Studio Notes

The Boat Form

Another shape that keeps returning: the boat, stripped to its skeleton. I spent years walking Princeton Harbor on the Half Moon Bay coast. A working harbor shows you boats in every state — including stripped down to keel and ribs, the structure laid bare. That form got into me through repeated seeing.

These pieces use redwood sticks I gathered after storms on Kings Mountain. The roads would be littered with fallen branches, outer bark split and removable. I'd collect the inner sticks and stockpile them in the studio.

Three boats, same form, different materials. Steel banding and dowels bound with rusty wire. Black-painted pine. Redwood sticks and old fencing wire. Three degrees of transparency — nearly solid to almost all air.

The rust mattered. It connected the California coast to the Ruhrpott of my childhood — same colors, same patina of industrial decay. Princeton Harbor gave me back something I didn't know I was looking for.

When I moved to Minnesota, the redwood sticks didn't come with me. These pieces are finite now — artifacts of a practice that can't continue. The forms persist. The materials change.

We'll see what Minnesota gives me.