On the Laguna Trail

Fall used to be my favorite season. It still is, but now it terrifies me. The rustling of the leaves means that the wind is picking up. The sudden heat of Indian Summer means that something is about to catch on fire.  The rust and brown colors of the hills look like burn scars. The sweet heavy smoke from my neighbor's fireplace sends me into a panic attack. And yet I will not let fear and trauma steal away my love for this season. You can love what you fear, and fear what you love. Love and fear are dark twin goddesses of the heart.

The Randomness of What Remains (The Thing and the Image of the Thing)

This painting began as an homage to random found objects. Pieces I'd found at a yard sale, an "artist stimulus giveaway." I took pictures of them and printed them out. I envisioned this piece as an homage to THE THING and THE IMAGE OF THE THING. But that wasn't enough. I lived with it like that for a while. The juxtaposition of THE THING and THE IMAGE OF THE THING. It was interesting but also a little boring. Too safe. Too obvious. Then I started adding and changing. Made it actually even more obvious. I didn't like it. I realized I needed to cover it up. Cover it in tissue paper, paint it black, and start fresh by uncovering. 

When I look at it now, after covering and uncovering, slashing open the tissue paper skin with an Exacto knife over and over again, I can see what I didn't expect:

After the latest fire, our backyard was covered in ash and soot. Not just fine powdery ash but chunks of charred THINGS, clusters of pine-needles turned to coal, blackened skeletons of bay leaves (so many bay leaves!), and a random piece of a burned page from some technical manual.

This is an homage to the THINGS WE LOST. THINGS WE LOST TO THE FIRE. Covered and uncovered under layers of soot and ash. The thing and the image of the thing. The randomness of what remains.

10.14.20