Interlaced Narratives
From the lakeside studio I am drawn into nature and inspired. Such beauty, light, and wonder leave me humbled. And yet, as I take the inspiration of the landscape and begin to paint, it is not simple beauty that emerges. My act of painting pushes me beyond the lovely, the easy. Just as nature destroys itself to be reborn, my work undergoes a similar natural process of evolution, death, and rebirth.
I begin painting a background that has been influenced by the marvel of nature such as the shining sunset reflecting in the water or billowing clouds moving across the sky. Once the background painting is completed I begin to disrupt that cherished image of a memory by meticulously painting lines into a woven textile covering. At times the intersecting lines are painted tightly forcing viewers to stay on the outside and barely able to see the landscape underneath. The covering suffocates the land and it can not breathe. Then in another painting the web splits open to larger passageways, the background comes to the foreground, (a play between positive and negative) and one can see larger vistas of what lies beneath.
Sometimes I weave different thicknesses of cotton yarns on a loom and, when completed, will place the weaving as a covering over the surface of the landscape or a textured ground. These weavings are buried with paint and at other times they become modulated, moving in and out of the painting. There may be a time when I disrupt the weaving and pull out each line of thread until only crevices of intersecting lines remains. While immersing myself in painting I think about whether barriers act to protect or keep us isolated, or whether coverings keep us warm, safe, hidden or become suffocating? The intent for my work has evolved into a complex dialogue surrounding identity in relation to physical and psychological barriers.
Detritus Structures
In this series I focus on the beauty which lies in the symbiotic process of birth and death. During my walks in the forest, I will zoom in on fragments of decaying detritus. I often will take photographs of the decay and degeneration of lichen, mushrooms, silver-green and blue moss on tree barks, and decaying plants along the forest floor. Fascinating how the ordinary twig with speckles of lichen needs the life forces of the tree to stay alive. Back in the studio, I transforms these vignettes with an intricate process using woven grids and wax. These grids are made on my sewing machine with cotton threads on different surfaces: tissue papers, soft mulberry papers, silk, and soluble fabrics that disappears when placed in water leaving only the woven cotton thread structures. Then I will add encaustic paint to simulate metal rust and corrosion. The circles or ovals are like magnifying glasses centred on fragments of life and death.
From the lakeside studio I am drawn into nature and inspired. Such beauty, light, and wonder leave me humbled. And yet, as I take the inspiration of the landscape and begin to paint, it is not simple beauty that emerges. My act of painting pushes me beyond the lovely, the easy. Just as nature destroys itself to be reborn, my work undergoes a similar natural process of evolution, death, and rebirth.
I begin painting a background that has been influenced by the marvel of nature such as the shining sunset reflecting in the water or billowing clouds moving across the sky. Once the background painting is completed I begin to disrupt that cherished image of a memory by meticulously painting lines into a woven textile covering. At times the intersecting lines are painted tightly forcing viewers to stay on the outside and barely able to see the landscape underneath. The covering suffocates the land and it can not breathe. Then in another painting the web splits open to larger passageways, the background comes to the foreground, (a play between positive and negative) and one can see larger vistas of what lies beneath.
Sometimes I weave different thicknesses of cotton yarns on a loom and, when completed, will place the weaving as a covering over the surface of the landscape or a textured ground. These weavings are buried with paint and at other times they become modulated, moving in and out of the painting. There may be a time when I disrupt the weaving and pull out each line of thread until only crevices of intersecting lines remains. While immersing myself in painting I think about whether barriers act to protect or keep us isolated, or whether coverings keep us warm, safe, hidden or become suffocating? The intent for my work has evolved into a complex dialogue surrounding identity in relation to physical and psychological barriers.
Detritus Structures
In this series I focus on the beauty which lies in the symbiotic process of birth and death. During my walks in the forest, I will zoom in on fragments of decaying detritus. I often will take photographs of the decay and degeneration of lichen, mushrooms, silver-green and blue moss on tree barks, and decaying plants along the forest floor. Fascinating how the ordinary twig with speckles of lichen needs the life forces of the tree to stay alive. Back in the studio, I transforms these vignettes with an intricate process using woven grids and wax. These grids are made on my sewing machine with cotton threads on different surfaces: tissue papers, soft mulberry papers, silk, and soluble fabrics that disappears when placed in water leaving only the woven cotton thread structures. Then I will add encaustic paint to simulate metal rust and corrosion. The circles or ovals are like magnifying glasses centred on fragments of life and death.