10" x 30"
2010
acrylic on textured canvas
Sold
The full text reads "You have always been the one I was looking for" in all caps.
It's a familiar sentiment. Well, familiar to some. To find what you were looking for, without knowing you were looking for it. And to know unquestionably that this thing, or person, was what you needed, what you were looking for without realizing it.
At the time I painted this, I was thinking about the ferns in my front yard. Before the harsh winter this year (well, harsh for Houston), I had an overabundance of ferns in my front yard. I was preparing to thin the beds out, and trade some for ginger with a friend. But then it froze. And stayed cold. And snowed. My ferns did not like this.
I was unhappy for a while, but accepting, because I had done nothing to prevent this. However, upon closer inspection, and when the sun finally returned, I realized that a few delicate fingers of green were slowly spiraling up out of the dirt. I realized that what I had thought was lost, due to my indifference, was actually still salvagable. In fact, it was probably beneficial to the plant for some of it to die back naturally, instead of violently through my intervention with a cultivator. If only relationships with people were as easily wrangled as relationships with plants.
The curving, organic lines in this work, and the acompanying text, reach out of the bottom of the painting towards an unseen sun. Plants, from the moment they are germinated under the soil, begin their struggle upwards, towards light, towards heat, towards warmth. It matters not if the plants know that it is "the sun" that they are reaching towards with all their might, they just head towards the warmth - because it feels right.
Are we, as humans, really that different? We crave warmth, we crave companionship, we crave community. Unfortunately, some people chose to interpret this craving as a need to be with somebody, anybody, in order to not be alone. To be a part of something definite, if flawed, instead of facing the unknown possibility of something better, something right. Something you never knew you were looking for.
2010
acrylic on textured canvas
Sold
The full text reads "You have always been the one I was looking for" in all caps.
It's a familiar sentiment. Well, familiar to some. To find what you were looking for, without knowing you were looking for it. And to know unquestionably that this thing, or person, was what you needed, what you were looking for without realizing it.
At the time I painted this, I was thinking about the ferns in my front yard. Before the harsh winter this year (well, harsh for Houston), I had an overabundance of ferns in my front yard. I was preparing to thin the beds out, and trade some for ginger with a friend. But then it froze. And stayed cold. And snowed. My ferns did not like this.
I was unhappy for a while, but accepting, because I had done nothing to prevent this. However, upon closer inspection, and when the sun finally returned, I realized that a few delicate fingers of green were slowly spiraling up out of the dirt. I realized that what I had thought was lost, due to my indifference, was actually still salvagable. In fact, it was probably beneficial to the plant for some of it to die back naturally, instead of violently through my intervention with a cultivator. If only relationships with people were as easily wrangled as relationships with plants.
The curving, organic lines in this work, and the acompanying text, reach out of the bottom of the painting towards an unseen sun. Plants, from the moment they are germinated under the soil, begin their struggle upwards, towards light, towards heat, towards warmth. It matters not if the plants know that it is "the sun" that they are reaching towards with all their might, they just head towards the warmth - because it feels right.
Are we, as humans, really that different? We crave warmth, we crave companionship, we crave community. Unfortunately, some people chose to interpret this craving as a need to be with somebody, anybody, in order to not be alone. To be a part of something definite, if flawed, instead of facing the unknown possibility of something better, something right. Something you never knew you were looking for.
