Forest entry

Susan Stewart, in her book, ‘On Longing: Narratives of the Miniature, the Gigantic, the Souvenir, the Collection’, examines our fundamental relationship to the miniature and the gigantic.  Experiencing the latter through the landscape,  this image plays with these two “metaphors of containment”.





“Whereas the miniature represents closure, interiority, the domestic, and the overly cultural, the gigantic represents infinity, exteriority, the public, and the overly natural.”  Susan Stewart


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.  

Living near water

I live in an older home built in 1938 that feels to be wedged between the forest and the sea, though both forest and sea are relatively tame and sheltered here.  The yard is an extension of this urban forest with overgrown rhododendrons and hydrangea bushes growing amidst native trees and ferns.   Early travelers to this place would have encountered an unbroken wall of thick old-growth Douglas-fir forest running down to the shoreline.   These trees became timber for railway ties and the building associated with a flourishing mill town.  The yard houses two tall Douglas-fir trees that were amongst the first to germinate after the initial logging of the hillside 125 years ago.
My art comes out of this place, both local and distant, real and imagined.