My occupation as a gardener is heavily influencing my current work. I am often engaged in the meditative process of collecting sticks, rocks, and leaves which is reflected in the little bits of fabric that I collect and compose to form pictorial spaces. I employ the imagery of windows and fences in my paintings as frames for overgrown plants escaping and reclaiming their environments. The question of viewership is also addressed as we can peer through frames and windows, and occasionally the paintings and the natural world seem to perceive us back. The bones, stones, and seeds that comprise a natural environment can be combined into something greater than the sum of their parts. They contain many lives and possibilities and their appreciation often depends on the empty space between them. The negative space in my paintings gives the impression of a mosaic or stained glass windows but also of a forest canopy, the shattering of rocks, and the magical intermixing of all of nature’s elements. My work offers up occasional Rorschach-like compositions that suggest nature’s symmetries, geometry, mysteries, seeming perfection, subtle irregularities, frayed edges, and unexpected mutations. I organize botanical specimens and floral compositions that exist in conversation with their environments and not in precious bud vases. The gates and manmade structures that appear attempt to enclose, protect and contain nature. These are ultimately futile attempts at preserving plants, gardens, and ourselves from the ravages of time, theft, vandalism, predators, the elements, and other forces of the natural world.

@roachpatrol

Process

Here are a few images from inside my studio process and some outdoor compositions that influence my work. I like to play with sheer patterned fabrics and how light and color can pass through them. It is similar to the enjoyment I get looking through greenhouse plastic at work. I particularly liked how the plastic door looked lying on the ground on top of colorful river rocks. It reminds me of how I mosaic fabric in my paintings. My work is intimate and soft, so it feels nice to work at home sometimes. My dog, Tokyo, is often interested in what I am working on when I am set up on the dining room table. She is my first dog and has taught me unconditional love, which is a very tender experience. I am playing with some new imagery that is most likely influenced by her.

Influences

I picked recent photos on my phone to answer this prompt. These five influences—illustrations of native plants in winter, Josef Albers’ glass fusings, a science book on seeing, The Secret of NIMH, and a Marsden Hartley painting—involve careful looking, resilience, and the possible transformation of something ordinary into the extraordinary. Winter plant illustrations reveal structure stripped of flourish; science books illustrate how physical things work; glass has material clarity and demonstrates how color and transparency behave differently depending on context; paintings distill landscapes and symbols into bold, essential forms; animation shows that perception is an active, shifting process. I guess I mostly want to know what things look like. My eyes are hungry.

Challenges

My painting practice has taken priority in recent years, leaving behind my love of glass and video. I made some glass frames for my paintings a few years ago that were successful, but then I cast a bunch of glass forms intended for mixed-media sculptures that never went anywhere. I also have a back log of videos where I filmed debris suspended in water-filled bins. It is hard not to feel like a failure when I have projects unresolved. There is the itch that I can always be doing more. I still have a lot of interest in these projects and I know I will dig back in eventually with more knowledge from teaching, riding my bike, playing video games, and of course painting. I think that is what rest is to me, just being able to let things sit for a while and having faith that I will know what to do in the future.

Reflection

One of the best things I have done for the past two years is run an outdoor DIY art space called Please Don’t Mow. My boss at my gardening job was kind enough to let me use his land to host one artist a month where they could do any kind of installation that they please. It was a lovely exercise of creating a community in my own authentic way. I love giving people an excuse to let their freak flags fly outside of capitalism. Unfortunately the space is closing, so I had the last show in November. I plan on figuring out what garden space it can move to next year. My best advice is that if you feel stuck in your local art environment, try to make something happen for another artist. Giving back feels great.