were discussing the fact that beavers are keystone species because they engineer ecosystems that other species rely on, he said that humans are also keystone species; we are both driven to shape the landscape around us and oftentimes our objectives are at odds with one another. This little assisted readymade seemed to concretize this fraught relationship between the two keystone species.

The Macon Reservation

11/23/21, Oil on Gessobord, 14" x 11"

As part of the Treaty of Detroit in 1807, William Hull coerced Indigenous Nations in Southeast Michigan to cede land to the U.S. Government and began pushing them onto reservations like the three square mile Macon Reservation. After The War of 1812, Lewis Cass started forcing them off of the Reservation as part of the Treaty of 1817. Ownership transferred to St. Anne Catholic Church of Detroit and the College of Detroit (University of Michigan). The reservation was completely lost to the Potawatomi by the 1830s. The land was then used for farming. Today, it is managed by County of Monroe Parks and Recreation Dept. as a Prairie Preserve called West County Park and as The Macon Reserve by River Raisin National Battlefield Park, National Park Service. The park is bisected by power lines, which passes over the prairie. The depiction and interaction between the colossal transmission tower and the Red-tailed Hawk flying amidst its power lines was inspired by the history of the location.

(Statement reference: "The Macon Reserve." National Park Service, https://www.nps.gov/places/the-macon-reserve.htm. Accessed 24 November 2021.)

SOLD, Freighter by Grassy Island

9/9/21, Oil on canvas, 11" x 14"

SOLD, Osprey on a Snag, Detroit River International Wildlife Refuge

7/6/21, Oil on canvas, 14" x 11"

SOLD, Carleton Farms Landfill from Crosswinds Marsh , 4/26/21, Oil on Gessobord, 11" x 14"

Sundown's last light gilds the landfill,

With its specious gold flake.

All that glittered doesn't do so

For off-gas's own sake.

A backlit theatre curtain of

Stratocumulus pall

Sing's April's nightfall overture,

"Pink moon's gonna get [y'all]."

Hunting Great Egret, Maumee Bay, 4/6/21 at Cullen Park, Oil on Gessobord, 11" x 14"

I was driving south on the highway, looking for somewhere to paint. My right palm was pressed against the steering wheel and my left hand held the phone to my ear as I received the news and tried to respond with equanimity. In a way, it wasn’t news. It was the inevitable disassembly of an untruth I’ve known for most of my life. Somehow, over the years, I had pushed it to the background and fooled myself into believing the façade which cast the truth into shadow. Or, was it kept from me? In any case, the news changed me or was indifferent to me; I couldn’t quite make it out yet but things looked vaguely estranged: The big sky ahead, my sweaty palm pressed against the wheel, my memories turned three quarters and unrecognizable. I pulled off the highway, hit the coastline, and followed it on an unfamiliar road. I wasn’t angry or sad, just disassociated and peculiarly light. I thought, “just keep driving – somewhere different. I’m bound to end up someplace.” I found a park and marina just over the state line. I pulled into the lot and walked to the trail. The footpath threaded boulders, gnarled tree roots, and scraggly undergrowth as it winded its way along the spine of a seemingly natural pier. I found a cove out near the tip. There were the remnants of a snuffed out fire by the water and some rusty beer cans. I took my shoes off, dug my toes into the wet sand, and sat down on a boulder. I looked out at the bay and back at the industrial docks, fingering the worn out mermaid’s tears and opalescent shells scattered around my feet. It was an unseasonably warm day. I couldn’t paint, but I was happy to be ‘out there’ in a place where no one I knew could find me. It gave me space and it gave me time. My inner monologue became a dialogue as one of the many Vincent Van Gogh quotables ran through my head, “If you hear a voice within you say 'you cannot paint,' then by all means paint, and that voice will be silenced.” I thought, “fuck it. I’ll give it a go and whatever comes out, comes out.” In an attempt to capture my nonplused state of mind, I kept the color palette to a bare minimum and instead focused on creating textures with my brushstrokes, without varying the color or tone to describe form. As if I were imitating the technique of blind embossing, I let the shadows and highlights cast by natural light play off of the ridges of paint left behind by my patterned brushstrokes. Within the figure of the hunting Great Egret is the recollection of my phone call, the talk of mental illness. The bay is solid green with the sickness of cyanobacteria blooms and visually impermeable under the high noon light. The isolated figure stands totally still, searching for signs of life under the water’s surface which only it has the ability to perceive. But, the signs are becoming more visible as suggested by the subtle shadow which swims almost within striking distance.

