Thresholds

A Lullaby for a Florida I Lost

Zion, 2022

Cutthroats and Flowers

Drifting in BC

Nola

Wild Geese

River of Grass

Blue Highways, 2022

Wassaic, Three-Toed Woodpeckers

Dunes (Pink-Violet)

Wyoming

You Held My Pink Quartz Heart

Missing: 1992 Geo Tracker

It's the Same Feeling, Sunday in Savannah

Night in the City, 2022

the landscape is not the land. it is a concept, a painting. a construction toward a type of space (historically white space here in these united states). the land with all its interlaced ecosystems will not be defined: it is change, flow, endless cycle. it is not the picturesque. the work i endeavor to make is simultaneously lost in the romanticism of the non-human environment with its ability to awe, to sublime, to make us feel small, but also continuously aware of how the built human environment has begun to touch everything. how all space is up for development. i want to know where things that are not us will fit into the future. will the natural environment just be fodder for the Ai server databases or will we collectively rise and say this swamp is too special to drain, this endangered freshwater snail is the portent of our future. i grew up in the woods and was taught a concept of masculinity through the conduit of the environment; how to survive, be tough, kill things. i see my practice as a way of breaking that toughness through softness, nest building, poetry, bringing my cat camping. acknowledging the performance that is recreation. that modern hunting culture is. that being a man is. i layer my work; i hope you keep finding little details and hidden narratives, because i believe in the power of erosion as opposed to avalanches. i want to be the persistent drop of water that bores a hole in the stone. i want to be nothing and everything. i make this work in earnest, it is vital.