From Dusk to Dawn- Four works on paper

Written in 2025. Posted late —

I was contacted to create two small artworks for an office building in Houston getting an updated look — 3100 Timmons Lane.

When I saw the space I saw an opportunity. An audience coming and going nine to five with no connection to the natural world right outside their door. A five-story lobby with open wall space and nothing to draw your eye there.

I proposed something bigger than what was asked. Two works, two stories tall — Sandhill cranes in a wetland on the first floor, Roseate spoonbills in the trees on the second. Two successful conservation stories, stacked one above the other, in a building full of people who might never otherwise encounter them.

The developer said yes.

3100 Timmons Lane

One of the 7’ X 9’ recessed spaces for artwork.

But before any of that — I had to figure out how to make them.

This commission was the first time I worked with a process that has since become central to my practice. I start with a drawing. Then I tear it apart — deconstructing the image into shapes. I reassemble those shapes on a second sheet of paper, building a relief. Once the relief is built I brush on large swaths of watercolor, then use a garden sprayer to manipulate the color — letting it run into the crevasses of the relief, redrawing the image through movement and gravity. Then pastels for the detail marks. The drawing finds itself again, but changed. Looser. More alive.

That process led directly to Unfolding Hope — the body of work I created for the Houston Endowment Jones Artist Award. But it started here, in a studio sketch for an office building on Timmons Lane, trying to figure out how to put a Sandhill crane in a five-story lobby.

My presentation to the developer.

A early sketch

The next step involved deconstructing the drawing by tearing it into various shapes. After that, I can create a relief by reassembling these shapes on a second sheet of paper..

Why Sandhill cranes?

In the early 1900s relentless hunting pushed them to the brink of extinction. Only 12 mating pairs remained. What brought them back was wetland restoration and habitat protection — initiated by hunters who understood what they were losing. Today Sandhill cranes are the most plentiful crane species in the world.

That is the story I wanted in that lobby. Not a decorative bird. A comeback. Evidence that when humans choose to act as conservationists, the results can be staggering.

The Sandhill cranes are installed. The Roseate spoonbills are finished and in storage until the upper levels are repainted.

When the cranes went up the developer told me something I didn’t expect — the building became a community. Tenants were talking to each other about the birds. He leased his largest spaces the next month.

That is what I hoped for. Not decoration. A reminder — for people who spend their days inside — that nature matters and we feel its pull even through art.

The two finished pieces — Sunrise: Sandhill Cranes and Sundown: Sandhill Cranes — can be seen in my 2025 portfolio. Come see them. Better yet — come to the studio

Then comes the color.

SUNDOWN CRANES

7” X 9”4”

watercolor, pastels, ink on collaged Stonehenge paper.

Image by R. Wells

SUNRISE CRANES

7” X 9”4”

watercolor, pastels, ink on collaged Stonehenge paper.

Image by R. Wells

The Tyranny of Tidy

In Defense of the Uninvited — Part II

There is a particular kind of anxiety that lives at the edge of an unmowed lawn. You can feel it from the sidewalk — the low-grade disapproval radiating off a neighbor’s glance, the HOA letter with its careful language about community standards and property values. We all know this pressure. Many of us have bent to it.

I feel it too. At my own eco-art studio, volunteer plants have started pushing up through the gravel parking lot this spring. In modern aesthetic terms, it looks unkempt. Do I groom it because that is what looks cared for to the human eye — or do I do what I preach? If I did clean it up, how? I won’t use pesticides. Pulling is more work than I can manage. I could burn them with a torch, which releases carbon — leaving the lot neat but barren. I know that option well. It’s what I did all last summer. I feel the pull of it still.

That question — how much tidiness do we owe society before we’re allowed to let something live — is exactly what this essay is about.

The ancient part of your brain that kept your ancestors alive is genuinely afraid of the tall grass. It is scanning for the snake, the bobcat, the thing with teeth. That instinct is old. It is wired in. The impulse to clear, to see, to know what’s out there — it kept people alive across tens of thousands of years. We are not wrong to have it.

But we are living in a different world now, and that old circuitry is misfiring.

Here is what the science shows: living plant systems — their moisture, their transpiration, their cooling and breathing — help move weather across the landscape. Strip those systems out and replace them with hot pavement and monoculture lawn, and you remove the very mechanisms that keep weather moving. Extreme weather increasingly gets stuck. Heat domes park over cities for days, fed not just by hot pavement but by the barren heat radiating off bare ground and fallow fields. The fires. The floods. The Guadalupe on the Fourth of July. Hurricane Harvey. We call these natural disasters — as if nature did this to us, unprovoked.

The danger is no longer the rattlesnake in the grass. The danger is the bare ground.

I know this in my body now — not just my brain. Standing in my parking lot, looking at the volunteers pushing through the gravel, I no longer see a mess. I see first responders. The plants that show up uninvited are the ones that know what the ground needs — to be covered, held, cooled, fed. They are doing the work we stopped doing when we picked up the leaf blower and the herbicide.

