This is a row of copper birch trees sewn on canvas. I knew it felt right when my dear friend, Judi, asked for a copper tree. I thought about doing a birch tree a couple years ago, and decided on an Ash tree instead. That was the start of my intrigue around the birch. I remember as a young child, visiting my Aunt Dorothie and Uncle Alvin. There was a beautiful tree across the street in the neighbor’s yard that would always catch my attention. The bark looked like thin curling strips of white paper. I remember often noticing the tree right before a rain shower or a thunderstorm. The leaves would flip so one could see the underside, as if to say, the wind is shifting; get ready for the rain. I can still hear the way the breeze curled like smoke through the branches, offering up a soft, rustling melody to any soul that would listen. Even then, I observed the grace and beauty of this tree.

I came to find out that this tree represents new beginnings, rebirth, renewal and cleansing. Those words evoke so much hope and anticipation, but we don’t get to those words first. A new beginning presupposes that some other beginning has come to an end. There is always a long narrative of sadness and suffering that requires a new beginning, or even a need for hope or desire for renewal. Every life, every story has it. And as I began to construct this piece for Judi, she experienced a profound loss. My desire is that when she sees these trees, she would be reminded of hope, beauty and new beginnings, for herself and for those that she loves.

After building the frame, stretching and priming the canvas for this tree, I began the creative process of deciding how this tree was going to live and express my feelings and thought process into the world. I began on MLK day, 2018 by scratching out some thoughts and ideas for this tree onto the first layer of this canvas. 2018 had me thinking a lot about the old and the new. What to let go and leave behind and what to bring with me into the days ahead. “Yearning for a new way will not produce it. Only ending the old way can do that. You cannot hold onto the old, all the while declaring that you want something new. The old will defy the new; the old will deny the new; the old will decry the new. There is only one way to bring in the new. You must make room for it.” ~ Neale Donald Walsch. “[prophets] understood the distinctive power of language, the capacity to speak in ways that evoke newness ‘fresh from the word’… it is the aim of every totalitarian effort to stop the language of newness, and we are now learning that where such language stops, we find our humanness diminished”. ~ Walter Brueggeman. This is why we need the MLK’s of the world. This Ash tree, in the Celtic tradition, symbolizes growth, enlightenment and newness. For newness to happen, many times through the angst of tearing down the old and leaving ruins, we begin to build on top of the ruins. The ruins are never gone. Hopefully, we learn from the old and create beautiful new spaces with the wisdom we learned from the earlier narrative. In this vein of thought, my collage papers come from a few old history books and a hymnal. I’ve revisited some of our more beautiful moments as a nation, the church, and in myself, as well as the more horrific parts. Included in this collage are figures and events such as George Washington, Blaise Paschal, Martin Luther King, Custer’s last stand, old hymns and spirituals such as “Let There Be Peace on Earth”, “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing”, “Battle Hymn of the Republic”, a liturgy on indifference, among other things. It felt, even as I created this piece two years ago, like we were and are at a crossroads in many ways. Will we stay with what we know because familiarity is also comfort, or will we rise from the ruins of our past and move forward in goodness, truth and beauty? This creative process allowed space for these questions to soak inward.

This tree began the same as the others. I had recently stayed at a retreat center in a Tuscany village 30 minutes outside of Florence, Italy. As I ran the ridge of an Olive grove one day, I took notice of the beautiful ways that the trees grew. They were growing in the same shapes, undulating and mimicking one another’s growth. The trees were distinct and separate, and yet, deeply dependent upon one another and connected. In that way, they were a metaphor for the human race.

I felt a desire to include some of the artwork that I saw while I was there. This tree, not having set out to accomplish this as an artist, actually became a collection of the things that move me about Italian culture, past and present. Included in the collage papers are images of The Pieta by Michelangelo, two of Bottichell’s works: Primavera and The Birth of Venus, The Annunciation by Fra Angelico, a Fresco done by Masacchio entitled The Expulsion of Adam and Eve. That piece is located at the Brancacci Chapel in Florence. I included School of Athens, a fresco done by Raphael. I remember seeing that piece at the Vatican as I walked through the hallways that led up to the Sistine Chapel. It took my breath away. I needed to include a piece by Da Vinci, of course. I did not get to see the Mona Lisa while I was in Paris, but I intend to see it soon! My hope was to capture some of the beautiful energy of Tuscany. What a beautiful culture. What a beautiful people. And what beautiful things they create.

Weeping Willow Tree

Sewn Copper Tree On Canvas

I began this tree with a paper collage using a vintage hymnal book. I included liturgy found in the hymnal book which I found to be consistent with the symbolism of a Weeping Willow tree. I included some classic Christmas carols such as What Child Is This?, Away In A Manger and How Great Our Joy. There are also classic hymns included with themes of resiliency in suffering like Everything To God In Prayer.

Once the layer of paper collage was dry, I began the process of treating the surface with oil paint. There are 3-4 layers.

I sewed the trunk on and then painted it. Then I began to sew the wire and copper leaves. I sprayed the copper with a solution that accelerates the patina process for the leaves. Then each leaf was cut and sewn individually to the canvas, giving it an almost 3-D or sculptural appearance.

I chose the hymns, liturgy and the type of tree because it spoke so beautifully to me of how suffering and grief does such significant work in us, just like the willow tree. If we can learn how to be a willow tree in our own stories, we become flexible and porous without snapping in two. We can bend and yield and be present to what our reality is and receive the gifts that are right in front of us. Our roots run deep to first nourish ourselves and then extend our shade and safety to others.