Trees: Brother Oak, Sister Cypress
In my studio today, I lightly ran my hands over my collaged cypress tree, finding any loose edges of paper that might be a weak spot in the future life of this artwork. I wet the loose papers and re-glued them. This large work (24x84) was almost finished. I had just painted the background an atmospheric grey and now just need to coat the collage and varnish.
As I worked, the memories of my love for trees began playing through my mind's eye. As a little girl, I had a favorite spot up in a mimosa tree. My distinct memory of being surrounded by those prolific pink blooms is pure magic. When we bought our current home, it was set on a lush green lawn with over 50 trees, mostly oaks. I was determined to put my mark on the landscape and set about breaking up the lawn with smaller plantings of roses, camellias, vines, other ornamentals and bulbs. After months of this phrenetic activity, my attention turned to the trees. Almost like the creator was saying, "You have a beauty here that you are not noticing: the trees". So I slowed down and began to take notice of their architecture, their shade, their shape against the light or night sky, their bark and their changes through the seasons.
A couple of years later, we were hit hard with hurricane Ike. As the storm passed through the night, I stood in our dining room and watched the sky light up with turquoise and orange lightning. The Oaks behind us that make up the woods around Sims Bayou were moving like a group of Caribbean dancers on the street. It was amazing and gorgeous and frightening.
The next morning I saw what happens when oak trees dance. The canopy behind our property looked like a bunch of broken off toothpicks. The thigh high debris covered our two acres. We lost a third of our trees. A tornado had taken out the trees along our street. The landscape was so changed that some of our good friends that came over often, drove right by our house the first time after the storm. Amazingly, no home on our block was severely damaged. We were all safe and grateful.
It was during the clean up of Ike that I discovered what type of connection I had with these trees, and what they meant to me, to our property, and this world. It literally felt that I had lost brothers and sisters. The loss of the presence of these trees taught me more about trees than I could have learned any other way.
For the past year I have been creating collaged trees on canvas. I use old magazines to create my crazy quilt like textures of trees. They keep getting bigger and bigger as I try to communicate their essence and presence. So the cypress is nearly done and next will be ancient oaks from Baldwin Park near midtown, 74x36. I can't wait to start them!
As I worked, the memories of my love for trees began playing through my mind's eye. As a little girl, I had a favorite spot up in a mimosa tree. My distinct memory of being surrounded by those prolific pink blooms is pure magic. When we bought our current home, it was set on a lush green lawn with over 50 trees, mostly oaks. I was determined to put my mark on the landscape and set about breaking up the lawn with smaller plantings of roses, camellias, vines, other ornamentals and bulbs. After months of this phrenetic activity, my attention turned to the trees. Almost like the creator was saying, "You have a beauty here that you are not noticing: the trees". So I slowed down and began to take notice of their architecture, their shade, their shape against the light or night sky, their bark and their changes through the seasons.
A couple of years later, we were hit hard with hurricane Ike. As the storm passed through the night, I stood in our dining room and watched the sky light up with turquoise and orange lightning. The Oaks behind us that make up the woods around Sims Bayou were moving like a group of Caribbean dancers on the street. It was amazing and gorgeous and frightening.
The next morning I saw what happens when oak trees dance. The canopy behind our property looked like a bunch of broken off toothpicks. The thigh high debris covered our two acres. We lost a third of our trees. A tornado had taken out the trees along our street. The landscape was so changed that some of our good friends that came over often, drove right by our house the first time after the storm. Amazingly, no home on our block was severely damaged. We were all safe and grateful.
It was during the clean up of Ike that I discovered what type of connection I had with these trees, and what they meant to me, to our property, and this world. It literally felt that I had lost brothers and sisters. The loss of the presence of these trees taught me more about trees than I could have learned any other way.
For the past year I have been creating collaged trees on canvas. I use old magazines to create my crazy quilt like textures of trees. They keep getting bigger and bigger as I try to communicate their essence and presence. So the cypress is nearly done and next will be ancient oaks from Baldwin Park near midtown, 74x36. I can't wait to start them!
Rooted, 36x48, Collage & Acrylic on Canvas
Cypress on the Bank, 24x74, Collage & Acrylic on Canvas
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