Collage of Curiosities No. 23

April 2025

Spring is unfurling here. Once again, I’m able to venture into the garden and snip perennial blooms for the studio as annual seedlings shoot skyward in the safety of their seed trays away from the slugs and deer. The Oaks rained leaves and pollen upon us for the last two months, but now, their fresh growth is bathing us in a fleeting green glow. 

I’ve been thinking a lot about the woods of my childhood. The temperate forests of Virginia sing the loudest in my memories, where the leaves remain verdant and supple throughout the warm season. Under the cathedral-like canopies, moist air cools your skin. The sound of an unseen crow echoes among the pillars of statuesque tree trunks. This time of year gives me a taste of that here in Florida. 

The Oaks will not be fresh for long. Soon, the heat will harden the leaves to a leather, like the skin of a wizened sage. Their limbs, twisting with age, are laden with great beards of moss that sway in the salted wind. While I miss the woods up North, I’m lucky to be able to both frequent them and live in my own, somewhat harsher, coastal version. 

As a child, I moved often and traveled just as much, so my understanding of “The Woods” is diverse to say the least. Whether East or West, North or South, they all call to me their own ways. The darkness at the edge is at once foreboding and seductive. I feel heartache among the trees. A bittersweet melancholy that makes me want to lay my head against a mossy rock and cast myself as a part of its story forever. I often think this is what I’m trying to capture in my paintings. A sense of serenity, sublime overwhelm, and surrender to the wondrous spirit of nature. 

Exploring Winterthur Gardens Delaware in 2024.

Climbing roses on our house.

Detail of a painting in progress.

I feel heartache among the trees. A bittersweet melancholy that makes me want to lay my head against a mossy rock and cast myself as a part of its story forever. I often think this is what I’m trying to capture in my paintings. A sense of serenity, sublime overwhelm, and surrender to the wondrous spirit of nature. 

Our Oaks in the early morning mist.

Working on an illustration for a new stationery line.

Drawing Scabious leaves.

Piper in my studio chair.

Our Wisteria in bloom.