The experience has left me thinking about the relationship that I as an artist maintain with the natural world. I mean Nature with a big N. The one we hope to find when we visit a natural preserve or when we go for a walk in a quiet beach. The one we observe in moths and caterpillars and the birds who eat them. Even the one we try to guide and control in our gardens.
My work doesn’t make explicit references to Nature. My imagery derives from calligraphy and hand-writing. The materials I use are highly processed or synthetic. The references in my art are to mental processes, subjectivity and human emotions.
And yet, I get up early every morning to tend the garden were the vegetables and fruits served at our table grow. I live surrounded by National Forest lands. Wild lands. Rocks, oaks, birds and lizards keep me company while I work at the studio. It is very quiet our here. But you wouldn’t know any of this from looking at my work. I’ve actually never paid much mind to the relationship between the place were the art making takes place and the art itself. Until seeing those huge black, gray, white, orange and gray again smoke clouds. Just out back, behind the nearest ridge.
Fire and art are close, aren’t they? How does the garden, the old oaks which survived the Refugio fire, 50 years ago this summer, the jay, the wren, the warbler touch my art. Do they find their way into the work somehow? I don’t really know, I am pondering…
And so I ask you, Ragged Cloth Cafe regular, does nature find its way into your art? How?