Dead Deer at Bad Creek, Pointe Mouillée Marsh

3/31/21 & 4/1/21, Oil on Gessobord, 11" x 14"

I stumbled on this dead deer when I was jumping through a muddy low lying area as I tried to make my way up to the trail without sinking. It laid partially submerged in the creek amidst discarded trash from the nearby dirt parking area. The color palette evokes the putrid carcass and faded earth tones that characterize the tail end of winter when the snow recedes and reveals what it has kept hidden. What I remember most about the two days that I spent painting this deer corpse is the smell.

IN PRIVATE COLLECTION, Skein of Ducks, Pointe Mouillée Marsh,

3/29/21, Oil on Gessobord, 11" x 14"

Pointe Mouillée Marsh is a favorite place of mine to go on a weekday when few others are out. The open sky and flat terrain seems to stretch out forever and it is easy to get lost in thought as you walk along the dikes. The scene depicted is from the southern extreme, which can feel a bit like the ends of the earth: Lake Erie, the power plants, and the hypnotizing sway of boundless invasive phragmites. There is a peaceful feeling to it, which I tried to convey.

Spring Burn on Walpole Island First Nation, 3/22/21 & 3/23/21 at Belle Isle State Park, Oil on canvas, 14" x 11"

Seasonal controlled burns have been conducted on Walpole Island First Nation since pre-European settlement in the area. The tradition of burning off dead growth preserves historic ecosystems, clears marshes for trapping & hunting, and fertilizes soil. I painted this on the northeast shore of Belle Isle State Park, from where I saw the smoke rise above Lake St Clair.

Coyote & Eastern Cottontail, Orion Oaks2/22/21

Oil on canvas, 11" x 14"

I got out to Orion Oaks County Park early one snowy morning. I trudged through the deep snow and as the street disappeared from view and the prairie opened up before me, I spotted a Coyote near the edge of the woods. I did a couple brief gestural pen sketches of it in my sketchbook while it was still in view then filled in some of the details from memory after it had disappeared. I walked through the knee deep snow to where I saw it and as I got closer I could see its predatory tracks in the fresh powder as well as those of its prey, an Eastern Cottontail.

Willow, Lake Erie Metropark

2/16/21, Oil on canvas, 11" x 14"

There are certain winter days when standing on the shore of Lake Erie can feel peculiarly arctic, especially when the water is iced over and covered in snow as far as the eye can see. This solitary willow tree stood out from the barren landscape as it swooped over in a gestural movement that felt almost musical, like a soloist emerging from an ambient interlude.

SOLD, Drey Nests, Pointe Aux Peaux State Wildlife Area, 2/8/21 & 2/9/21, Oil on canvas, 14" x 11"

• Dreys are nests that tree squirrels like the Fox Squirrel form out of dried leaves and other detritus from the forest floor high up in the branches of trees for safety.
• 
  
• It’s subject is a synthesis of two primary sources of inspiration for me: An interest in regional history and an appreciation for nature. Pointe Aux Peaux is a point that juts out of the western coast of the Great Lake Erie. I was drawn to this location when I learned the somewhat obscure origins of the name, which roughly translates into English as, “pointe to the skins” and is sometimes referred to as, “pointe of skins.” It was named by the French settlers who first colonized the Great Lakes region and capitalized on the fur trade. 
• 
  
• In the Detroit River Region there is an ethnic and linguistic subgroup of French-Canadian and metis culture called Muskrat or Mushrat French. This name comes from the eating of muskrats during Lent. This is still done during an annual celebratory feast in an area called Monroe. Muskrats are semi aquatic rodents.
• 
  
