'Iron Sprouts'
Seedpods that open after the lapping of flames
Grow sprouts of iron
Sharp and eager
Finger-thorns pointing their intended directions
And beckon warm-blooded passers-by
To pet them, once
And leave a gift, in ruby red
In iron red
To feed their reach
About this series
Objet d'anon
Series: Objects: The Unseen Forest
There is a forest that grows from the mycelium of my mind, blooming outwards through my hands in forms familiar and surprising. Curious of their own becoming, self-regarding, often awkward. Parts foraged from nature’s gifts: stone, leaf, lichen, twig. Gathered from the ground, nothing plucked or picked, the tree-tops watching as I go. Something there, moved here, transformed.There are textures that return, woolen softness, iron spikes. Nature’s topologies writ out in moss, the earth's geometries stated in seedpod.Simple, restrained - only a thought or two combined. The human and the earth, thinking about each other, touching each other, becoming this: a third thing, The Unseen Forest.
Approx. 3× 2 × 1 inches.
Ships gently from Colorado.
Materials: Foraged stone and lichen, clay, lotus pod, paint, varnish, iron.
Folk art from the dark cottagecore end of the forest, where the ground keeps some iron in reserve. This sculpture belongs in a cabinet of curiosities or on a shelf of gathered relics, holding its ground among quieter things. Part seedpod, part warning: an art piece for the collected home that likes its tenderness with a bite.
'Iron Sprouts'
Seedpods that open after the lapping of flames
Grow sprouts of iron
Sharp and eager
Finger-thorns pointing their intended directions
And beckon warm-blooded passers-by
To pet them, once
And leave a gift, in ruby red
In iron red
To feed their reach
About this series
Objet d'anon
Series: Objects: The Unseen Forest
There is a forest that grows from the mycelium of my mind, blooming outwards through my hands in forms familiar and surprising. Curious of their own becoming, self-regarding, often awkward. Parts foraged from nature’s gifts: stone, leaf, lichen, twig. Gathered from the ground, nothing plucked or picked, the tree-tops watching as I go. Something there, moved here, transformed.There are textures that return, woolen softness, iron spikes. Nature’s topologies writ out in moss, the earth's geometries stated in seedpod.Simple, restrained - only a thought or two combined. The human and the earth, thinking about each other, touching each other, becoming this: a third thing, The Unseen Forest.
Approx. 3× 2 × 1 inches.
Ships gently from Colorado.
Materials: Foraged stone and lichen, clay, lotus pod, paint, varnish, iron.
Folk art from the dark cottagecore end of the forest, where the ground keeps some iron in reserve. This sculpture belongs in a cabinet of curiosities or on a shelf of gathered relics, holding its ground among quieter things. Part seedpod, part warning: an art piece for the collected home that likes its tenderness with a bite.