What would it take to shift not just individual behavior but the aesthetic itself — to make living, layered, uninvited-welcoming landscapes look like what they actually are: acts of intelligence? Acts of care?

The weeds already know what to do. The seeds are in the soil, waiting. Life is not asking permission. It is ready to come back the moment we stop yanking it out.

The question isn’t whether the land can recover. The question is whether we can — from the idea that control is the same thing as care. That bare is the same thing as clean.

The greatest threat we face isn’t what’s hiding in the weeds. It’s that we cut them all down.

What a Purple Black-Eyed Susan in Sequel Taught Me About Resilience.

What a Purple Black-Eyed Susan in Sequel Taught Me About Resilience

I was walking through Sequel — my living sculpture — when I noticed it. A cluster of Black-eyed Susans with leaves gone deep, moody purple. My first instinct was something’s wrong. But the more I looked, the more I wanted to understand what was actually happening.

So I went down the rabbit hole.

Turns out, that purple color isn’t a disease. It’s not dying. It’s responding. When a Black-eyed Susan experiences stress — cold nights, too much rain, soil that can’t deliver the phosphorus it needs — it produces something called anthocyanin. A pigment. A protective chemical the plant makes just to cope.

The same pigment that colors blueberries. Red cabbage. Autumn maples.

The plant doesn’t collapse under pressure. It changes color.

I’ve been sitting with that ever since.

So much of what we call “damage” in nature is actually adaptation. The purple leaf isn’t broken — it’s communicating. It’s shifting its internal chemistry in response to its environment, doing what it needs to survive. And the wild thing is, once the soil warms up, once the water drains, once the nutrients find their way through — it can return to green. It was never permanently altered. Just temporarily transformed.

This is exactly why I built Sequel. Not to display nature at its most polished, but to live inside its full cycle — the struggle, the adaptation, the quiet recovery. Sequel keeps showing me things I didn’t plan for, didn’t design, couldn’t have predicted. A purple leaf on an ordinary Tuesday is its own kind of gift.

As an eco-artist, I want my work to carry this story. Not the version of nature that’s always blooming, always golden-hour perfect. But the version that goes purple when it’s cold. That shows the struggle on the outside. That adapts without pretending.

There’s a honesty in that I deeply respect.

If you ever spot a Black-eyed Susan going purple, give it a moment before you panic. Check the drainage. Watch the temperature. Maybe add a little bone meal if the soil’s been wet and cold. But also — just notice it. Let it remind you that stress responses aren’t failures. Sometimes they’re exactly what survival looks like.

Sequel keeps teaching me that. One plant at a time.

— 🌿

In Defense of the Uninvited

I think about weeds.

Not in an anxious, what-do-I-do-about-them way. More in a — wait, who decided these don’t belong here? — kind of way.

I look at these plants. Really look at them. They showed up, figured it out, and started doing the work. Nobody planted them. Nobody watered them. They just arrived, broke through whatever burning hot surface was available, and got on with it. You have to admire their spirit and determination.

We call them invasive. We call them a problem. And sometimes, they are. I am a die hard native plant enthusiast — however I have been uncomfortable with this reflex to yank out anything that wasn’t there before — particularly in cities, especially on abandoned lots and cracked pavement and post-industrial nowhere — as if those places had some pristine original state worth protecting.

They don’t. And these plants seem to know it.

Here’s what I’ve come to believe: weeds are Earth’s first responders. When the ground is left bare, tilled, stripped, burned, flooded, or just forgotten — Mother Earth sends them in. They are biologically programmed for the site’s specific conditions, temperature, moisture, daylight — speed healers. They lower soil temperatures, protect the earth’s surface, feed what lives below ground, slow rainwater, reduce erosion, sequester carbon. They show up precisely when and where they are needed most. They do not waste energy or resources.

Here’s what I’ve also noticed: the spots where something is growing — even the stuff we’re not supposed to want — are almost always healthier than the spots where we’ve cleared everything out in the name of keeping it native or neatly manicured. Bare ground isn’t neutral. It’s just… empty. It’s dead. And dead empty doesn’t really serve life.

So I’ve changed how I work. When a volunteer appears somewhere I wasn’t expecting it, I no longer yank it out in a knee-jerk response. I stop — look — think. Why was it sent in? What is it doing? Is it holding soil? Feeding something? Offering shade, cover, a landing pad? I weigh what it’s providing before I decide what to do about it.

The real question isn’t where did this come from? It’s what is it doing now that it’s here?

I’m not saying throw out the whole idea of caring about native ecosystems. I am still a die hard native plant enthusiast. I’m saying the city lot behind a parking garage is probably not the hill to die on. And the plants that moved in there — the ones in these photos — they’re working with what exists, not what existed.

There’s something I respect about that.

Just maybe they know what they are doing.

Take daisy fleabane. Erigeron annuus. Dainty and a little scraggly when alone but stunning in a bunch, shows up in places nobody planted anything intentionally. Easy to walk past. Easy to dismiss.

Here is what it’s actually doing.