• This location was known as an area where the indigenous trappers who traded with the French dried their pelts. Southeast Michigan, where Detroit is, is the contemporary and ancestral homelands of the three Anishinaabe nations of the Council of the Three Fires: Ojibwe, Ottawa, and Potawatomi as well as the Wyandot Tribes.
• 
  
• After doing some research, I learned that there is a wildlife area on the point which consists of some woods and mudflats. I was most intrigued when I visited the location and found no outward indications that the area is managed by the Department of Natural Resources like signage or obvious parking. It is a seemingly unmarked natural space wedged between farm fields, Brest Bay, a neighborhood at the tip, and Enrico Fermi II Nuclear Power Plant. 
• 
  
• I packed up my plein air painting gear and began hiking through the Wildlife Area on a snowy, overcast, mid-winter day. As I was walking, I was captivated by the dreys that the tree squirrels made high up in the thinnest of branches and the way that they precariously swayed about in the wind coming off of Lake Erie. I admired the daring and ingenuity of these often dismissed mammals. 
• While I painted, the setting sun dipped below the heavy blanket of clouds and set the tops of the trees ablaze in its warm glow. The dreys appeared to hover like celestial bodies surrounded by snowflakes which meandered to the earth like lackadaisical falling stars.

SOLD, Fort, Crosswinds Marsh

1/19/21 & 1/25/21, Oil on canvas, 14" x 11"

I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about what has passed and situating it in my mind. At times history can feel like fantasy because it is the study of people, places, and situations that will never exist again as they were. On the other hand, studying history has been the most useful tool for me in developing a realistic perspective. As the student of history digs through time, searching for the explanations and points of origin which led to the present moment, one’s point of view necessarily broadens in order to accommodate the new knowledge. In essence, history teaches one to zoom out and put things in perspective of the long view. I believe that individuals and societies that do not have a memory of how the present moment came to be and do not realize that their moment is a slight blip connected to a multitude of sequential blips are in danger of acting ignorantly because their perspective is narrowed to the present without or forethought. Many of the lessons that history teaches are an antidote to potential stumbles in the future. Gaining knowledge about how I am connected to a process that is anchored in history and extends into the future has imbued me with a strength of character and a sense of responsibility to not take the time that I’ve been given for granted. 

The theme of memory features prominently in my painting Fort, Crosswinds Marsh. I had set out to this location to paint a view of the neighboring landfill as seen from the marsh while it was lit up with the golden glow of the sunset; however, as I was walking through the woods to get to the marsh, I noticed this fort made out of sticks and I was immediately transported back to my own childhood in which I spent year after year in the swamp and woods behind my house with the other kids in the neighborhood exploring, playing imaginary games, and building forts. Not only did I look back on my own time building forts as a kid but I was reminded of the open lot across the street from where I currently live in the city. There is a patch of a few trees in the lot and each summer, kids from the neighboring apartment complex find whatever is available to build forts around the tree trunks, where they play games probably not too different from the ones that I had played with my friends in the woods of my youth. As I stood in front of this fort in Crosswinds Marsh, I realized that wherever there are kids playing and a bit of nature, it is likely that a fort is nearby. The one before me in that moment came to symbolize a sacred space of sorts, sheltering generations of childhood memories.

Old Oak Hollow, Shiawassee Basin Preserve

1/4/21, Oil on canvas, 11"x 14"

This tree is directly in the path of a long abandoned dry stone wall, which previously formed a property boundary between lots that were likely agricultural. The wall has long since crumbled but I could see the stones that had been gathered, carried, and arranged into a wall, now untidily scattered and partially swallowed up by the ground. In the past the lots would have been cleared for the most part but since this tree was incorporated into the wall, it was preserved.  Today, this land has been incorporated into the Shiawassee Basin Preserve and trees have been allowed the chance to regrow in the areas that were previously cleared. In the background of this painting you can see all of the smaller diameter trees that have grown up around the old oak tree.