CC White
"Paint, these need paint," was my first thought when looking at these pieces of wood, and suddenly they became not just pieces of wood, but parts of trees again. Trees that in their death became something else, even perhaps something utilitarian and beautiful, but still something other than their life's purpose. I mourn this loss, while at the same time I walk on wide pine board floors, open and close the windows, and go in and out the doors. I am part of the problem. And I am only one of millions who, without a thought, use these resources that nature provides. And we don't give back. And we have lost the rituals by which we used to give thanks for this amazing abundance. This installation is such a vision: a monument for trees, the markers made from trees in order to honor what once was, and to apologize for my own part in the realm of human activity. I remind myself that I am part of the problem.
"Paint, these need paint," was my first thought when looking at these pieces of wood, and suddenly they became not just pieces of wood, but parts of trees again. Trees that in their death became something else, even perhaps something utilitarian and beautiful, but still something other than their life's purpose. I mourn this loss, while at the same time I walk on wide pine board floors, open and close the windows, and go in and out the doors. I am part of the problem. And I am only one of millions who, without a thought, use these resources that nature provides. And we don't give back. And we have lost the rituals by which we used to give thanks for this amazing abundance. This installation is such a vision: a monument for trees, the markers made from trees in order to honor what once was, and to apologize for my own part in the realm of human activity. I remind myself that I am part of the problem.