It’s a pioneer species — which means it arrives first, on bare and broken ground, before almost anything else is willing to try. Disturbed soil, compacted soil, the forgotten strip between a parking lot and a fence. Fleabane doesn’t care. It moves in, stabilizes the surface, and starts feeding things. Bees, wasps, flies, small butterflies. The Lynx Flower Moth uses it as a host plant. Goldfinches pick through the seeds come fall like they’ve been waiting all season.

Nobody sent it an invitation. It just knew where it was needed.

That’s the plant in this photo. Doing exactly what I described. Showing up, figuring it out, getting on with it.

Easy to pull. I say — easy to love.

Passionate for Pre-K

This post will serve as a journal for the work.

“My four-year-old daughter saw her first butterfly and was terrified.”

— Lawndale Art Center patron, 2022

This remark, shared during my Symbiosis artist talk at the Lawndale Art Center, stopped me cold. Imagining a generation untouched by the gentleness and fragility of wings — this is a sorrow too heavy to bear and do nothing.

Wildlife plays a vital role in early childhood brain development. At the very least, let each school day begin with a procession past living poetry: vines sculpted in fragrant blossoms of lemon honey, trembling with the promise of caterpillars, alive with the fragile ballet of butterflies. Each child deserves to develop in the company of nature’s intelligence.

With small acts of passion, this is within reach.

DESCRIPTION

Passionate for Pre–K is a living social sculpture installed in the fall of 2025 on the chain-link fences surrounding the playground at Clemente Martinez Elementary School in Houston, Texas. I sourced approximately 90 Texas native vines from my three living sculptures: Symbiosis at the Lawndale Art Center, Deeper Than That at a private residence, and Sequel, located next to my art studio in Acres Homes. Passion vines are highlighted in the mix. Sourcing from multiple locations supports the DNA diversity of the ecosystem. Hope Stone and landscape architect Caroline Craddock coordinated this installation with the school administration.

THE PROCESS

Taking tender 10-inch vine cuttings, using root stimulator and native leaf mold to propagate the plants. I selected 90 plants of different species to support a variety of wildlife and accommodate different growing seasons. The school community assisted with the planting in early October.

LONG-TERM GOAL

As ecological knowledge from Symbiosis has taken root in Deeper Than That, which has grown into Sequel, the hope is that Passionate for Pre–K will act as a catalyst. Annually, new tendrils — carefully propagated — will be gifted from Clemente Martinez Elementary School to neighboring schools, allowing the spirit of regeneration to spread from playground to playground, blossoming into a living legacy of wonder and natural intelligence.

PLANT LIST

May pop, Passiflora incarnata

Stinking passion vine, Passiflora foetida

Various proven passion vine hybrids

Trumpet honeysuckle, Lonicera sempervirens

Hairy clustervine, Jacquemontia tamnifolia

Muscadine grape, Vitis rotundifolia

American wisteria, Wisteria frutescens

Crossvine, Bignonia capreolata

Carolina jessamine, Gelsemium sempervirens

COLLABORATION

Passionate for Pre–K is a collaboration with Hope Stone, Caroline Craddock, and the Clemente Martinez Elementary School community. This would not exist without them, or without the incredible volunteers who gave their time and hands to this work.

NOVEMBER 2025 UPDATE — SETBACK & RESILIENCE

During phase two, a fifth-grade class carefully planted the remaining plants for the installation. The following week, the eager students returned to check on their plantings — and found devastation. A child left unattended in the play area had pulled up plant after plant, leaving only 7 of the original 90 still alive.

This is heartbreaking and frustrating — but it highlights exactly how important this project is. The lessons a garden teaches about social responsibility, care, and wonder are fundamental. I will not let one act derail it. Every child has the right to be inspired by nature.

I am propagating new cuttings. We plant again in the spring.

Special thanks to Caroline Craddock for capturing these moments in photographs.

—special thanks to Caroline Craddick for capturing these moments in photos.

One of the plants from the previous planting that was part of the vandalism. Notice the gulf Fritillary butterfly hiding in the shadow.

propagating a passion vine in water.

The Stinky Passion flower’s scientific name is Passiflora foetida. It is also known as Fetid Passion Flower, Love-in-a-mist, Wild Maracuja, and running pop.

It has sticky, feathery, leafy bracts that surround the flower and fruit. When an insect tries to eat the fruit, it gets caught in the sticky bracts and dies. The plant then secretes a digestive enzyme and absorbs the nutrients.

La Mancha’s Sequel: A Mindful, Climate-Smart Urban Landscape.

January 14th

Today, as I immerse myself deeper into the world of ecological restoration and sustainability, I find myself fueled by an overwhelming sense of purpose. My Climate-Smart Urban Landscape project has truly become a labor of love, growing more meaningful with every leaf gathered. As I collect bags of native Oak leaves from curbs, I'm not just gathering leaves—I'm cradling potential life, the eggs, pupae, larvae, and chrysalises that might be nestled within. Astonishingly, Oak trees are home to over 900 species of caterpillars. These caterpillars serve as a crucial food source for many songbirds and their young across North America. By saving these leaves, I am inadvertently contributing to the survival of these beautiful creatures.

