Knitted Seaweed and other Oddities

I’ve looked at leaves from both sides now….

Not long ago I was sitting in a darkened theater watching a play. My eyes were drawn to the beam of light that the spotlight made. I watched the little specks of dust floating through space. Suddenly I was deep in the vastness of our insignificance. There are over six billion people on this planet — a number I can’t get my head around. I do know that it makes me pretty ordinary.

I think, to an American, being ordinary is an insult; we must be unique and individual. We are raised on this mantra, though I now doubt it. I am just like everyone else on my street, my block, my town.

Then it struck me. This is why I paint leaves. At first glance all leaves look the same. We can’t see the leaves for the tree. When they are on the tree they are rather uniform, there is very little distinction from one leaf to the next. It is only when they begin to change colors and fall off the tree that they become unique. Much like people, the truly interesting ones are flawed, broken, and changing colors.

So these paintings are my cry into the great well of insignificance. I am unique, rare and not like other leaves.

On the other hand, leaves symbolize shame. Adam and Eve used them to cover themselves in the garden and to hide from their Creator who loved them with an all inclusive, overwhelming, unconditional love. My paintings highlight that shame and our freedom from it. When we recognize and acknowledge the shame, only then can we get out from under it.

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The leaf that modeled for this painting came from Tombstone Arizona. Once I finished the painting it reminded me of the hills around Tombstone, thus its name. I painted this to replace Autumn Way, which was up at the Humboldt Area Foundation but is now safely back in my bedroom where it belongs. So if you want to see Tombstone you can stop by the Humboldt Area Foundation.

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