The following series, Field Notes: Horsetooth, is a collection of five abstract expressionist paintings inspired by sandstone formations around Horsetooth Reservoir. The sediment, rocks, and pine needles incorporated into each painting are also from Horsetooth. My initial inspiration for this project was somatic, in that I was interested in natural formations that looked like bodies. A piece of granite or the surface of lakes on a windy day resembling cellulite. Pores in sandstone reminding me of my own complexion. Crevices scooped and open like mouths. That a body and a rock could resemble each other was fascinating to me. I began by sketching each formation. Then, I wrote descriptive vignettes as I sat with the rocks in their surrounding environments. These same vignettes act as the titles for each piece (for the exception of the first two, which are inspired by two different features on the same rock). At home, I used my sketches to initiate mixed-media oil paintings. Through the painting process, I realized these rocks/bodies reminded me of much more; the passage of time, for instance, or what it means to preserve the places I love in paint. This project evolved into but one attempt among many to explore the body politic and ethics of ecological passion.
(Part I) 9/17/23, 1330. As a climber, I search for things to fill. There are places where my fingers fit, and places where they don’t. I need at least two fingers in a pocket to begin climbing. Sometimes, the pockets fill themselves—dust and sediment settles in the cracks and when I reach in, a cobweb emerges like a slime or a glove. I’ve disturbed something precious. Oil and dirt on canvas, 2023(Part II) 9/17/23, 1330. As a climber, I search for things to fill. There are places where my fingers fit, and places where they don’t. I need at least two fingers in a pocket to begin climbing. Sometimes, the pockets fill themselves—dust and sediment settles in the cracks and when I reach in, a cobweb emerges like a slime or a glove. I’ve disturbed something precious. Oil and dirt on canvas, 2023.8/30/23, 1100, one boulder looks as though it fell from the gravel layer and rolled downhill, closer to water, to where it might go unnoticed some parts of the year. A smooth top layer of small craters looks as though it could rumble, though the pebbles I suspect were once there have fallen away. This baby turned into a mother stone, too. The craters are small and placed with no visible organization, as if knitted amorphously. The biggest of them holds my thumb. They, too, leave fine granules in my fingers. These amorphous craters create space, small overhangs perhaps for an ant or two to hide from the rain. This boulder sits, as though planted, next to harsh brambles and overgrown desert leaves. The most significant of these brambles being a tough green leaf, holding its water, I imagine, like years of terrible secrets. Often, I resist the urge to pluck the brambles from their branches. Around us, cicadas squeal. Oil and dirt on canvas, 2023.9/17/23, 1330, We climb the Buttcrack at Piano Ridge—the boulder named after a ‘problem’ (one way of saying a route) labeled by climbers. The rock is clear from the bottom of the hill for its large, worldly crack. I reach my hand inside, finding a sharp jug to grab. My partner tells me there are fossilized dinosaur footprints in the overhang below the crack. I am amazed—“how did they form?” I ask. He tells me they belong to a small dinosaur who, likely, stepped in some mud once. The compression of soil from its monstrous weight created, over time, a hardened divot in the already hardened stone. I am led to believe this footprint survived because the mud here was denser, a small section of solid sandstone surrounded by less compressed sandstone. Oil and dirt on canvas, 2023.8/30/23, 1130, by the water at the reservoir, another glowing rock takes the form of rippled water. Imagine sand pressed to the beach like corduroy, like the lines a groomer makes at the ski slope, and look here, by the rock, a piece of gray driftwood leaning at its head. This quiet, gentle thing. Oil and dirt on canvas, 2023.
Memory As Sediment
A series of large and small-scale abstract oil paintings exploring specific memories of my now-deceased father.
The Vase, oil on canvas, 53 x 44 in, 2024Close-up 1 of The VaseClose-up 2 of The VaseClose-up 3 of The VaseIn the Car, oil on canvas, 45 x 36 in, 2024Close-up 3 of In the CarClose-up 2 of In the CarClose-up 1 of In the CarWalking Down the Stairs, oil on canvas, 4×6 in, 2024Side view of Walking Down the StairsThe Trashcan, oil on canvas, 4×6 in, 2024Side view of The Trashcan
Driving to Bend, oil on canvas, 4×6 in, 2024
Side view of Driving to Bend
Burn Zones
I did a triptych for a small event at CSU’s @cnhp_social with a couple dope painters in November of 2024. These pieces are inspired by a bush in a burn zone from the Alexander Mountain Fire in 2024.
In November, when US 34 was open again, I drove up looking for evidence of the burn. To my surprise, I had to search for it. I had imagined decimated trees and charred canyon walls, and I found those things, but only after searching through a sea of Fall color. I wish I were more knowledgeable about fire ecology. I can’t tell you this fire was entirely generative for the surrounding ecosystem, even if I did see a lot of green. And I also can’t tell you that the 28 homes and 10,000 acres burned weren’t meaningful to at least twice as many people. I’m skeptical of growth these days.
Many thanks to the painters and work of the CSU Natural Heritage Program for the research and context that inspired this work.
Color -> Shape -> Movement, oil on canvas, 11 x 22 in, 2024
