Trees and Me

When I first moved to New York City in the late 80s, I was rent poor. It was a conscious choice to live in a more expensive neighborhood. I felt I had to live on a street with trees. They were more important to me than even a table and chairs. I’m not kidding. At the first Thanksgiving I hosted, I told everyone to bring a pillow and a plate. I didn’t have anywhere for people to sit or plates to eat from.

Since then, both of the houses I’ve lived in have been surrounded by huge trees at least 100 years old. Many of the photos on our walls and a few paintings we’ve purchased feature trees. I guess I found a husband who, coincidentally, loves trees as much as I do.

I’ve had trees on the brain for a while. I can sit outside and listen to the leaves for a really long time and feel like no time has passed. I’m forever intrigued and amazed by the variety in their shapes. I’ve read books about community of trees and the science of their paleo beginnings. I’ve snapped lots and lots of pictures. (I’ve only shared a smidgeon of the pictures I’ve taken!)

It shouldn’t be a surprise that I’ve finally started to put trees into my artwork. It’s been percolating in my brain for a while. The first piece I finished this summer came to the surface, in part, because I love redwood trees. It also emerged because so much of California suffered from fires. A glorious, tall, proud tree on someone’s property became the backdrop of two quilts created to mimic redwood tree bark. Attached to the decades-old charcoal scar from a fire, they became elements of my installation Redwood Bark Study: Burn Band Aids. I acknowledged, celebrated, and decorated the fire scar in the hopes that I can be as resilient as this tree.

I’m thrilled and honored to report that this installation image is part of SAQA’s first installation exhibition in its Virtual Gallery. You can see my piece, along with the other accepted entries here.