Each body of water, open field, forest brush, and hillside is home. Under each stone, on every tree's branch, and in all small corners of our world, there is someone living. Everywhere we look, and everywhere we do not look, there are lives being lived.
When I observe creatures and their habits, I reach to know what I can only wonder. What is it like to be the bird in that tree? To be the tree that houses the bird? What does the air carry to them, that my senses can not hold? Who do they care for and love, as I care for and love my own? If I can never know, I must care and love them in return for the wonder they instill me, and I must do it through art.
A Nourishing End
A tree dies in the forest. Its bark feeds fungi, its hollows house a family, and a shrew sustains them. Somewhere in Washington State, a tree is cut down, and eventually it becomes the art before you.
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Though they all had a regrettable death, at least they had A Nourishing End.
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Pyrography on maple wood, 2024
36x18x1.5 2024
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*Sold*
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Kingfisher
From a tree above the creek, Kingfisher hunts. Diving again and again, up and down, up and down. The motions form a spiral, and the spiral forms a life.
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Pyrography on maple wood, 2024
12x25x1, 2024
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Resting Place
From the pond outside my window, I hear the frogs sing. Their chorus summons life, and tells us it is Spring.
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pyrography on maple wood
9x18x1.5, 2023
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Mozasu Foraging
We live in different priorities, perspectives, and tasks, but our neighborhood is the same. I flow through my days, and they flow through theirs. We watch the neighborhood, with different vantage points, seeing the same place, differently
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One day I find myself watching them, and I notice they are watching me
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I must wonder: how long have they noticed me and how much do they know? What else do I not notice and how much do I not know?
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pyrography on maple wood
9x23x1, 2024
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Finding a Secret
The bark acts as a curtain, pulled aside by a mischevious hand, to peer upon a once-secret. Like a surprise under a blanket of ferns, slug has already discovered what we now see: a cluster of fairy mushrooms growing from a bed of forget-me-not flowers.
May we never forget the pleasure of pulling aside a curtain in nature to find a beetle under a long-setttled stone, a ripe, red berry past the first layer the leaves, an empty snail shell in the brush. May we always revel in discoveries our younger selves would find spectacular.
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pyrography on wood, 10x4 in, 2024
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