TENDING: 

Who You Take Care Of And Who Takes Care Of You

This body of work began as a personal invitation to explore the color green and ended (as so many things do) as a reflection on my relationship with my mom, my relationships, and my interactions with the world at large.

When learning to care for other people, I’ve felt stiff and flat. I’ve parented like messy brushstrokes, and been in relationships like empty silhouettes. It has taken most of my life for me to understand that before I care for others, I have to care for myself. (Thank goodness for decades of therapy). That stiffness around caring came from the fact that I didn’t know how to prioritize my own needs and be gentle with myself because of them.

The plants depicted in this show are from my mother’s garden, my stepmother’s garden, and the houseplants in my art studio. Tending to plants has been an evolving metaphor for me as an artist and a human. You let things die back, make cuttings from plants you like, and water houseplants on a regular schedule. These metaphors can apply to my art practice, projects I’ve undertaken, or relationships I’ve been in. Some things need a fallow season, some things need regular water. 

As I was making this show I saw the metaphors between plants, painting, and life everywhere. I saw TENDING, I saw myself taking care of people and people taking care of me.

My dark side thinks (knows?) we live in a world that rewards extraction, consumption, and exploitation. Trust and interdependence do not come easy. TENDING is the antidote that keeps me here. I can keep watering the plants. I can keep picking up the kids. I can say I love you to my friends. This is the work of showing up, it is messy and imperfect and I want to celebrate that we are doing it.