I’ve always had an affinity for forgotten places; the pieces of land we’ve left semi-wild only because it’s impractical to develop them, or they have no resources left for us to exploit. Wetlands. River bluffs. Floodplains. Strips of meadow with power-lines above or pipelines below. The intertidal zone. A wooded valley running along train tracks. This affinity is likely more habitual than innate — true wilderness is inaccessible to people without cars, money, passports, and ample amounts of free time, so those of us whose sanity depends on regular doses of Nature rely on the forgotten places. We watch sunsets as the geese do: with the distant, unceasing roar of the interstate in our ears.
These landscapes tend towards weediness, but I’ve grown to especially love the skeletons of wildflowers that are the guardians of these imperfect scraps of land, rattling in the cold November winds. My work for this show is a tribute to forgotten places and their inhabitants in the waning season of the year, and the waning season of our planet.