These works from my solo show the fullest measure of you, is you at Chandra Cerrito Contemporary present intimate visions of the landscape, and of trees in particular. I create life-size black and white photographic portraits of giant California redwoods, equating their significance, their magnificent equal footing, and their essential role in our web of being, to that of human subjects. Life-size prints of redwood trees, mainly, are archival inkjet prints on kozo paper. 2017
The scrim's diaphanous planes describe formerly invisible spaces, and enunciate the act of looking.
Tree Portrait Commissions
There are tree portraits taken on commission, created to celebrate special trees that often feel like members of the family, or have witnessed special occasions in life. Please contact me for commission information.
This portrait commission depicts an American Elm tree in Central Park, New York. It is believed this elm was planted by Frederick Law Olmsted himself, co-designer of Central Park. My goal in this photograph is to depict the tree as it is, rather than as it can be seen. It is obscured by other trees, so this view is a creation of 17 images stitched together, shot from different points surrounding this beautiful elm. The tree is also notable for its survival; Dutch elm disease has decimated approximately 75% of American elms since its introduction to the United States almost a century ago.
Archival inkjet photograph, 2018, 44x60 inches. Each overpainted by hand in gouache. Edition of 7 plus AP.
Archival inkjet photograph, gouache, 2017.
Pear, Hudson Valley
Archival inkjet photograph, 2017.
Pear, Hudson Valley, part 2
My tree portraits are often made in two parts: the whole tree, plus a second image that is a one-to-one detail, to see them in their true scale. Archival inkjet photograph, 2017.
Archival inkjet photograph. 2017
Pine, West Sussex
Archival inkjet photograph, 2018.
Pine, West Sussex, part 2
A detail, printed in one-to-one scale.
Weeping Willow, New York
Archival inkjet photograph. 2017. In this photograph, the reflection tells the story.
Weeping Willow, New York, part 2
A one-to-one scale detail. Archival inkjet photograph, 2017.
Pin Oak, Connecticut
Archival Inkjet Photograph, 2017.
Cartographers have for centuries grappled with the thorny spatial problem of translating the three-dimensional sphere of the earth into an accurate two-dimensional representation. It requires human interpretation. I love the metaphor that problem presents: how do we communicate lived experience in the natural world? Way-Finding is an investigation into mapping interior and exterior landscapes.
Walking the Ecliptic
Mapping the Ecliptic
Downpour is a shimmering diaphanous column of pins and thread, suspended from the ceiling and pooled on the ground.
It is perhaps like arranging fallen leaves to mimic nature, but careful attention to phenomena such as gravity feels a magical, a quiet rumination. Downpour requires careful, repetitive movements, and the deliberate placement of thread in space. Each pin is knotted to the thread with a clove hitch, a forearm’s distance from the last one. The clove hitch is a knot made just of two loops, one crossed over the other which secure to each other when pulled. I learned it as a child from my father, who also taught me about the wind, tides, sailing and navigation. My fingers get used to making thousands of hitches. The process not only allows for steadiness, but requires it. The result is a shimmering quasi-solid of translucence and barely-there density, approximating aerial particles. Not quite mass, not quite gas, it lives in the realm of slow-motion sea spray or falling rain.
The Cosmos photographs are shot from airplanes. Although the patterns of the abstracted points of light are human systems, i.e. road lights, houses, and businesses, their forms echo natural patterns. In the more populated image, the human system has a web-like presence, while in the less dense image, the patterns begin to look like a part of the cosmos.
Cosmos 1 and 2
Installation view. Each is 36" square
My bed photographs are an intimate way for me to be present with the flow of time. I have been photographing the bed I slept in the previous night since October, 1993. Each image reveals presence through the evidence of the absent body. I now have thousands of these images. They appeal to me visually, and the tumult or calm of the previous night’s sleep is evident. They feel like a narrative on a quiet scale illuminating the passage of time, and a document about what makes memory.
beds, studio view
Studio view. Each image is 4x6"
Attached to the wall with a pin
This is the first bed photo I shot: October 29, 1993. Oakland California.
the skin is the threshold of the body
These are eucalyptus leaves, seen in silhouette through a sheet. Each is preserved in beeswax and pinned to the fabric.
On the right is a sealed cube of light, delineated with scrim, and lit with natural light. On the left is one of the two panels of eucalyptus leaves. Each leaf is preserved in beeswax and pinned to the fabric. Here the leaves are seen in silhouette.
Detail of eucalyptus leaves. Each is preserved in beeswax and pinned to fabric.
Installation view. The bedsheets on the right show the thousands of pins used to attach the eucalyptus leaves to the fabric.
I research the declination of the spot in which I shot the photograph, and then cut and rotate a circle in the photographic paper the number of degrees representing the declination in that place, like an abstracted version of the compass notations on nautical charts and maps.
True North 2
Altered photograph. 20x30. 2015
The desert salt flats of Western Nevada are a place where I can explore scale and photography.
There is a subtle shift visible in the lower left quadrant of this photograph. I cut a circle in it, and rotated the circle the number of degrees corresponding to the declination in that spot on earth.