The interconnected benefits of these efforts are profound. First, by fostering biodiversity, I help ensure diverse species can thrive. Second, as the leaves decompose, they transform into a rich, nourishing substance that revitalizes our depleted soil, forming the very backbone of our food network. Third, these leaves provide essential shelter from harsh weather, acting as a protective barrier against heavy rains and cold temperatures and safeguarding the tiny creatures that rely on them to survive.

My inspiration stems from personal experiences and a deep sense of environmental stewardship. Through "La Mancha’s Sequel," my urban landscape project, I aspire to blend art, architecture, and environmental literature in a way that leaves a meaningful impact. My goal is to transform the local community here in Houston and ignite a larger appreciation for ecological interconnectedness. By sharing this journey, I hope to inspire others to commit to regenerative practices within urban environments.

With every leaf collected and every small step taken, I am moving toward a more harmonious world. This journey reminds me that each of us holds the power to make a difference in our neighborhoods, communities, and beyond. Together, we can create a future where sustainability and biodiversity thrive hand in hand.

#rain #soil #abstractexpressionism #houstonart #ecoart #socialsculpture #cindeeklementart #art #texasart #sculpture #contemporaryart #modernart #regenerativeart #sequel #acreshomes #foodnetwork #foodchain #regeneration #regenerativeart #artandscience #agriculture #agriart #foodnetwork #foodweb

Prairie Rhythms: Predators and Pastoral Stewardship

As I prepare for my upcoming living sculpture titled "Sequel," I had the opportunity to explore the prairie ecosystems at Pierce Ranch. The morning started with collecting prairie seeds, which is a vital step in bringing my sculpture to life. To enhance my understanding of these ecosystems and find the most viable seeds, I reached out to a local prairie conservationist who has been instrumental in restoring numerous prairies, notably preserving the Katy Prairie. Collecting seeds is much like eating crawfish, proven to be a catalyst for engaging and enlightening dialogue.

The insights I gained from this exchange confirmed my concerns regarding land preservation. It might surprise and disturb you to learn that the most vibrant and diverse prairies aren't necessarily those that are protected. Rather, they are the prairies that have embraced a more dynamic relationship with the land through careful ranching practices and thrive with life and diversity.

Historically, the natural balance between predators and prey shaped these ecosystems. Predators once hunted freely, guiding the movements of herbivore herds, naturally managing the consumption of vegetation (energy) and the dispersal of organic matter in the form of dung, returning energy back into the soil. However, human intervention led to the decline of these predators, overgrazing, and the desertification of ranchlands. Modern-day ranchers have learned to adapt by using portable fences to mimic these natural movements. This modern adaptation sustains the prairie as a healthy ecosystem, supporting numerous bird species and wildlife.

Through this blog post, I hope to reach an audience unaware of the critical role of ruminants in preserving and revitalizing prairie ecosystems. It's not merely about protecting a static image of nature but understanding and fostering the dynamic relationships that sustain it. The prairies are a testament to the resilience and complexity of life when allowed to interact naturally, even within the framework of sustainable human practices.

It's exhilarating to see how this knowledge aligns with my artistic vision. The conversations I've had and the observations I've made will undoubtedly enrich the narrative and structure of my living sculpture. The prairie seeds are not just components of my work; they symbolize a deeper understanding of ecological balance and the beauty of a thriving ecosystem. They are a source of energy and knowledge, a way to repay the planet.

As I continue this creative process, conversations with friends and experts will remain the cornerstone of my inspiration. In sharing these insights, I hope to foster a broader appreciation for the nuances of prairie conservation and the subtle yet profound ways we can contribute to preserving our natural world.

I leave you with questions that modern society must consider: How can ruminant populations be managed in the absence of predators? What are the consequences of not culling herds? What does the future cycle of life entail?

Echoes of Existence-how to engage the students

I am slowly working to find solutions to the problems that will arise when the students implement the installation.

First, how to get students that are not comfortable with nature to want tobe involved. What will draw them in?

Second, a big problem is how to control a group of college kids in a field and have them complete a detailed installation.

Bloomington is a walking city. Every day as I would walk about town and the campus I worried about how I was going to solve these two problem. And like on most college campuses everyone is in their own audio visual world contained between the ear pieces of a headset. And I was the same. The difference was I still wanted to connect to those passing by me with a “good morning” or hi. I found the IU students were very focused on the sounds in their headsets they did not need to make eye contact or say hello.

In a discussion with an English professor, Shannon Gayk, who also teaches a walking class, I learned that a novel idea for students is silent walking. The idea of walking without a headset without sound — silent.

Thinking of headsets and silent - my mind went straight to silent raves then to a silent installation.

Would the concept of a silent installation draw the students in. Could this commitment to headsets be a possible tool for crowd control during the installation?

I love the idea. But that leads to another hurdle. How do I design a silent installation? What technology makes this possible?

With a quick Google search, I found several companies that provide everything you need for a silent event.

Planetary Mission Statement .

