ave you ever stood before the varnished cross section of a once-mighty tree, its rings counted and labeled with notable dates? I think we find these displays interesting because they give us a sense of the vastness of time. They help us locate ourselves within that time.
Theologians, philosophers, scientists alike, wrestle with the universal questions: Where did we as a species come from? Where are we going? How long will it take? How long do we have?
On an individual level, any examined life yields the same existential questions: Where am I? Am I going the right way? Are there any clues? In the stars, the churches, the history books?
These are universal questions I ponder in my work. I revel in the fact that each human is connected to all others in this shared search for answers. I reference the cosmos, as I question whether time is another form of space, and vice versa. I include wood shards as relics of life, and tree rings as maps of the past. Counting hashes, boats, and ladders represent means of traveling through time and space. Suggestions of nests or shelters reflect a desire to hold or be held, in a place of belonging - an origination point, a destination.