For many years I lived within walking distance of a beautiful stretch of desert in the Tucson Mountains. This desert was my safe zone. I place I could run, hike, sit, scream and cry in total silence and solitude. I would often leave the main trails and walk the washes or just cross the open landscape aimlessly. It was on one of these off trail days that I discovered the dumping grounds from trash from one of the old gold mining camps in the area. Scattered trash half buried and hidden against the roots of Palo Verde trees generated by possibly only a handful of miners living in the area. Sorting through the remnants, I found many old smoking tins and could not help but to imagine then men staring at the landscape after a long brutal day of labor and reflecting on their journey into this country. Their hopes and what they have left behind. And then the camp and the men vanished. Little historical records remain save the evidence of their moments of reflection in these smoking tins.
This piece for me is fairly simple. A turning inside out and exposing the rusted, dirty, decayed insides. Using the pain of something long gone and lost as the skin of a simple, still moment in time. An elegant, peaceful and soothing curve as a sort of quiet acceptance. It marks a moment in my life where I could only sit quietly and accept. The piece is intended to be viewed in direct sunlight, at which point an equally gentle shadow marks the passage of time. The shadow is creates shows me another dimension that can be seen but can never be fully captured.