Although I have lived in the Northwest my entire adult life, I was raised among the grapefruit trees in a small blue-collar town in Southern California. My heritage dates back to my maternal great-grandparents’ citrus and avocado groves in the mid-1800s California, and the childhood I spent on my paternal grandmother’s ranch in what is now Burbank, There, picking fruit, along with collecting duck eggs, was a daily part of life.
A kumquat tree, lemons, oranges and grapefruit. The shapes, the smell, the connotations of citrus evokes my childhood California. Pears have a beautifully voluminous shape, and quince echo that in a funky way. Pomegranates (“seeds of blood in cups of azure! Or drops of gold in plates of studded bronze!”) have old-world stories to tell.
Similarly, other fruit speak to me of my time living as a Peace Corps volunteer in the tropics: the sweet treat of a mango in the bone dry of my village in West Africa dessert; going to the yam and taro gardens with the traditionally tattoos women of the Solomon Islands and trying the 20 different varieties of banana that grew along the route; the colorful piles of mangosteen and soursop in the markets of Bali with gamelan music floating in the air. Fruit represents my life, my history, and the culture of those I have known.
After returning from living overseas, I processed and contemplated cross-cultural experiences in my art. I have lived in Olympia, WA, where years ago I came to go to college. I make marks and draw.
