Involution, Hutchinson Center for the Arts, 2025

in·vo·lu·tion (n.)

1  an act or instance of enfolding, entangling, or sharing the activities of the group: involvement

2  marked by elaborately complex detail: intricacy

3  the condition of rolling, curling, turning inward

I moved from Hutchinson to Mankato on New Years Eve, 2012. My rubber tree (ficus elastica) was the last thing in the moving truck and the first thing out. On New Years Day, 2013, I was convinced I’d killed my plant (with a little help from Minnesota winter). As the leaves slowly dropped, I saved them in penance, hoping to find a way to eventually make the best of it. I cut the stems down to the soil and continued watering, stubbornly wishing it to grow back. And it did. And is still thriving.

Since then, I have collected every leaf my rubber tree has dropped. As that initial batch of leaves faded and dried, they proved sturdy, resilient, and an attractive surface on which one who makes art out of non-traditional materials might work. Ten years later, it was time to start.

Life forces both rule and unite us. Each leaf is preserved to showcase its natural tone and linear pattern on one side and is rejuvenated with black paint and iridescent medium on the other. Representative of earth and light respectively, the necessity of water is likewise signified by the blue cord suspending the work. While adding visual weight, buttons are also used to stabilize and secure each strand, embodying gravity.

Spent peace lily blooms (spathiphyllum) and intuitive drawings exemplify involution. Peace lilies can be fickle houseplants. Each bloom is a blessing I have been saving almost as long as the leaves. They are painted and bundled to harmonize with the work while also accenting their own intricacies. Last November, I stained scrap paper with the intent to make daily drawings in December in response to the spontaneous scenery of ink. Unintentionally, these scraps cut down to 39 equally sized pieces; the significance was not lost on me. Incorporated akin to the leaves, the diamond-shaped drawings coincide with the last 39 days of my 39th year and swivel for full visibility: of the process, the work, and myself.

The simultaneous and equal application of these dualities in surface treatments advocates not for an either / or, but rather, an all-at-once point of view. Natural or glamourized, light or dark, matte or glossy, practical or decorative, none are better than another and something can be all these contradictions at once and still be whole. Life is complicated and some failures take a decade to mature into success.