Natural Cycles Artist Statement

Ten years of farming has taught me to live with and accept the cycles of nature which dictate my daily routine. The turning of the seasons, the weather that comes with them, the phases of the moon, the ebb and flow of tides and the transformation of decay into growth and back again is something we cannot escape. These processes could be considered too big to be seen. We can behold their products, feel their elemental energies, but only in fragments. Their complexity can only be understood in the abstract.

The languages of science and religion talk about our place in nature. We can measure and hypothesize it into a rational framework or we can search for divine meaning and truth in the mysteries of god’s creation. Both seem to be obsessed with a solution, as if there was some problem. But the language of art offers an alternative. It gives the individual a freedom to invent a new language with a unique vocabulary. It invites a dialogue between the rational and the spiritual, between the personal and the universal and it accepts that the unknown may not be a problem at all.

In 2017 we had a big fire. How it started was a mystery. A brand new barn, 30×30 feet. over 300 hours of work burned to nothing in about 40 minutes. My personal carbon footprint grew so big that only ten years of farming could offset it. I lost many things including about ten works of art. It was a sad and difficult time. In the debris, there were only few objects that I could salvage. Some of these are on display in the exhibit. The wooden floor of the cold-room had survived by being insulated from the extreme heat of the fire with boxes of turnips, squash and carrots. These boxes melted on the surface and fused with the wood, creating a texture i had never seen before. It was the first moment of inspiration and hope i’d had since the fire. As I shovelled the blackened debris into a giant dumpster, I looked at the wood that had survived and vowed not to let it go to waste. I cut it into three panels which I relentlessly covered with paint for the better part of three years. It was therapy and meditation, and eventually it transformed into art. Just as the earth can turn a rotten cabbage into a rich growing medium, the human mind can transform a tragedy into a work of beauty.

When it came time to rebuild, it had to go fast because winter was coming. Fast construction generates more waste because there is less time to economize. The piles of scrap wood grew. Bigger pieces were used for shelves, cabinets and tables for the barn. Everything smaller than two feet was saved for painting.

The OSB provided an interesting challenge. This ubiquitous material, pressed into standard sheets by giant machines generated a unique surface pattern that denied its mass-produced origins. The slivers of wood meet at every possible angle to create a chaotic texture. It could be seen as an analogue of the natural world, the debris in a forest, autumn leaves, crystal structures or seaweed on a beach. The idea was to integrate these ‘accidental’ structures as a foundation for composition. Adding forms and colours to accentuate them. It would be a kind of ‘automatic painting,’ an unplanned, free application of elements which could create new visual connections. Out of the void of abstraction something will inevitably emerge. A recognizable form, a face, an animal or a horizon line.

Then there is plywood. Solid and dependable. It can stay intact for years being punished by sun, wind and rain. Like its cheaper, fragmented cousin OSB, it has a unique texture, one more graceful and voluptuous. Starting a painting with a surface of undulating lines which are the growth rings of a tree is an invitation to express the forces that shaped its life. Each hole was once the base of a branch and thus becomes a mark of character to be integrated rather than an imperfection to be hidden. Each screw-hole, scratch and chip in the surface is a record of its history and a story of its function.