BACKYARD URN or BEFORE THE LONG DARK WINTER
North Providence, Rhode Island
Sometimes I would drive all day and arrive at a new campsite just as the sun was about to set. As I’d unpack the gear I’d need for the night, I would be enamored with the new environment I had thrust myself into. A few hours later, as night had crept from one horizon to the other, I would be reminded of my solitude; of how alone I was in a new place, and all the sounds would start to feel ominous, threatening. What had captured my complete spirit of wonder just a few hours before, all of sudden had the power to make my heart race and my skin crawl. But I’ve learned that what you see in the day changes very little in the night. What changes is that our sense of sight is replaced with our imagination, and it can be truly nightmarish.During a year when adapting to new circumstances took on a previously unknown significance, I decided to build a piece as close to home as possible. However, whether I am in a canyon or my backyard I am still at the mercy of the weather, and this build was no exception with near constant rain. Eighteen days later, I had eight feet and 800 pounds of raw clay urn appearing to contain a tree.