Paint flowing into the demarcated tracks of wood boring beetles is like tattoos written on a body, calligraphy of a journey from larval to adult. ‘Limb’ references W.S. Merwin’s prose poem ‘Unchopping a Tree’, prescribing how to begin the arduous task of putting a tree back together. “Start with the leaves, the small twigs, and the nests that have been shaken, ripped, or broke off by the fall; these must be gathered and attached once again to their respective places.” ‘Limb’ mirrors these tasks. Reassembling this vine maple that grew in the yard of my family home speaks of irrevocable loss. Sewing through the rings of a tree is to sew through time itself, the tree’s memory.
The outer bark of a tree, concealing layer upon layer. Timber, a column of rolls of toilet paper stacked up one upon the other; the tissue printed with water-based pigment in the pattern of wood grain endlessly repeated. Wallpaper, a mural sized charcoal drawing of the bark of a Douglas-fir tree, worked up over a grid of 1536 squares (each 1 3/4 inch square), the pattern repeated as wallpaper but still retaining the unique markings of a hand or of nature.