“Swamp” is a curious word. Meanings range from unsanitary places swarming with insects, to human states of mind such as feeling deluged, engulfed, or overwhelmed. In nearly every instance, though, the word invokes negative associations. We think of dirt, mud, decay, confusion.
But what if “swamp” got changed to mean fertility, discovery, possibility and mystery? I loved the contrast of the ugly word with the scenes I’ve painted in this series.
At one time I lived beside a natural wetlands. There, ancient Cottonwoods lived and died amid repeated cycles of flooding and drought, and I was witness to the continual evolution of these trees from thriving giants, to decaying carcasses, to sun bleached ghosts.
As I painted, I began to reflect on the many layers of recalling and recording involved in the series, and so realized that my thoughts and changing perceptions were as much the subject as were the trees, the water, the snags and the crags. And with all human thought, all human memory, there is a decision to be made: shall it be beautiful, or shall it be ugly?
Many of the ancient Cottonwoods had become just a memory. They had fallen and decayed, lost to time and the elements. My objective was to portray the ancient trees as they appeared after their disintegration: ghosts, memories, faint and subtle traces of their former grandeur. And in this, I was able to discern the real subject of this series: the process of aging, decay and disintegration, and the beauty and violence inherent in these processes.