Integrating systems theory into my art practice has influenced my work in many ways. It is one of my core beliefs that in order to save the planet it is imperative that every organization, be it large profit-driven or small non-profit, commits to embedding an environmental ethos into their core values. The place to start is with an organizations mission statement.

In a serendipitous encounter with an acquaintance from a prestigious art institution this weekend, I learned of their significant reorganization. I suggested that every institution embed an environmental ethos into their mission statement and then I thought - even Throughline. Throughline is a newly organized Collective that I am a member of.

Today I discussed these thoughts with fellow Throughliner Caro Otero a gifted artist and caring human being. Caro and I are part of the Throughline facilities committee. We discussed that there are steps we can take to improve our day to day operations and become better stewards of the planet.

Envisioning a profound commitment, we proposed to the administration committee to incorporate this spirit into Throughline's mission statement:

It could read something like this-

We vow to serve as Earth's custodians, honoring its natural rhythms. Embracing accountability for our environmental footprint, we strive to operate conscientiously, leaving a positive mark through purposeful actions. We are advocates of planetary regeneration.

Or something that says Throughline cherishes nature and restores the environment through conscious daily actions.

In our role in the facilities committee, Caro and I will examine Throughline's everyday activities as an organization and consider ways to operate more responsibly and advocate for the planet. We will re-evaluate these procedures annually.

Please pass this idea on to your organizations and incorporate planetary responsibility into your bylaws.

Besides making greener choices in the products we buy, such as disposable cups and beverages, our treatment of urban landscape and protection of Earth’s living soil is a powerful way reduce our carbon footprint and support biodiversity.

There is tremendous power in the collective action of small acts.

Indiana University artist in residence— conceptualism, the site, archeology and anthropology.

October 11th was the end of the first leg of my residency. The experience truly supports the statement you don’t get what you want but you always get what you need. I did not seek out the residency but I can see how it is helping me take my Social practice to the next level.

It is giving me the opportunity to use; the symbolism of a labyrinth, the regenerative symbol of a bison, the turfgrass of an institute of the US collegic system to change societal habits. These features alone are rare and hard to come by resources.

Exploring the campus and discussing my plans with all who would listen resulted in IU providing me with the opportunity to add a few more layers to the work. Specifically conceptualism, archeology and anthropology.

Conceptualism- The Eskenazie Museum on IU’s campus has one of the three complete collections of Marcell Duchamps readymades. Seeing these pieces of Duchamp the father of conceptualism from the 60!s and 70’s gave me the idea that my work at Indiana would be more impactful if it is conceptual.

As I began to plan the labyrinth design and installation I began to see how beautifully Conceptualism works with Social sculpture. If I create the concept and the design the steps to install it and the students implement my concept and design it becomes theirs. It won’t be my art they assist me with it will be their actions taking meaningful steps.

The last Monday at IU in a meeting discussing the actual installation process with one of the professors and directors of the Hilltop Gardens it was suggested I work with the anthropology department and Archeology departments when I return. Archeologists will be enlightening when it comes to installing the grid. The Anthropology department can help facilitate a possible relationship and sharing of culture between the students of the First Nations and the students who do not have a deep connection to the land. I would like the installation to be a catalyst for the two groups to develop a unified way forward, a new tradition or ceremony that will give them all together a personal connection to the landscape and the biodiversity it will support.

The next step is to get the University wheels to approve a site. To be the most successful the site needs to be a sea of turfgrass, have full sun, be spacious enough to accommodate the 85’ X 54’ bison, and accessible to the students and community.

I am thrilled to announce that in late January 2024, IU selected a sloped plot of The Hilltop Gardens for the installation.

Related blog posts

A labyrinth of what shape? http://www.cindeeklement.com/blog/2023/10/2/what-kind-of-labyrinth-a-seed-a-beautiful-design-a-bison-that-is-the-question

The design

http://www.cindeeklement.com/blog/2023/10/8/the-labyrinth-design-how-will-it-be-installation

From 8” X 10” to 53’ X 85’

http://www.cindeeklement.com/blog/2023/10/7/how-do-you-build-a-labyrinth

Language and Perception

In the above image the wrench represents industry and the butterfly the natural world.

For those with philosophical minds, it’s fascinating to explore how language shapes our understanding of the world. The power of words extends beyond mere communication; it molds our perceptions and influences the way we interpret reality.

Consider how our dominant cultural values can impact our vocabulary and ultimately shape how we perceive things. If our society places highest importance on industry and financial gain without regard for environmental consequences, our language will reflect that mindset.

Our perception of the image and the world is shaped by our language. If our main focus is on achieving economic success at any ecological cost, then our vocabulary reflects these thoughts, and these thoughts in turn influence how we value ecology. Take a moment to consider this image of a butterfly and a wrench.

What do you perceive — a wrench supporting a butterfly or a butterfly struggling to withstand the pressure from a wrench?

We can use this knowledge to change society – by analyzing the relationship between language and perception, we can start to question and challenge these dominant narratives. We can choose to broaden our vocabulary, incorporating words that prioritize environmentalism and regeneration.

