The quiet appeal of trees
My solo show Things Worth Saving opens May 3rd, inspired by- you guessed it - trees, and some mountains and volcanos.
Hello dear readers,
Last week I accidentally took a week off from writing due to all-the-things. Among them was a studio move. I am happy to say that I am now in a new and improved space in the SIBLING building with a window on one of the walls letting in real sunshine - possibly the first full-time studio I have had with a window. ( I will share studio shots once we are all fully moved in.)
It’s wild how a locational reset often impacts my work and I am curious to see what this move does, if anything to influence the kind of work I am making or the subject matter. I have always been inspired by my surroundings. Even if they don’t literally make their way into my work, often something about my immediate environment does.
For example, when I lived in the Haight in San Francisco, I had just started my first full-time, behind-a-computer-screen-for-8-hours a-day job. I became fascinated with the intersection of well known hippy iconography the was ubiquitous in the neighborhood, the white lady boho chic worn by tourists and residents alike, and the memes and early emoticons of the time.
Likewise when I lived in the Tenderloin during grad school, I made work inspired by the tourist “antique” shops of Union Square a few blocks away.
And when I moved to LA, I became deeply connected to the many hills where I go hiking almost every day. Maybe because LA is such an urban sprawl of a city, I gravitated towards its opposite. In addition to the novelty of mountains I found myself very attracted to big, old trees.
I have always loved trees. When I was young, we had a big pine tree in our front yard that had flat branches that were perfect for climbing. My sister was too young to get up on them, and my parents were not interested, so it was a place I could go and just be by myself. I was able to look down on the neighborhood and feel protected behind the pine needles that fanned out around me. In my safe space I would make up songs and occasionally sing them to myself. When I was mad or sad, I would climb up as high as I could and try to figure out what to do about it once I got back down to earth.
Once I grew out of my ability to climb trees, they lost their place in my pantheon of interests. We weren’t a huge nature family, and as I got older I somehow got too busy or too important for the humble tree - other than to use it occasionally for shade.
During the pandemic, though, it was like I rediscovered the how cool trees were - maybe we all did. At the time I was in Mexico where there is no shortage of beautiful, gnarly jacaranda and pepper trees bursting out of the sidewalks. Their branches reached out over the streets, scarily intertwined with telephone wires and adorned with the occasional motion sensor light. During this moment of extreme stress and limitation, I realized how important having nice trees around were to my peace of mind. I looked forward to my walks where I spent time noticing their knots and the way they persevered in their quiet growth despite all the urban limitations.
When I arrived in LA, perhaps because of the lack of green in many parts of the city, I marveled at the old trees in Los Feliz, Glendale, and Pasadena. I have already written a little post about the famed tree that inspired my latest paintings, the McFall Oak. The gesture by the fire department to save the old tree from the Station Fire inspired the title of my solo show, Things worth saving.
Things worth saving opens May 3rd in Minneapolis at Dreamsong Gallery, and I wanted to take this chance to share the work, which also feels like a close to the first chapter in my LA experience because it culminated around the same time as my studio move.
If you’re in Twin Cities, you can see the work in person. Because of the florescent paint, they radiate in a different way in person, so it’s worth the trouble to make the trek into the city in my humble opinion. Images below :
Also as part of this series, I included a few of my volcano paintings that I made while on residency at The Space Program. I was confused by their arrival, like one might be at the eruption of a long dormant volcano in real life.
Beautiful stuff, Sarah! And congrats on the studio and the window! xo
These are gorgeous. They remind me of photo negatives (the exposure). I got neon paint not long ago but haven’t tried it yet…now I’m inspired!