Human|Nature

Human|Nature is a series of photographs made within the Fenway Victory Gardens, the oldest, continuously operating World War II community garden in the United States. I came into this maze of plots initially seeking a patch of dirt to work myself, but my urge to dig in the earth was supplanted by curiosity to explore this larger green world within Boston. Like a labyrinth, this organic, organized chaos houses a diverse community of flora, fauna and humans. These portraits give a glimpse of the place and its people from all origins, orientations and economies, as they converge and reconnect with nature: grow food, seek solace, build community and escape reality.

I am a nature-lover and social activist. In today’s world, I believe standing up for mother nature and fellow man is more and more crucial. Disconnecting from technology and reconnecting with the physical world is part of my strategy. As I wonder through the aisles and talk to people in their plots, I feel myself get more grounded in society and life. Sharing these images is like sowing seeds: an invitation to look over the fence to know your neighbor or grow your own greener grass.

She

The inspiration for She came from a poem from the Nag Hammadi Scriptures titled Thunder, Perfect Mind. In my work, I coupled images with stanzas from this poem. The woman and the objects in these images represent the goddess and the sacred feminine reclaiming her place in the world. Through this series, I aim to channel the need to restore the balance between masculine and feminine principles in our society and within ourselves.

This poem along with many other ancient manuscripts was found in a cave in Egypt in 1945 and was probably written around the 1st century. It was only recently made available to the general public.

Unlike the rest of the treatises, Thunder, Perfect Mind is spoken in the voice of a feminine divine power and deals with the endless aspects of the female psyche and the goddess. The author of this poem is unknown but some scholars believe it belonged to an early Gnostic church where gender roles were egalitarian.

Spin Club Tapestry

I grew up in a small farming village in Northern Germany. Long ago, village women met regularly in “Spinneklumps” (Spin Clubs) to spin wool, embroider, and stitch fabrics for their homes. I imagine their conversations as they worked, the beautiful stories that lifted their spirits, as well as the stories of sadness, sorrow and loss. In modern times, village women continued to meet in this tradition, but shared stories over coffee and cake instead of needlework. These close-knit groups of women often stayed together until their death.

In this series, my composite images take the form of tapestries, combining images of embroidered Spin Club fabrics with new and old photographs from the village. I connect the present and the past by re-creating and re-imagining pieces of the embroidery. Spin Club tablecloths, napkins and wall hangings (some dating back to 1799) have been passed down from generation to generation. By following the stitches in these fabrics, I follow a path through the lives of my ancestors – their layout of a perfect pattern and the mistakes they made. Along the way, I add my own mistakes. The fabrics also reveal the passage of time, stained and distorted after sometimes decades of use. The patterns I have stitched myself into the paper are only abstractions of the original Spin Club designs, fragments of memory. After all, memory is fleeting, and changed forever in the act of recollection. Sometimes the stitching is incomplete, creating an invitation for future generations.

Every decision we make is influenced by our history, our environment, and the society we live in. The tapestry of my life belongs to me, but is stitched through with the beauty and heartache of past generations.

Interlude

Growing up on the Minnesota prairie, the spaciousness and drama, emptiness and sometimes desolation of the landscape remains embedded in how I see the world. Finding myself on the East Coast now, the landscape most essential to me, unsurprisingly, is the ocean’s open edge. It is particularly salient to me off-season, when the wide, quiet beaches and dry grasses most closely comment on the world of my childhood; especially, that tenuous, transitional time, the interlude when winter hovers and spring hesitates in the distance.