Imagine if everyone shifted their linguistic focus towards promoting regenerative practices, valuing nature, and taking responsibility for ecological well-being. This change in vocabulary could create a shift in perception – from viewing nature as something to exploit for financial gain to recognizing its inherent value, fragility and it’s power.

So let me ask you again: How do you perceive the image of the butterfly and the wrench? We have an opportunity to reflect on the power of language, challenge conventional thinking, and work towards creating a more regenerative future for ourselves and generations to come.

#ecoart #socialsculpture #wrench #butterfly #language #womanartist #texas #houston #cindeeklementart

Bombus melanopygus - Black tailed bumble bee.

How the bumble bee got its stripes https://www.eurekalert.org/news-releases/600078

Bombus melanopygu, a captivating bumblebee species that I recently began studying for my body of work, “Rumblings”. As an artist, my process begins with thorough research, delving into the intriguing world of each unique species. Despite the limited information available, I find myself captivated by Bombus melanopygus and its enchanting research qualities.

Incredible breakthroughs have been made by researchers in understanding the color differences within bumblebee species. A recent study, conducted by experts at Penn State, has revealed the presence of a specific gene that drives these variations in color patterns. This discovery not only sheds light on the astonishing diversity among bumblebees, but also provides insights into the evolution of mimicry, where individuals adopt similar color patterns within a given area. The gene resides in a highly conserved region of the genome, which serves as the blueprint for segmentation. This groundbreaking research was published in the renowned journal Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences on April 29, 2019. -

Heat Dome

“What I propose, therefore, is very simple: it is nothing more than to think what we are doing.”

-Hannah Arendt, The Human Condition

Heat Dome

Watercolor monotype

30" X44"

Bare ground, concrete, asphalt, and astroturf emit 4X radiant heat. Great masses of radiant heat create heat domes. Heat domes prohibit weather from moving across the land. In contrast, surfaces covered in thick layers of plants indigenous to the region store water in the soil. When the day warms, the plants transpire, releasing bacteria with the moisture to form clouds that provide shade and then rain. We each need to carry our ecological weight. We can start by considering new ways to surface our city scapes to cool the planet.

Heat Dome ghost

A Turn of Events: My Dream Installation on hold.

This summer, I was presented with an incredible opportunity. A curator asked me to propose my dream installation, a chance to showcase something meaningful. The site owner was willing to support and fund the work.

After much contemplation, I decided on a proposal that filled me with passion and urgency. However, last week, it all came to a halt.

I am sincerely grateful for the curator’s interest in my work and the site owner’s support. Their initial inquiry inspired this proposal, and I cannot thank them enough for that. I believe that everything happens for a reason, I have an idea and I am hopeful that I will find the project a site and funding.

First a little background. While at Indiana University, I became aware that integrating ecological recovery with natural systems is a new academic direction and numerous educational institutions are interested in this area. After all, universities and school systems are the largest landowners in any city and having research students involved would be a great asset. Transforming the proposed installation into an art/environmental science installation would significantly enhance the social sculpture’s reach and benefit a university and society.

Below is my proposal.

Introduction-

Global warming, food security, drought/flooding, wildlife habitats, economic instability, and health – these problems are not new to humankind. The archeology of ancient civilizations has recorded connections between the longevity of civilizations and the health of their soil. The United Nations reported in 2014 that the world's topsoil would only last 60 more growing seasons. Soil scientists around the globe agree that solutions to these issues are rooted in our treatment of soil—the skin that covers our planet. 

In a moment of global uncertainty, I ask myself, what materials and forms would I use to create the greatest impact on society and the environment? As I think of ancient civilizations' architecture, art, and spiritual practices, pillars and vessels played an important role in shaping their understanding of the world. Much of my previous work has been about conservation issues, looking specifically at Earth’s natural systems of bees, at waterways, at bison, at native plants, at recovery from Hurricane Harvey, and now at the underground systems of Earth. And so, I would use roots as my material and pillars as my vessel.

standingGROUND

In standingGROUND, I propose a four-stage installation of 5’-10’ tall pillars of various shapes grown from the roots of long-rooted prairie plants.

These pillars will be created by stacking various shapes of clay vessels commonly purchased from home and garden stores. The vessels with the bottoms removed will be stacked and centered on a steel pole cemented in the earth with a small footing for stability. The pots will be filled with a leaf-mold compost and seeded with native grasses and plants known for their root depth. They are to be nurtured and watered for approximately twelve months or until the plants are rootbound in the clay pillars. The clay will then be delicately broken away and the above-ground plant material removed, leaving freestanding pillars of delicately intertwined roots bound in the shapes of the stacked vessels. The root pillars will stand erect on the hidden steel posts.

Drawing inspiration from the rhizomatic root structures of native grasses that give structure to Earht’s underground life, these sculptures, woven by natural systems, standing above ground, will bridge the gap between sky, earth, water, and modern humanity. These pillars offer a glimpse into the intricate workings of an underground prairie ecosystem, the upside-down rainforest for carbon sequestration of North America.

