Who resurrects who out of obscurity: my work resurrects the tree or vice versa?
On my studio wall hung a photograph of a tree for quite some time. I had taken this photograph while traveling in Brazil a few years back. As you can see, the grand tree has been there for ages. The tree is dry, and looks like it is constantly turning around its axis; out of its trunk, branches are spiraling outwards (and inwards) as they flash their green leaves.
In this tree, located all alone on its own on the sandy shore—almost as if it were shipwrecked long ago, drifted onto this obscure and deserted coast—I find the duality of the monumental and the central against the peripheral and the neglected. For the tree is larger in size than a person, its presence, while it bends sideways, is both commanding and authoritative, and it is clearly acknowledged and recognized against the vast and sandy landscape; obviously immobile, the tree is charged with powerful motion. But, it is also easy to consider how distant, remote and concealed from the human eye the tree is; it is natural, secretive and hidden: spiraling back-downwards, forever concealing, and recollecting its ever expanding existence back to its root.
It is further easy to detect the latent energy with which each and every one of its elements is endowed; all of them aiming to burst out free, flashing before the eye as if they were omens, forecasting a powerful storm yet to unleash its devastating powers. Once more, on the other hand, the grand power and motion are held back; the motion is fixed, frozen as if it is contained within the frame of a single moment in time—encapsulating perhaps an ancient memory, the lesson and wisdom of forgotten storms of the past.
What I look for in my exhibition is a similar duality. Perhaps my exhibition is but this lonely tree off the shores of Brazil