Aspen

One of the largest and longest living organisms in the world, the aspen has started to die on a mass scale.

An organism in constant flux, elder aspen trees often die while young shoots continually spread along the tendrils of the familial roots. Now they are acquiring a disease I have never seen before. The appearance of infected aspen is disconcerting. Because they bleed red sap through their thin skin-like bark, the trees attain a corporeal appearance. Sometimes the infections look like flesh wounds.

Growing up in the Colorado Rocky Mountain region, it has always been my favorite tree. It is with tremendous sadness and concern that I am recording the effects of this infection.

While my work has focused on social concerns on an international level, I’m pressed now to speak of the forests. They are dying at a rate that has reached epidemic proportions, and the infections are growing exponentially. Across the state, 80% of pine forests will die from beetle kill, and it is expected that we will loose 40% of aspen. We have yet to discover the direct cause of the aspens’ infection, but it is strongly assumed that the trees are not adapting to the warmer weather.

I sense that dying forests are among the first signs of major climate changes that will swing around to have equally drastic effect on us. For this reason I aspire to reflect these dramatic changes in a way that will cultivate concern for our natural environment and how we are tied to it.

I propose to create a large series of paintings depicting the aspen groves that are dying in the land of my blood. Traditionally, landscape painting is idyllic and romanticized. Beautiful paintings are engaging, but for me it’s also important to tie in conceptual elements that address our impact on the environment.

Recently I took my shotgun to a set of thick plywood panels, skimming the surface along the grain to create violent reliefs. Like any of my brushes, I use my shotgun as a mark making tool. It is a tool that was designed solely for destruction and will speak to the impact of our lifestyle on natural lands.

Contrasting the violent shotgun process, I will paint lush organic depictions of aspen. Following the vertical energy of the shot, I intend to layer groves atop of one another. Primed with white shellac, thin layers of oil paint will maintain a high transparency and appear ghostly. The groves will melt into each other and become an ephemeral flickering of whites and spring greens that will be contrasted by the blood red sap and black gashes of the infected aspen. The overall quality of the images will echo the quaking light in an aspen grove, while being painted in a fleeting manner to reflect the loss of extended families of aspen.

This past spring I spent 2 weeks sleeping in an aspen grove on the ranch where I grew up. I created an initial series depicting healthy aspen groves as a study of light in various weather conditions, as well as the array of spring greens emerging now. I will use these as a reference while creating the actual works from compiling the hundreds of photos I took of the infected groves further afield.

While landscape painting is a variance in my typical genre of painting, I feel this subject addresses environmental concerns that transcend our social structures since climate change will affect everyone, regardless of class. As with any subject, I am driven to find ways for the work to spur on dialogue and action. Frequently I align myself with organizations who work in the fields that have inspired my work. In this way, I am able to broaden arts audiences while encouraging communities to address issues to which we are all tied. Ultimately I envision installing the finished paintings where in one area the viewer is engulfed by intimate groves of ephemeral aspen. I would leave another part of the gallery empty as an ominous forecast for the future lest we begin to consider the repercussions of how we live.

Three generations of Women portrayed in the echoes of War in Bosnia.

Exploring War in a quiet way, my work emphasizes the long term impacts and the lingering effects on survivors. This body of work will explore the echoing effects of War on three generations of women of Croatian heritage from the Vares area near Sarajevo. The series will comprise of portraits of the family as well as paintings of their domestic spaces and natural environments.

Born and raised in Sarajevo, Daughter moved with her family to Vares to escape the siege. Her intuition told her early on that something was terribly wrong. She still struggles with the fact that neighbor turned against neighbor and her best friends from childhood suddenly were supposed to be her enemies. Not buying into the propaganda being fed to her by various sources, she escaped with her older sister three months before the rest of the family was forced to leave. They gained asylum in Sweden, and then she was granted refugee status in the United States. Knowing intimately the effects of war, she has been working with people who are escaping conflict all over the world and seeking asylum in the US.

In 1993, extremists from Croatia led a horrible massacre against the Muslims of Stupri Do that Anthony Loyd describes as “humanity banished to a barren wilderness of darkness and howling” The killings resulted in a huge retaliation directed towards Vares, which at that point was the largest integrated community in Central Bosnia. Overnight it turned into a ghost town as 20,000 Croatians departed in a huge exodus.

A few months after Daughters’ departure, Mother escaped with her youngest daughter and her sister’s family in this exodus; they all ended up in Zagreb, Croatia. She continues medical work she had been practicing in Vares during the war. Her sanctuary is a small porch where she has cultivated three generations of cacti.

Today, Vares is dominated by an abandoned iron mill where Father had worked as a mining engineer prior to his death. The structure was shelled and looted and now stands as a monument to the destructive nature of war.

Grandfather and Grandmother chose not to leave their ranch above Vares as it has been in the family for hundreds of years. They were able to survive by opening their doors to anyone who needed shelter, food or a strategic vantage point. No questions asked. Their barns were emptied by looters, but the structures are still standing. Their land remains in the family, perched up on the picturesque mountainous landscape of ancient forests and rolling fields full of grasses and wildflowers.

Grandmother is very old now, her unkempt garden drastically reduced in size, but still nourishing. Surviving three wars has let her appreciate peace even as she is filled with sorrow that displacement has scattered her family. Although she lost her parents and some siblings to the two World Wars, the hardest loss for her was to loose her son in the Bosnian war just ten days before the Dayton peace agreement. He stepped on a landmine while trying to save a wounded comrade.

All of the places described above as well as portraits that reflect the range of emotions in the three generations of women will be manifested in a large series of intimate sized paintings of different proportions. They will reflect displacement, sorrow and destruction as well as determination and strength.