pastel and acrylic on paper, 8” * 10”
Predictable End of Summer
It was October. Summer was over by a bit. I was deep in the rainforest of the Smoky Mountains. I was contemplating mushrooms that had flourished on a dead log, the visible parts of a network that was usually invisible. Mushrooms are the outsized fruits of fungi that grow almost microscopically on dead things and after a rain the mushrooms will appear, seemingly out of nowhere. The plant is always there but it makes itself conspicuous in certain conditions. Deep in these mountains those conditions are always present.
A friend’s father had passed in the spring. He was a man I respected very much. He was a friend. Over the summer, my fiancé had moved many miles away for a job, leaving me in our townhouse with the cats. I thought about things lost. About losing things.
These paintings came out of that summer. Like weird mushrooms they kind of fed on the loss, bloomed in its presence. The trek, by myself, deep into the dripping-wet bear-filled forest was for transitioning. Changing settings to change the heart and refresh the mind. Going in so that I could come out again.
The forests are filled with rushing streams and large boulders, miles and miles of paths flanked by thick rhododendrons, bright ferns and old growth trees. At this time of year there are few other hikers and these trails are isolated anyhow.
So I took a trip and came home and started these paintings. The paintings themselves have transitioned over time. The palette started in reflective pools of black and curtains of red, and lightened towards greens and light browns, raw umber, some yellow.
