An Infinite Process

I remember the moment in college when I was drawing a typewriter for an object drawing class. As I stared at the keys, they began to come alive. It became clear to me that I had a whole organic world hidden inside my head, a world full of organisms with their own rhythm and their own way of relating to each other. I wondered if it was healthy to live in two worlds— one world only experienced by me. I wondered how I would move back and forth between them, but It wasn’t surprising that this world had opened up to me. I spent my childhood walking with my father in his garden, pollinating daylilies, examining pear branches grafted on an apple tree, and cutting open strange vegetables. My world was enriched and grounded by the seasons and cycles of life as I watched parents and grandparents live their passions— embracing music, books, baking, drawing, a love of textiles and needlework, and beautiful, rich holidays.

Decades later, their passions and gifts still travel with me, reminding me that the essence of who we are, deep inside ourselves, stays with us as life and art-making unfold. In my work, those intuitive organisms I discovered long ago still exist with unique characteristics that are

collected from life’s experiences. They spontaneously grow and morph as they reflect the unique journey inside each of us. These organisms reveal both devastating, fierce, uncontrolled energy and overwhelming swells of serenely floating calm that is inside each of us. The marks are made with whatever media will translate the characteristics of an organism. In some pieces, the process seems unfinished, with traces of past roads and pathways for future exploration.

I have vivid memories of exploring the acidic, boiling springs at Yellowstone. I was overwhelmed, as it became so clear that all life on our planet shares life’s cycles and the same DNA. The experience heightened my sense of who we are in relationship to all life on our planet —from gigantic trees to microscopic mold and fungi. A digital microscope enabled a whole world of imaginary organisms to flourish in my mind. A world of life forms that multiply from microscopic particles morph into new worlds and decay—hidden cycles of life.

Recently, it has become even more clear that hidden organisms and the natural cycles of our world are intricately connected to our own lives. Climate change and an unpredictable virus altered whatever order we knew in the world, damaging our sense of balance. The natural world and its cycles that kept me grounded as an artist and as a person were now at risk. I weathered my drawing paper, leaving it outside for a month, as pristine paper no longer meshed with a sense of deep uncertainty. I find myself moving forward from a once-naive sense of security to a way of living life with hidden mysteries.

Deep under devastation there always seems to be rebirth. Although the predictability of the changing seasons has been altered with time, they continue to provide a sense of stability. My current work still reflects that essence inside of me, but with added experiences and memories —split-second memories and more elaborate complex ones that reveal excruciating, difficult times, as well as light, joyful and hopeful ones. When our work comes from these deep places, it grows and changes with us. At the same time, memories that we hold alter our rhythm and our focus, coloring who we are as we journey through life. My drawings reflect a spontaneous process of our essence deep underneath while memories and experiences continually alter our paths—a never-ending process.