From beyond history, at every turn towards civilization, gardens and art have intertwined. Edible roots and clay bowls mutated into hanging gardens and tapestries, and as they’ve become aestheticized existential questions arise.
At the beginning, where do we start? At the end, what does it mean? And in the middle, what is it for, knowing the gardening will never end?
I’ve brought together nine artists who ask themselves these questions as they tend to their work intimately with depth of purpose. With odd mannerisms and a visible rigor, they unearth more questions than answers. However, the spaces they provide are contemplative, and their proud selfhood reminds us that a painter’s solitude can be welcoming, and that wandering thoughts are pleasant.
There are many types of gardener and it seems that each has an analog in painting; The composer, the collector, the farmer. The witch, the thief, and the monk. I guess that makes me the curator, and, as Spring comes to an end, I’d like to invite you to my garden.