Four Stages

The first phase of standingGROUND will focus on the sculptural aesthetics of the work. I will carefully build the pillars composed of ready-mades to be strong sculptural elements on their own. Once a site is selected, I will choose a paint color that harmonizes with the surroundings and emphasizes the sculptural qualities of the pillars. Lighting will play a crucial role in showcasing the sculptures in relation to their environment. I will paint the pots before the installation, touch them up, and paint the joints afterward. Information on the site will discuss the ecological and social aspects not yet revealed.

The second phase will be to install the pillars into an immersive experience. The towering yet human-like pillars will be positioned strategically to create an intimate and inviting space for viewers. Within this space, a stone or stump will be placed as a reflective seat, provoking thoughts on how our actions impact climate and biodiversity and how humanity can find harmony within natural systems.

The third phase of standingGROUND is when I physically chisel the ceramic vessels away to reveal the social sculpture aspect, the delicate white lace-like intertwined roots bound in the shapes of the stacked ready-mades bridging the gap between sky, earth, water, and humanity.

The fourth phase encapsulates the cycle of life, decay, and regeneration. This crucial phase is essential for ensuring life on Earth. The root sculptures will gradually erode and disintegrate when exposed to the elements. Once the installation has reached the end of its visual lifespan, I will carefully remove the root sculptures. The poles and footings will be relocated from the site. This stripping away of the remnants will leave behind a cavity in the ground previously occupied by the footings. Remarkably, this void will serve as a space where the roots can be placed to rest-regenerate and give birth to new life.

I started experimenting with the shapes in their root form last week. I initially created six sketches in the form of watercolor monotypes. Then, I researched more pot shapes with larger mouths and created four more in round 2. The images of these sketches are below. I will continue experimenting with these shapes as I work on a site.

standingGROUND II

Watercolor monotype

30” X22”

StandingGROUND VI

Watercolor monotype

30” X22”

standingGROUND round 2 #1

Watercolor monotype

30” X22”

standingGROUND IV

Watercolor monotype

30” X22”

StandingGROUND round 2 #4

Watercolor monotype

30” X22”

StandingGROUND round 2 #3

Watercolor monotype

30” X22”

StandingGROUND round 2 #2

Watercolor monotype

30” X22”

standingGROUND V

Watercolor monotype

30” X22”

standingGROUND III

Watercolor monotype

30” X22”

standingGROUND I

Watercolor monotype

30” X22”

Hats and Storytelling.

Indulging in a morning of thoughtful stitching and reflection. Since my youthful days in the 70s shaping hats at my father's feed and Western Wear store, hats have held a profound meaning for me. They possess a unique ability to tell stories.

Recently, I acquired an extraordinary green hat from the talented artisan Edgar Alvarez at Gran Central Hats. Their craftsmanship captures the essence of customization, allowing ribbons, feathers, and all manner of embellishments to adorn your own hat. I made the decision to handle my own stitching, and I must admit, piercing through the resilient felt material is no easy task.

As I sit here, needle in hand, I find myself musing about the idea of incorporating elements inspired by the prairie grasses and the thriving ecosystem that thrives through the consumption and waste patterns of bison. It's a fascinating, how their actions actually contribute to the renewal of life. For instance, birds benefit from the ecosystem by consuming pests that break down bison dung. These birds utilize bison fur to construct their nests, as the fur provides antiviral properties, fortifying their eggshells. Furthermore, the grasses that flourish due to the bison's eating and waste habits offer nesting materials and shelter from predators.

I am hopeful that when finished this hat will be something more than a mere fashion accessory; it possesses the potential to be a powerful catalyst for conversations, stimulating discussions about our individual roles in the process of regeneration.

To Leave

The ephemeral beauty of nature lies not just in living organisms but also in their inevitable decay.

This morning, while examining “deeper than that” a private living sculpture art installation featuring indigenous plants, I was struck by the fading loveliness of the Rosinweed leaves as they withered. Contemplating the homophones “leaf”, “leave” and “leaves”, I pondered how societies historically understood the ecological value of allowing foliage to persist even after senescence. Is that why we call these objects a verb?

Leaves that have left a plant continue to nourish the soil and its microbial inhabitants even in death. Their decaying forms hold moisture, shade the living organisms in the ground, and provide nutrients as they return to earth, building a balanced ecology that sustains urban landscapes. They are an important material natures uses in its engineering of the water table.

Though a single leaf may seem a small, ephemeral thing, in aggregate and over time, the leaves left behind establish and uphold the very foundations of life.

Their decay is not an end but rather a beginning - a quiet, essential recycling of energy and matter that allows new growth to emerge.

In both the noun and the verb there are layers of beauty, and layers of ecological purpose, in the leaves left to molder where they fall. An ecosystem thrives on this gift of decay, using the ephemeral to fuel the eternal. Such is the profound, poignant cycle that the installation’s Rosinweed specimens, even as they bend and brown, help perpetuate. Out of seeming loss, abundance; out of death, life.

Leave your leaves and be grateful for their beauty as nouns and as verbs.

The American Beaver - research

In her book Beaver Land, How One Weird Rodent Made America, Leila Philip spends a chapter on Lewis H. Morgan's (America’s first Anthropologist) documentation of The American Beaver written in 1868. Lucky me, I have found a copy. I am wondering how this read may impact my work.

