Growing up on the northern shore of Lake Michigan, I learned to dream, to question, and to inquire into the deepest parts of who we are. Miles of pristine shoreline, rolling orchards of cherries and apples, fields of corn and asparagus, and never-ending forests were my home. Midwest generosity means that in many ways there are few real fences, very few places off limits. With respect and care, almost anywhere is yours to visit and yours to explore. As children, this is the world that we own, but it can quietly dissolve, as an unattended sand castle by a rouge wave. This is where wilderness is.

I suppose it is the child in me that places each piece, that knows exactly where each one is meant to go, and doesn’t question. It is an old obsession, one that began long ago. A fascination with forgotten places that are now overgrown. The in-between places where few people go, these places have many stories to tell if one knows how to listen. At the core is a melancholy sentiment; that these are the places where I found the most solace in my young life. In ghost towns, abandoned sawmills, and ancient town halls. Beauty captured by emptiness. Comfort nestled amongst decay. Home in an unlikely place.

My medium is driftwood, both machined and natural, and pieces of buildings from when Michigan was settled. Each piece of wood has a story that can be told. A story of age and origin, of species and unique weathering conditions; stories of harvest, transport, and hard work. Of changing times and a changing landscape. These are the stories of the trees and the people that use them. Each composition represents hundreds of memories, that otherwise remain forgotten and overlooked. Bits and pieces of lives past. Splinters of dreams and failures. Ripples of love and loss.

My role as an artist is simple; I merely organize the discarded pieces of our puzzle for the viewer to experience. The common thread, less overt, is the ever-present power of water to destroy, create, to harden, soften, and decay. To fuel the motions of life, of expansion and contraction, of snow, wind, waves, and rain. When people leave, plants and animals return, but water is the predominant force that returns these places to the earth.

Each piece is chosen by hand, for a specific purpose. They are removed from chaos, and so given renewed life in a new context. Each composition pays homage and respect to the people before us. Respect to the skilled, strong, and practical hands that were once connected to this land. To the people for whom the land and the water became flesh and blood, just as it was for the native culture before them. Desire is borne of my own region, but the emotions that each composition embraces are universal. My work acknowledges the fragile give and take between order and chaos, and our very human journey to find home within a wilderness that is both within and without.