During a captivating walking tour of Buffalo Bayou in the early 2000s, led by an esteemed Master Naturalist, my fascination with beavers was sparked. It all started when we stumbled upon a tree stump adorned with telltale markings of these industrious creatures. Surprisingly, our knowledgeable guide harbored a deep dislike for beavers, prompting me to question their significance within the ecosystem. Alas, our Master Naturalist was left speechless, unable to provide an answer. As an artist documenting my practice, this encounter left me pondering the enigmatic role of the beaver, and the profound impact it holds within our natural world.

Just as bison’s behaviors shape our land ecosystems, beavers are the architects of thriving water and marsh ecosystems. Considering that water is the key to cooling our planet. To truly comprehend nature’s cooling mechanisms, I recognized the need to understand the Beaver and how their work may connect with the bisons and how humans can mimic these systems in urban landscapes.

As someone devoted to capturing the wonders of natural history and integrating them into our human-made structures, I’ve been amassing a collection of historical writings on natural history. I am looking forward to learning from this new addition to my collection.

In Morgan’s book, he delves beyond the surface-level characteristics that most naturalists focus on, offering a profound perspective.

Leila Philip‘s book is a thorough overview and introduction to a contemporary view of the Beaver. I will probably rerread Philip’s book overtime.

I want to know about the Beaver before the Railroad and what beavers think and how they work, what inspires these creatures to do what they do. Morgan’s book is that and more.

Living Llabyrinth- Building the grid

Building a Large Grid for Installing a Labyrinth: My Process. One reason I write these blog posts is to record my process. The other is to share information.

Constructing a labyrinth grid of this magnitude may seem like a daunting task. And it is for me. With the right strategy, it can be accomplished efficiently. As I embarked on this venture, I took the time to experiment and optimize my methods. Here's a breakdown of the process that was the most efficient.

To begin, gather the necessary materials: X-axis cords measuring 53 at 54' and Y-axis cords measuring 33 at 88' lengths. Keep in mind that the cords come in 100-foot lengths.

I wish I had of planned at 50’ by 100’ bison. The lighter is for singing the ends so they will not ravel. The tape is for tapeing the measured and twist-tied ropes for the installation.

I am making each cord that is a multiple of 5 a white cord. I think this will helpful the day of the installation.

1. X-axis cords: Start by unwinding the hundred-foot cord carefully, ensuring it doesn't become tangled. Here's a handy tip: tie a knot at one end and secure a twist tie next to it. Place the knotted end in a doorway and shut the door on it. This will hold it in place. Then, stick your arm through the middle of the looped cord and slowly unwind it, walking away from the door until it's completely straight.

2. Measure and cut the cord, leaving a few inches to knot and singe the ends to prevent unraveling. Tie another twist tie at the 54' mark. This will serve as the reference cord for measuring all other X-axis cords. Keep this cord secured in the door.

3. Take the leftover cord singe the end and knot it and tightly tie a twist tie inside the knot. Shut in the door with the reference length cord. Measure it against the reference cord and splice it with a piece of the next 100' wound-up cord to measure the 54' length accurately. Now you have a cord to start marking the grid on.

To mark the grid on the first cord—

The dining has been my studio work space. First I covered the 8’ table in a thick paper to protect it. Next I marked every 20” from end to end.

4. Prepare a long table by placing sheets of paper and securing them to the table so they will not slip. Measure and mark on the paper every 20". Lay the cord on the marked paper. To ensure stability, anchor the cord with a heavy object like a case of water.

I used a case of water to weigh down the cords.

Starting from the first knot, and twist tie secure each twist tie tightly along the edge of the table at the 20' marks. Continue tying twist ties until you reach the end of the 54' mark. You may have a little excess cord hanging after the last tie.

The 8’ mark of the table length and the last twist tie. I leave a few inches at the end just in case.

The first piece with every 20” tightly tied with a twisties.

5. Carefully wind up the cord, tape it securely, and mark it as X-axis 54'.

The first grouping of five- 4 red and the 5th white.

53 pieces - completed.

6. Finally, organize the cords by making four red and one white, keeping them grouped together.

IU - The labyrinth design - How will it be installed?

Once the grid is installed, the next step is to think about how to divide the work so that groups of student and volunteers can install my vision. .

Two options seem viable. The first idea is by marking the (X, Y) coordinates for each circuit of planting on individual pages. The other idea is by verticle rows.

Below I have marked the coordinates of the circuits. As I mark the coordinates I am not sure this is the way. I may need to break it down to smaller sections.

I can continue to consider how to breakdown the jobs as I begin building the grid.

IU - Natural systems - digestive system

Scaling up the drawing I also wanted to incorporate another layer of interest in the piece - the ruminant's digestive system.

Before the digestive system and with shorter legs.

In order to add this intestinal circuit his abdomen and hump had to get larger to allow for the walking paths on either side of it. The wider girth made his legs look like stumps so I lengthened his legs.

After the digestive system and leg adjustments.